I towel dry my hair as the kettle boils. It’s freezing cold inside the flat. I don’t keep the heating on for long, just half an hour in the evening and again in the morning to take the edge off. As it’s midday, the place is like an ice-box. Thank goodness for Primark and their fluffy pyjamas and socks. As soon as the kettle’s boiled I make myself a cup of tea and head into the living room. It’s not as if I have anywhere to go other than here. Nisha won’t be back from her shift until six and I’m pretty sure she will have a lot to say once she gets in.

I settle myself onto the sofa and drink my tea, trying to figure out why the hell Bryce had turned up at the café, and more importantly, how he’d found me. I’d never had a conversation with the Freed brothers about where I live. They knew about Mum and my shitty upbringing, but aside from that I was no more than a stranger really. I press my fingers against my eyes, squeezing out the images of Bryce calling after me. Part of me had wanted to run into his arms, but an even bigger part had been utterly terrified. I’d closed my heart to the brothers, just like I’d closed it off to everyone else. What is the point of loving someone? They only leave you in the end.

My mobile phone buzzing on the coffee table has me snapping out of these dark thoughts. I pick it up. Nisha is ringing.

Sliding my finger to accept the call, I place the phone to my ear.

“Louisa, what the actual fuck?” she says. In the background I can hear David cursing my name. I cringe.

“Sorry, Nish.”

“What happened? You sick or something?” I can hear her hand pressing over the microphone and Nisha shouting at David to give her a minute.

“David is pissed off. It’s busy. What were you thinking? It’s not as if you don’t need a job. I can’t believe you ran out because some customer was rude to you.”

“Rude to me?”

“Yeah, the fit banker bloke with the beard.”

“Oh no, he wasn’t rude…” my voice trails off at how lame that sounds. I know what she’s going to ask next.

“Then why’d you run off like that?”

“I…”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Nisha sighs. “I think I’ve managed to persuade David to let you start over. Your mum has just died, you’re all over the place. He might be a dick, but he’s not a complete dickhead.”

“Thanks, Nisha, but I don’t think I can work there anymore.” I mean, it’s unlikely Bryce will come back to seek me out again, given I’d run off for the second time, but I don’t want to take the chance. I can’t face him, any of them.

“Look, I know you’re still cut up over your mum. I get it, you know I do. But beggars can’t be choosers, Louisa. You need the money. If we don’t keep up with the rent payments, the council will be kicking us out of the flat and we’ll have nowhere to go.”

She has a point. It isn’t as if I have a ton of skills that will get me a job anywhere else right now. A night school qualification in administration isn’t going to get me much more than a junior post in an office at barely minimum wage. David is a prat, but at least working at the café is a steady income.

“I know, you’re right. I’ll call David tomorrow. Smooth things over.”

“Good. See you in a little while,” she says, before abruptly hanging up.

Setting the phone back on the table, I pick up my book and take a sip of tea. The house is a complete tip, but half an hour of reading won’t hurt. The washing hanging over the radiators, hoovering, and dirty dishes in the sink can wait for now. When Mum was alive I was pretty much maid, cleaner, cook and adult in charge. Now, I can give myself a break.

Just as I’m getting to a particular juicy part of the story I hear a loud knock at the door.

“Bloody hell,” I groan. Apart from a couple of families on the estate that cause problems for the rest of us, most of my neighbours are good people and have lived here for years. I grew up with them. So it isn’t unusual for me to get knocks on my door most days, usually to borrow some sugar or milk, or even to have a chat. Mum used to send them away with a flea in their ear unless she wanted to ‘borrow’ some money from them. Since she’s been gone it’s been like Piccadilly Circus. Nisha thinks I shouldn’t answer the door, but I don’t mind really. If Lotta at number twenty-five wants to chat for half an hour and I’ve got the time, then where’s the harm? If the truth be known, I don’t feel so lonely when we have visitors.

Another loud bang rattles the door in its frame.

“Hold on a minute,” I yell, placing my book and mug of tea on the table. “I’m coming.”

I rush to the front door at the insistent knock.

“Jeez, would you just give me a second,” I yell, yanking open the door.

Standing in front of me is a huge brute of a man. His bloodshot eyes roam over me lasciviously as a pink tongue snakes out of his mouth. I see a gold tooth catch the light. It matches the chains hanging about his neck.

“You’re looking good these days, Lorna.” He barks out a laugh.

“Lorna doesn’t live here anymore,” I say, closing the door.

A beefy fist stops me from slamming it shut. “Well, that isn’t very polite, Tutti Frutti. Any ideas where I can find her?”

Tutti Frutti? I roll my eyes. Tutti Frutti, beauty, not the most inventive Cockney rhyming slang. Is this brute trying to flirt with me? I shudder at the thought. Time to end this conversation and send him on his way. Whatever my mum had been up to with this man, I want no part of it.

“Sorry, you are?” I ask.

“My name’s Sam, but you can call me Smithy. Everyone else does. Now, answer my question. Where can I find Lorna? Me and her need a little chat.”

“St Augustine’s cemetery.”

“Well, that’s fucking unfortunate,” he says, the smile, if you can call it that, sliding from his face.

“Yes, death generally is,” I say sarcastically.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “So, who might you be?”

“That is none of your business. Now, if you don’t mind I’ve got things to do. My boyfriend will be here any minute and he’s a little territorial,” I lie.

“Boyfriend? Funny, Lorna always told me her daughter was a bit of a prissy bitch. Louisa, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Who is this guy, and more importantly, why is he here? Pretending not to know who I am is one thing but talking about me like he’s had in-depth conversations with my mum is quite another.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice sounding stronger than I feel. Wherever this conversation is going, it isn’t to a good place.

“What’s owed,” he says, leaning against the door frame. His heavy, black boot is now positioned in such a way that I can’t shut the door. Panic starts to creep up my spine.

“Owed?”

“Your ma has run up quite a debt with me. At the last knockings she owed me five grand.”

“What? She told me it was five hundred. She paid it back.” Either this arsehole is lying, or Mum had been.

“She borrowed more, she owes more. So, now we have a little problem. Your mum can’t pay, considering she’s six feet under…” He looks at me as though I should be offering up a solution. This is her debt, not mine.

“So?”

“So, the debt carries over to her nearest and dearest… You, Tutti Frutti.”

My mouth pops open in shock. “What? That’s crazy, I had nothing to do with it. Why the hell should I pay anything?”

Smithy slams his fist against the door and steps into my flat. I back away from him. Any signs of amiability are gone, not that they were there in the first place.

“You can’t just barge into my flat. Get out!” I shout, bravado about the only thing keeping me from quaking in fear.

“Tutti Frutti, I can do just about anything I want. Your mother signed an agreement. If she’d bothered to read the small print she would have seen that in the event of her death, the debt would be passed on to her next of kin. That, my sweet, is you.”

“Agreement? Loan sharks don’t have fucking agreements. This is bullshit. GET OUT OF MY FLAT.” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them. It probably isn’t the best decision I’ve made. This guy looks capable of doing anything.

He is.

I feel the sting of his slap before my brain has even caught up with the movement of his hand. He hits me so hard that I stumble backwards, only managing to right myself on the closed kitchen door. The handle slams into my back, I know I’ll have a bruise there later. I can taste blood in my mouth from the split lip he has given me. Even though I want to, I don’t cry. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I glare at him, defiant.

“Get out,” I say as forcefully as I can.

“Well, aren’t you the feisty one. This will make for quite an entertaining afternoon,” Smithy says, pinning me against the wall. One hand is squeezing my upper arm tightly, the other is holding onto my jaw. My only option at this point is to knee him in the balls and hope he’s taken out long enough so that I can get away.

“Get your fucking hands off Louisa, prick.”