The Wronged: No parent should ever have to bury their child.... Kimberley Chambers

He got the distinct impression that his old man would have preferred Jay as a son. That was why he hadn’t bothered visiting the prison for the past six weeks. ‘I don’t wanna work with Jay, Michael. There’s something about him I don’t like. You better tell my dad it’s either him or me.’

      ‘Don’t talk wet. You’re my right-hand man. Jay will either work as a bouncer or behind the bar, that’s all. He isn’t going to have a position of importance.’

      ‘He will if my fucking old man has anything to do with it.’

      ‘Vin, I half own this club. Your dad might think he’s still the overall boss, but he ain’t any more. It was me that turned this gaff into a disco and made a huge success of it. Therefore, I can promise you that Jay will just have an average job, OK?’

      When the DJ put on Wham’s ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ Little Vinny stormed into the office. Sammi-Lou was a massive Wham fan and she loved this song.

      Staring at his uncle’s bottle of Scotch, Little Vinny undid the lid. He had not touched a drop of alcohol since that drunken, drug-fuelled night when he’d thought his dead sister had paid him a visit. Molly had been wearing a white gown and her eyes were bulging with terror in the same way they’d looked as he’d throttled the life out of her. He still wasn’t sure if he had seen her ghost, but he preferred to think that his mind was playing tricks on him.

      Neither his father nor Michael had any idea that Little Vinny had visited brothels and snorted cocaine with Ahmed in the past. The Turk had been a massive support for him since his dad had been banged up and, even though they’d seen far less of each other recently, Little Vinny knew that if he ever had a problem Ahmed was the man to turn to.

      Little Vinny took a sip of Scotch but immediately spat it on to the carpet. He might have had a bad day today, but he quite liked the new him. Alcohol was evil. All it did was remind him of bad things.

      He picked up the phone and dialled, and to his relief it was his girlfriend who answered. The last time they’d had a row, her dad had picked up the blower and all but threatened him.

      ‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘Didn’t you go to your mate’s birthday bash?’

      Not wanting to admit that she’d been crying periodically ever since they’d parted in Roman Road earlier, Sammi pretended she was just getting ready to go out.

      ‘Well, I’m missing ya. So if you fancy coming to the club later, we can cuddle up in bed,’ Little Vinny suggested.

      When Sammi-Lou told him she’d be there by midnight, Little Vinny smirked. He had his pretty girlfriend firmly in the palm of his hand and he liked that very much.

      Over in Pentonville, Vinny tipped the wink for the fun to begin. He’d arranged for Andy Tucker and three of his cronies to be paid a bullseye each for kicking off at the appointed hour.

      ‘You can fuck off,’ Tucker bellowed. ‘We ain’t going back to the cell. We should be allowed to watch Match of the Day.’

      One of Tucker’s pals threw a chair across the room and a moment later all hell broke loose as other inmates joined in.

      ‘Let’s do it,’ Vinny urged Jay Boy.

      Jock McIntyre was in shock as Vinny dragged him out the TV room. Nobody heard his cries for help though. The screws were too busy trying to stop a full-blown riot getting under way and the prisoners were busy arguing and fighting amongst themselves.

      ‘Check nobody’s coming, Jay,’ Vinny ordered, before clumping Jock repeatedly in the stomach.

      Jock, who weighed less than ten stone, doubled up and fell to the floor groaning in agony.

      ‘All clear,’ Jay said, after checking both ends of the corridor.

      ‘Quick, hold the cunt’s arms down,’ Vinny urged.

      ‘Get off me. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, OK?’ Jock cried.

      ‘Not larging it now, are ya?’ Vinny spat. He would’ve loved to cut Jock’s tongue out, but didn’t have time. He pulled the razor blade he’d melted into a toothbrush handle from his sock and as quick as a flash, slashed a reasonably straight line across the Scotsman’s mouth.

      As Jock screamed in agony and fright, Vinny muttered, ‘Grass, and I swear on my dear old mum’s life, next time it’ll be your throat.’

      Thirty seconds later Vinny re-entered the TV room. With a quick nod to old Frank, the screw guarding the door, he rejoined the fracas.

      Enticing a screw into his pocket had been a smart move on Vinny’s part. He’d always known it would come in handy at some stage.

      Queenie and Viv were happily gushing over how radiant a heavily pregnant Princess Diana looked when they were disturbed by the doorbell ringing.

      Queenie pursed her lips. ‘This better be my Michael, or he’ll have some explaining to do.’ Her son had not been in touch since the prison visit and Queenie was not amused.

      ‘There you are! Been ringing your bleedin’ club all evening. Why didn’t you pop in earlier, like you promised?’

      Michael Butler gave his mother a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve just had a manic day. Little Vinny said Auntie Viv had an accident. Is she OK?’

      ‘I’ll live,’ Viv shouted from the living room.

      ‘Don’t keep me in suspense then. How did the visit go?’

      ‘Good. Vinny was in high spirits,’ Michael lied.

      ‘Did you build bridges, like I told you to? And don’t lie to me, ’cause I’ll find out the truth.’

      ‘We didn’t need to build bridges, Mum. We’re brothers at the end of the day.’

      Beaming from ear to ear, Queenie hugged her youngest son. ‘That’s what I like to hear. Us Butlers stick together through thick and thin, always. Well, apart from me and your father, of course,’ Queenie chuckled.

      ‘I’d better get back to the club, Mum. I left Little Vinny in charge.’

      ‘I want a word with you about him.’

      ‘Not now. It was busy when I left.’

      ‘OK. But I need to ask you a favour, boy.’

      Not another one, thought Michael, but as his mother pursued him down the path he had no option but to nod.

      ‘I’m worried about Tara and Tommy. Dave isn’t a good influence on our Brenda, you know. I think you should pay him a little visit.’

      ‘And do or say what?’ Michael asked.

      ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? You and your brother are the men of this family. Just do or say what you did to Pervy Pat that time. I was so proud of you when he scarpered. So was Vivvy.’

      Michael looked at his mother in disbelief. ‘Brenda’s a pisshead, Mum, and until she gives up boozing, she’ll always end up with one of the Daves of this world. Pat was a nonce. Big difference.’

      Johnny Preston read the letter once more, then put it in his trouser pocket. He was dreading having this conversation with his wife. However, he had promised there would be no more secrets between them and he meant it. Since he’d got out of nick and married Deborah for the second time, their relationship had gone from strength to strength. There was no way he would jeopardize that by hiding things from her.

      ‘Can we talk, babe? Sit down a minute.’

      ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Deborah asked, alarmed. She could tell by the look on her husband’s face that it wasn’t going to be good news.

      ‘It’s Jamie. My mum’s been visiting him in Feltham and she swears blind that he didn’t kill Molly. He wrote me this letter. Read it,’ Johnny urged.

      Deborah’s eyes filled with