The handover with O’Hara had gone to plan. There had been few words exchanged. Jimmy had pulled up in a pick-up truck, Eddie had got out of his own motor, handed him the dosh, then walked way and driven off. O’Hara had smirked when the dosh was handed over to him, Ed had clocked that, but he wasn’t worried, as he knew he would have the last laugh. ‘Good things come to those who wait,’ his dad used to say.

When the front door opened, Ed walked into the hallway.

‘I have missed you so much, Eddie,’ Gina said, as she threw herself into his arms.

Eddie grinned, then kissed her passionately. He only had to look at her to feel his dick go rock hard. ‘Let’s go to bed, eh?’ he whispered.

Usually, Gina would have run up the stairs, but not only was she ravenous, she also had something on her mind that had been plaguing her for the last few days. ‘As much as I fancy you Ed, we need to talk first. I’m also starving. Have you been shopping or shall we get a takeaway?’

Thrown by the matter-of-fact tone in Gina’s voice, Eddie lifted her chin with his hand and stared deep into her dark-brown eyes. ‘You ain’t gonna fuck me off, are ya? Don’t tell me the first bit of agg we’ve had, you’re bolting, babe.’

Gina looked at Eddie’s handsome face. No, she wasn’t impressed by being shoved off to her friend Claire’s house for weeks, but she loved Ed dearly and would never leave him, no matter what he did.

‘Ed, I love you more than I love myself. How can you even ask such a thing?’

Eddie pushed her long, dark hair away from her forehead. ‘Something’s wrong, I know it is. Tell me.’

Gina smiled. Nothing was wrong, everything was right, but for once it wasn’t just herself she was having to think about, it was another little person. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m pregnant, Ed.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Terry Baldwin sat in the Thatched House in Barking with a glum expression and a pint of Guinness. His wonderful grandson’s murder had left Terry stunned and heartbroken. He’d fucking loved that kid, idolised every hair on his little head.

Purgatory would be the best way to describe the six weeks since Luke had died. Terry’s daughter Sally had been distraught, in absolute bits and, even though she was pregnant, had hit the bottle big style.

‘You’re gonna be burying another baby if you carry on like that,’ Terry had warned her only yesterday.

‘I’m so unhappy living here. I need to move back in with Jed. Please say I can, Dad. You can’t keep me away from him for ever. I love him.’

Sick of watching Sally necking the wine night after night, Terry had reluctantly agreed that she could move back in with her no-good, pikey arsehole of a boyfriend. When Luke had first been murdered, Terry had turned up at the O’Haras’ and ordered Sally to return home so she was safe and they could grieve and cry together. Terry had hoped that she would leave Jed for good, especially when she learned from the police that Frankie was also pregnant in the nick with the toerag’s child, but it wasn’t to be. The silly little cow was going back to him for now, until Terry found a way to get the piece of shit out of her life for good.