by Roberta Kray
Roberta Kray was born in Southport. In early 1996 she met Reggie Kray and they married the following year; they were together until his death in 2000. Through her marriage to Reggie, Roberta has a unique insight into the world of the London gangland.
Also by Roberta Kray
The Debt
The Pact
The Lost
Strong Women
The Villain’s Daughter
Broken Home
Nothing But Trouble
Non-fiction
Reg Kray: A Man Apart
COPYRIGHT
Published by Hachette Digital
978-1-4055-1695-2
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © Roberta Kray 2013
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
HACHETTE DIGITAL
Little, Brown Book Group
100 Victoria Embankment
London, EC4Y 0DY
www.littlebrown.co.uk
www.hachette.co.uk
Bad Girl
Table of Contents
About the Author
Also by Roberta Kray
COPYRIGHT
PART ONE: 1959
1
2
3
PART TWO: 1970
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
PART THREE: 1974
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
PART FOUR: 1981
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
PART ONE
1959
1
Lynsey Quinn unlocked the back door to the Fox and closed it softly behind her. She leaned against it for a while, taking a moment to prepare herself for the onslaught that was coming. It was two hours since Fat Pete had clocked her up West, and she knew that he’d have gone straight to the nearest phone box to call her dad. And Jesus, wouldn’t the bastard have been smug about what he’d seen: Joe Quinn’s daughter snogging a copper in a café in Soho! She could imagine the excitement in his voice, his big wet lips pressed against the receiver, his gut rumbling with the thrill of passing on bad news.
She took a deep breath, feeling the mad churning in her own stomach. She loathed her father, but was scared of him too. He’d never thought twice about raising his fists to her mum, and that poor woman had never done anything worse than pander to his every need. What he’d do on finding out that his daughter had been sleeping with the enemy was anybody’s guess.
Lynsey plunged her hands anxiously into the pockets of her coat while she listened to the noise coming from the bar. She could sniff all sorts in the air: tobacco smoke, beer, sweat and the cloying scent of stale perfume. The smells rolled along the corridor along with the chinking sound of the glasses and the raucous laughter of the drunks. She strained her ears, trying to separate her father’s voice from the wild babble coming from the saloon. Was he dealing with last orders, or was he waiting for her in the flat?
She didn’t dare go into the bar to find out. Instead she peered up the stairs, wondering if she could make it to her bedroom before he realised she was home. Not that being in her room would make the slightest bit of difference; Joe Quinn had no respect for anyone else’s privacy. And with a few pints inside him, he was more than capable of walking straight in and dragging her from her bed by her hair. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Lynsey’s right hand automatically rose to her scalp. She gave a shudder. She wished that she hadn’t come back. She had wanted to get the inevitable row over and done with, but now she was having second thoughts. There was no reasoning with him when he was in one of his black tempers. She should have stayed over at a mate’s house and given the dust time to settle.
Still, it was too late to change her mind. And anyway, why should she hide away? Indignation replaced a little of her fear. She wasn’t ashamed of loving Alan Beck. He was smart and good-looking and he made her laugh. No, he was much more than that: he was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the heavy tread of footsteps on lino. Someone was heading out from the bar. Quietly but quickly she fled up the stairs. At the top, she leaned over the banister to see who it was. The breath slipped from her lungs in a low gasp of relief. It was okay. It was only her older brother Tommy. He glanced up at her and she grinned back.
Tommy wasn’t smiling, though. ‘Jesus, have you got any idea what—’ But he never made it to the end of the sentence.
‘Lynsey!’ bellowed her father from the living room. ‘Get yer bleedin’ arse in here!’
She turned sharply, feeling her stomach hit the floor. Oh God, now she was for it. For a few seconds she thought about legging it, but she couldn’t move. Her thighs felt heavy as lead, incapable of transporting her body down the single flight. And even if she did manage to make it, he would still come after her. She had no doubt about that. Better, she thought, that they had it out up here rather than in the more public arena of the bar.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself forward. The thin pointy heels of her stilettos clicked against the bare wooden boards. Behind her she could hear Tommy climbing the stairs. It wasn’t a good sign. If he was worried enough to follow her up, then…
‘Lynsey!’ her father roared again.
There was a single lamp on in the living room, throwing shadows across the frayed green carpet. She stood in the doorway and stared at him. ‘What are you shouting about?’ she snapped, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Her plan, if it could be called that, was to act innocent and deny everything.
Joe Quinn was sitting in an armchair in the corner. He was an ugly man in his mid fifties, stocky and with a clearly defined beer gut. His eyes, a dark shade of grey, glared at her from beneath a pair of bushy brows. ‘Decided to honour us with your presence, then?’
‘It’s not late,’ she said. There were three empty beer bottles on the table beside him, but that would be the tip of the iceberg. She could smell the booze from where she was standing. He’d have been knocking it back all night.
‘So what have you got to say for yourself?’
She shook her head, pretending not to understand. ‘What about?’
Her father got slowly to his feet. ‘Don’t give me that,’ he growled. ‘You think I was born yesterday? You think I’m a bloody moron? You think I don’t know who my slut o
f a daughter’s been shagging?’
Lynsey took a step back. There was anger in his eyes and if she wasn’t careful she would infuriate him even more. But for some reason she still didn’t have the sense to keep her mouth shut. ‘And who would that be, then?’
‘A fuckin’ copper,’ he hissed. ‘That’s who.’
Lynsey knew how she should respond, knew that she should vehemently deny it, but something inside – something that had perhaps been growing for years – rebelled against his bullying. She had a right to her own life, didn’t she? A right to make her own choices? She was seventeen years old and she knew exactly what – or rather who – she wanted.
Tommy came up behind her, laid his hands lightly on her upper arms and then slid sideways through the door. He stood in front of their father, creating a physical shield. ‘Why don’t we leave this until tomorrow, eh? Fat Pete’s been on a bender. You know what he’s like, Dad. He’s seen a blonde, thought it was Lynsey and… well, he made a mistake.’
Joe Quinn gave a snarl. His hands curled into two tight fists. ‘Yeah, there’s been a mistake all right, a mistake that involves your whore of a sister dropping her knickers for the filth.’
‘That ain’t true,’ Tommy said. ‘You know it ain’t.’ He gave a sigh and quickly turned to Lynsey. ‘Tell him. Tell him it’s a pile of bollocks.’
She looked at him, wishing for his sake that she could. But instead all she could manage was a tiny shrug.
‘Ah, Jesus,’ murmured Tommy. ‘Are you crazy? What the hell were you thinking?’
‘It’s serious,’ she said. ‘It’s not just—’
‘And he’s a copper, a bloody copper?’
Even Tommy, the one member of the family she could usually rely on, was disgusted by the revelation. He ran his fingers through his short fair hair as his forehead crunched into a frown. The Quinns and the police didn’t mix. It was an unwritten law. They were chalk and cheese, oil and water. They stood on opposite sides of that thin blue line.
‘You see?’ spat Joe Quinn. ‘The little cow isn’t even denying it!’ He lurched forward, trying to force a way past.
Lynsey jumped, her brown eyes widening. Fortunately, her brother was more than a match for the older man. Grabbing hold of his father’s arms, Tommy pushed him back down into the chair. He was about the same height and build as Joe Quinn, but had the advantage of being thirty years younger and stone-cold sober.
‘For God’s sake,’ Tommy said. ‘This ain’t solving nothin’.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Lynsey. ‘Just tell him, yeah. Tell him that you ain’t gonna see this guy again. It’s over, right? It’s done with.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘What d’ya mean, you can’t? Tell him, for Christ’s sake.’
But Lynsey knew that if she gave in now, her fate would be the same as her mother’s – a lifetime of being under the thumb, of being controlled, of being manipulated, until all the hope was eventually sucked out of her. ‘It’s my choice,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’ve a right to see whoever I want.’
‘You hear that?’ Joe Quinn said. A thin, mirthless laugh escaped from his lips. ‘Your treacherous bitch of a sister reckons she’s got rights.’
‘She don’t mean it,’ Tommy said. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll sort it out.’
‘There’s nothing to sort,’ Lynsey said.
Her father leaned forward menacingly, his big hands splayed across his thighs. ‘While you’re living under my roof, girl, you’ll do as you’re damn well told.’
‘Well, that’s easily solved,’ she said. ‘You think I like living in this dump?’
‘Reckon you can do better for yourself, then?’
Her eyes made a quick sweep of the room. Since her mother’s death two years ago, the place had gone steadily downhill. Even in the dim light of the lamp she could see the neglect, the beer stains on the carpet and the thick layer of dust. Every available surface was littered with used cups and plates. ‘I couldn’t do much worse.’
Suddenly, with a primitive roar, her father launched himself out of the chair. He hurtled past Tommy and shoved Lynsey back against the door, slamming her so hard that a jolt ran the length of her spine. But that was the least of her worries. The next thing she knew he had his hands around her throat, his grip growing tighter and tighter until he was squeezing the very breath from her. She clawed frantically at his thick wrists, but he was too strong.
‘No one talks to me like that!’ He shook her like a rag doll and spat into her face. ‘You hear me? You hear me, bitch?’
But even if Lynsey had wanted to reply, she couldn’t. His thumbs were pressing so hard on her windpipe that stars were starting to dance in front of her eyes. As Joe Quinn’s curses rained down on her, she had one of those life-flashing-by moments, only it wasn’t the past that reeled through her head but the future – all the things she wouldn’t do, the people she wouldn’t meet, the babies she would never have.
‘Bitch! Whore!’
The words drilled into her head. At the same time she was faintly aware of Tommy shouting and pulling and trying to drag her father off, but nothing would make him release his grip. Fuelled by booze and rage, he was lusting for blood. Her blood. So this was it, she thought. The end. The bastard was finally going to kill her. She could feel herself weakening, the life draining out of her body. A few seconds more and…
But then the crash came, not a heavy or solid sound, but rather a thin, splintery kind of noise. Abruptly the grasp on her throat was released. Her legs gave way and she slumped to the floor, wheezing and choking. Doubled up, she fought to catch her breath again. As her vision gradually cleared, she saw her father laid out beside her, his eyes closed, a soft moaning sound leaking from his mouth. Beside her, scattered on the carpet, were the broken remains of a dining chair.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Tommy, crouching down beside her.
She couldn’t speak, but managed eventually to nod her head.
‘Come on then,’ he said, quickly standing up, grabbing her wrists and hauling her to her feet. ‘You need to get out of here before the bugger comes round.’
Lynsey stood, swaying, her legs still unsteady. She held on to the door handle and gazed down at the man lying at her feet. Anger swelled in her breast. She wanted to kick him in the guts, to drive the heel of her stiletto through his chest – payback for all the beatings he’d inflicted – but she knew that to do so would mean that he had won. If she resorted to his methods, her soul would be as black as his.
‘Come on,’ Tommy urged again. ‘Don’t hang about.’ He dragged her out of the room and down the stairs. ‘You need to stay away, keep your head down for a few days. Go to Moira’s, yeah? I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.’
‘That’s the…’ Lynsey began, but the words came out as a croak. She rubbed at her throat and tried again. ‘That’s the first place he’ll look.’
Tommy opened the back door and pushed her out into the chill night air. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘Moira’s old man knows the score. You’ll be safe there. You don’t need to—’
‘I’m not going to Moira’s.’
‘So where are you going?’
She turned her face away, not wanting to meet his eyes. ‘You know where.’
Tommy gave a grunt. ‘Huh?’ And then he realised what she was saying. ‘You can’t,’ he said. ‘You go to him and Dad will never let you come back.’
Lynsey lowered her chin into the collar of her coat. She glanced up the stairs, gave a shiver and looked at Tommy again. ‘I’m not coming back. Why should I? Next time he’ll bloody kill me.’
‘He’ll bloody kill you if you shack up with some copper.’
‘He’ll have to find me first.’
Tommy closed the door and they walked rapidly round to the front of the pub and then along the road. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing? How long have you even known this bloke?’
‘Long enough.’ She didn’t want to
admit that it had only been a couple of months. For her, the amount of time they’d been together was irrelevant; the only thing that mattered was their feelings for each other. ‘Look, you should get back. You’re going to freeze to death out here.’
‘You’re only seventeen,’ he said, continuing to stride along beside her. ‘You’re too young to be leaving home. What are you going to do for readies, for a job?’
‘I’ll manage. There’s plenty of pub work out there. Anyway, you weren’t that much older when you got together with Yvonne.’
‘Yeah, but you’re not up the duff. There’s no need for you to—’ He stopped dead and turned to face her. ‘Jesus, Lynsey, tell me you’re not.’
Lynsey gave another of her shrugs. ‘Don’t have a go. It happens. You know that. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘And he’s happy about it, this bloke of yours?’
In truth, Lynsey hadn’t got around to telling Alan yet. She’d been planning on doing it tonight, but then Fat Pete Turnbull had walked into the café and she’d had enough to worry about without breaking that news as well. ‘Course he is. It’s what we both want.’