The kitchen door opened and Charley jumped to her feet. Toni walked in and closed the door behind her.
“What’s going on?” she asked, before Toni had a chance to speak.
Toni stood there, looking at her, and Charley felt a paralysing fear enter her then. Toni’s eyes were wet with tears and she looked lost for words.
“Mum, what is it?” she asked, stepping forward, putting a hand on Toni’s shoulder.
Toni seemed to compose herself.
“I think you should sit down,” she said, her voice quiet.
Charley did as she was told and looked expectantly at her mother, as Toni sat down heavily on the stool beside her and seemed to struggle to speak.
“Come on, mum, you’re starting to scare me,” Charley said, her voice shaking with fear now. She clasped her hands together to stop herself from fidgeting.
Toni took a deep breath and clutched her daughter’s hands in her own.
“I’m so sorry, Charley,” she said, and she sounded it. Her voice shook with emotion, as she struggled to get the words out. “It’s Bolton. Asher said he was stabbed, and there was an ambulance there, but he didn’t make it. I’m so sorry, they said it was –”
But Charley had stopped listening. Grief and shock enveloped her. She could see her mother’s lips moving but heard nothing. She blinked and felt her vision blurred by tears. Bolton couldn’t be dead. She had been with him just a few hours ago. They had reunited, they were happy again. They were going to be a happy family, with their beautiful son, and there would be no more tears or arguments, just love and happiness.
It couldn’t be true. She rose to her feet and left the kitchen, walking down the hallway, ignoring Toni’s attempts to stop her. She opened the front door and froze. Policemen were gathered in the stairwell. Then she saw Asher. The white shirt beneath his uniform was red with blood. Toni stepped in front of her, trying to shield her from the sight of it, but Charley stared at it. Asher realised she was there and shouted, and men were blocking him from view, and Toni was screaming for them to go, to get out of sight, but Charley continued to stare.
And then it hit her. It was the truth. Bolton was dead. He would never hold her in his arms again. He would never whisper in her ear that he loved her. He would never see their son grow up.
The grief that had enveloped her, filled her body and numbed her senses, seemed to break then. And Charley felt the tears come and a scream escape her lips. She was howling and shrieking and collapsing to the floor, and Toni was pulling her close to her. Charley collapsed into Toni’s arms and screamed into her mother’s chest until no sound came and the tears dried out.
* * *
Asher wiped his tears away on the sleeve of his shirt and crept quietly up the stairs and let himself into Bolton’s empty flat. Bolton had whispered his final instructions to him, a final effort to prove his love for Charley and his son.
He pulled gloves on over his shaking hands so that his fingerprints would not be found, knowing that the police would be scouring the flat within hours.
Remembering Bolton’s directions, he went into the bedroom and rummaged through the cupboards until he found the box of money. He packed the money into a bin bag he had brought with him and shut the cupboard.
He hesitated a moment.
He was a policeman, yet here he was breaking the law.
He could hand in the money to the police, but he knew he would not.
Slipping out of the flat and locking the front door behind him, he retreated back to his car, glancing around to make sure nobody had seen him coming or going. He dumped the bag of money into the boot of the car and drove off, heading for home.
When he reached his mum’s flat, Asher was relieved to find that the police had left and the block of flats was eerily quiet. Perhaps news of the tragedy had spread, or perhaps their neighbours had been scared indoors by the flashing lights and uniforms.
He headed upstairs and knocked on the front door. Torey let him in, her eyes red, before returning to the kitchen. The sound of Charley’s dry sobs echoed down the landing until Torey closed the kitchen door behind her.
Asher took a deep breath and slipped into Charley and Torey’s bedroom. He went to Charley’s bed and lifted her pillow. He pushed his concerns aside, knowing he was doing this for his sister. And this was Bolton’s final wish, and he had to respect that.
He reached into the bin liner and began to unload the stacks of money.
* * *
In his bedsit, Nathaniel Okoro watched the news with a mounting sense of horror. The picture of Bolton Smith kept appearing on the screen, the newsreader giving details of his death and the arrest of his killer.
He thought of his daughter and how she was coping with the devastating news. He knew she would be beside herself, he had seen first-hand how much she loved him. And now he was dead. All because of his brother Jasper.
When he had first heard of Bolton’s death he had rang Charley’s mobile but Toni had answered. She had guessed immediately that Jasper had been involved – and when Charley had learned of the family connection, she had told Nathaniel never to contact her again.
His heart had broken at her harsh words, cold with anger and betrayal. He knew that she meant them. He had lost his daughter, and his grandson, just as he had found them.
Switching off the television, Nathaniel paced the room and now remembered why he had been out of contact with his brother for such a long time. Things like this. He destroyed lives on a daily basis and he had never approved. Now he was angry.
Jasper had overstepped the mark. He’d gone after family – for Bolton was as good as family now. Jasper had ordered the murder of the father of Nathaniel’s grandson.
He rifled in the small chest of drawers in his dirty bedsit and his hands closed around the cool metal grip of the small gun he kept in case of emergencies.
Even if Charley would never speak to him again, he wanted to right the wrongs that had been done to her. Tucking the gun into his jacket, he left the bedsit in search of his brother.
* * *
Charley slipped into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her bed, feeling numb. Her mum was watching over her baby and now that she was alone for the first time since learning of Bolton’s death, she realised she could no longer cry.
She had cried too much already and there were no tears left.
Slipping out of her clothes, she lay down against the pillow and felt something under her head. She sat up and slid her hand under the pillow, pulling out a stack of money. Then another. She threw her pillow aside and gasped.
This would be enough money to support her and her son for years.
She thought of the money Bolton had acquired and wondered, if it was indeed that money, how it was possible for it to be here, beneath her pillow, when Bolton was gone.
Rifling through the stacks of money, she noticed a sticky note on one of the bundles. She tore it off and her eyes scanned the short note.
Charley –
Bolton wanted you to have this money.
For you and your son.
He really did love you, with all his heart x
Charley knew that Bolton couldn’t have written it, couldn’t have known he was going to die, but the fact that he had made sure that her and their son’s futures were secure made her heart swell. It was all the proof she needed that Bolton really had loved them.
She hid the money and re-read the note over and over again.
Bolton had loved her. With all his heart.
As she closed her eyes, her hand rose to her chest and the note rested, in her clasped hand, just above her own heart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
A week after Bolton’s death, Charley went to his funeral. She arrived at the church, pushing the pram, dressed in black, and found her seat in the front pew. Toni sat down beside her and held her hand, a packet of tissues in her lap. Charley felt grateful to her mother for remembering them, and for everything she had done over the last wee
k.
If it wasn’t for her mother, Charley would not have survived. She had not only taken care of her, but she had brought it upon herself to look after the baby too. Charley squeezed her mother’s hand and felt her squeeze it back.
Things could not have been more different. Though still in the throes of grief, Charley had noticed that her mother had changed. It seemed as if she had been transformed into another person overnight. Though her personality had changed just a little, the real difference was in her role as a mother. Gone were the snide remarks, cutting tongue and fierce disapproval, replaced by a loving caregiver who seemed to have been shocked to the core by the realisation of her own ignorance, coupled with the shock of Bolton’s death. As Toni had said a few days earlier, it was unnatural for a young man’s life to be taken at such an age, and this more than anything seemed to have persuaded her to appreciate the life and children she had been given, rather than wishing upon the ones she did not have.
And she had been proven right about Nathaniel, Charley thought bitterly. She had not spoken to him since she had made the realisation, on the night of Bolton’s death, that Nathaniel’s brother had been responsible for ordering Bolton’s murder. She had told him not to contact her and he had respected her wishes. The morning after Bolton’s death, the news had been filled with reports of the shooting of criminal boss Uncle Jasper by his own brother. Four bullets to the chest and a final one to the head had put an end to him. Jasper was dead and Nathaniel was arrested and charged with the murder. Charley knew that Nathaniel had done it for her but she had not contacted him.
She had her real family here. That was all she needed. Not him or people like him, the men who ruined lives without a second thought.
Beside Toni, Asher was in his black suit, clasping hands with Carl beside him, and both looked grief stricken. Charley knew that Asher had been there in Bolton’s final moments and she felt pleased. At least she knew that Bolton had not been alone in his final moments, that he’d had a familiar face watching over him. She had wondered, over the last week, if Asher had been the one to hide the money under her pillow upon Bolton’s wishes. She thought it was, but Asher had remained evasive, and she knew that whether it was him or not, the real one behind the money was Bolton – it had been his final gift to her and she would be forever grateful to him. Charley found herself smiling as Toni, wiping at her own eyes, put an arm around Asher’s shoulders and passed him a tissue. Any animosity she had held towards her son and to Carl had gone now.
Charley looked to her right and saw Torey, staring at the floor, her eyes blotchy and a tissue clutched tightly in her hands. Charley grasped her hand and Torey looked up, smiling weakly in appreciation. They had grown close, and Charley knew that her sister was sharing in her suffering, could understand the grief that she was experiencing.
That was true sisterhood. Not like the bond she had with Leigh-Ann, who had turned up in black and said all the right things, though Charley had known she meant none of them. Leigh-Ann was there to support her, not because she was sad Bolton had died. Shocked, yes, but grieving? No. Leigh-Ann could not understand the pain, try as she might.
The vicar’s words washed over Charley as if she could not hear them, though she did. He spoke of how Bolton’s life had been cut tragically short, and talked of the man he could have become, the life he could have had, but it meant nothing to Charley. She knew the real Bolton. This vicar knew nothing of his life, or the love he had shared with the people he cared about. No, she did not need a vicar to ease her grief or tell her what Bolton would have wanted or what he had believed in. She had her memories and that was enough for her.
She rocked the pram backwards and forwards, her heart going out most of all to her son. He did not know why he was here, or that tragedy had struck their family, that his father had been stolen from him. He would know in time, Charley knew, and he would know that his father had loved him, even though he was no longer with them. He would know that his name was something to be proud of, for Charley had decided to name her son Bolton Junior, after the love of her life.
After the funeral, Charley sought out Julie Smith. Dressed in black and silent, Julie stood by herself at the gates of the church. She hugged Charley to her when she saw her.
“It was a beautiful service,” Charley said.
Julie shrugged.
“It was nice, but Bolton would have been laughing his head off if he’d seen us all there, the expensive flowers and the like,” Julie said, shaking her head and smiling weakly. “He wouldn’t have cared about the flowers, or the service.”
“No, I don’t think he would have,” Charley said.
The two women stood there, united in their memories and love of Bolton. Then Charley said what she had wanted to say since the morning after Bolton’s death, ever since she had found the money left to her by Bolton for the family he had left behind.
“Bolton had some money stashed away,” Charley said, trying to keep her voice even. “He left it to me, but I think he’d have wanted you to take some, he loved you so much –”
“No, I couldn’t,” Julie cut across her, shaking her head but smiling. “He’d have wanted you to have it. You and Bolton Junior. And so do I. He might be gone, but at least he can provide for you. And after all, he’s not really gone. As long as we think of him, and remember him, he’ll always be here with us.”
Charley nodded, tears in her eyes. Julie hugged her close again and then retreated back up the stone path to the church, dabbing at her eyes. Charley looked up at the sky, which was clear, with the promise of spring in the weak sunshine.
She found that the grief she had found so overwhelming just a week ago was not so unbearable now. Julie’s words had resonated with her like nobody else’s words of comfort. It was true; Bolton was alive in her memories and her thoughts every waking moment. He might have passed away, but he would never be forgotten. The father of her child and her one true love would always live on in her heart, and in their son’s heart, so he would never truly be gone from them.
As she headed back up the path towards her family and her son, a warm breeze blew over her and she thought of Bolton’s warm embrace. She stopped, letting the air wrap itself around her like Bolton’s arms had done so many times before. In that moment she knew that Bolton was watching over them and always would do.
TRIAL
BOOK 3
PROLOGUE
Troy Banks looked down at the letter he clasped in his fingers and wanted to scrunch it up into a ball and throw it down the fucking toilet. He had been waiting for this letter for a month now and he still felt surprised now that he had read it. Of course, he had known at once what it would contain. The Crown Prosecution Service logo on the envelope had told him all that he had needed to know.
It had been a long month since he had been arrested, thrown into the cell at the police station and watched DS Serena Patterson slam the shutter down on his door and on his freedom.
He had been scared sat alone in that cell, but now he was in prison and he did not have time to be afraid. That was for the pussies of the world and he was a Banks brother. His brothers hadn’t been scared when they had served time and he wasn’t about to let them down. He looked around at his cell and felt frustrated, bored, angry – but not scared.
The cell was small and sparsely furnished but at least he didn’t have to share with anyone, Troy thought, remembering his last cell mate. What a fucking nutter that one had been. Troy had been grateful when he’d been shipped off to another facility, and he was yet to be replaced.
It was not the cell that so angered him though. Even the lack of freedom and privacy was not so irritating now that he was used to it – it was the anger he felt towards the ones who had forced him here. Serena Patterson, the stupid female detective who had done nothing but cause him trouble from the moment she had stepped foot onto the Goldsworth Estate. He hated her, but he couldn’t hold her entirely responsible, he thought. Clint Jackson, his best mate, the one he’d tru
sted above everyone else. The one who’d stabbed him in the back and confessed all to Patterson, all because he’d started fucking around with Shaniqua Curtis’ sister. Hadn’t Brandy warned him that Clint was a liability? He hadn’t listened, and now he was here.
He tried not to think about Brandy. She had been his girlfriend for years but that hadn’t stopped her handing over the knife he’d used to kill Shaniqua, and what for? Maybe she’d been pissed off, maybe she’d just wanted to save her own neck. Whatever the reason, it cut him deep, and he forced himself to push away the image of Brandy from his mind.
None of them had visited him. Maybe they had forgotten all about him, locked up in here whilst they all roamed free, doing whatever they wanted. He was sure they’d be thinking about him now though.
He glanced at the letter again and put it down on the small plastic table. He had read it enough times this morning, he thought. A trial date had been set for him, and he would have to wait seven long months until he would face the judge and jury for Shaniqua Curtis’ murder.
The thought would have made him afraid if it had not been for the one bit of good news he had received. Tyrese, his eldest brother, leader of their gang, was coming to visit him today. He knew what that meant – they were going to help him get out of this shit hole.
He had begun to wonder if his brothers cared. They hadn’t been in touch with him; no letters, no visits – no fucking anything – but that was all going to change now. Tyrese wouldn’t let his youngest brother rot in some cell, not for something like this.
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