A Daughter’s Courage: A powerful, gritty new saga from the Sunday Times bestseller. Kitty Neale

it would be back in his own pocket later.

      ‘Thanks very much. Merry Christmas,’ the landlord answered.

      Robbie stood and slyly watched as money went over the bar. The landlord was rushed off his feet, but between serving customers he did manage to have the odd word or two with Robbie.

      ‘You’re not from around here?’

      ‘No,’ Robbie answered, ‘I’m from London.’

      ‘Whereabouts? I’ve got family in the Smoke,’ the landlord asked.

      ‘Knightsbridge way,’ Robbie fibbed.

      ‘It’s nice around there. My family come from around the East India docks. Tough old game that, being a docker. I got out of it a few years back and set up here. Tom’s my name – you stopping for another?’

      ‘Nice to meet you, Tom. I’m Graham,’ he lied, ‘and yes, I’ll have another pint. Get yourself another drink too,’ he said, thinking that this was all going according to his hastily put-together plan. Tom seemed like an affable bloke. He was overweight, a bit taller and older than him, but Robbie felt he already had the man on side.

      ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Tom said and poured himself a shot of whisky which he drank quickly before having to serve another customer.

      By about ten o’clock, the pub was beginning to empty and Tom looked worn out. Robbie would have to be his most charming self if he was going to pull this one off.

      ‘Err, Tom. Why don’t you grab a drink and come join me for a while? You look like you could do with a bit of a breather.’

      ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Tom replied. ‘My daughter was supposed to come over and give me a hand tonight, but she got stuck indoors with her little ’un. Little bleeder’s come down with chicken pox. Never mind, I got through it, but I’m worn out.’

      ‘It’s Christmas Day tomorrow so I expect you’ll have the day off to spend with your family?’ Robbie pried.

      ‘Yeah, but the missus passed away a couple of years ago. Still, I’m off to my daughter’s for lunch tomorrow. A few spots won’t keep me away from the grandson, not on Christmas Day. What about you, are you driving back to London tonight?’

      ‘I was planning to, but I’ve had one too many to drive. Are there any decent hotels in the area?’

      Tom rubbed his unshaven face. ‘You’ll be hard pushed to find a room at this time of night.’

      ‘Blast it. Oh well, I might as well have another pint. I can sleep in my car, that’s if you don’t mind me being parked up outside all night?’

      ‘You can’t do that – you’ll freeze to death. Tell you what, as it’s Christmas, you can have my spare room for tonight, but you’ll have to be up and out early in the morning.’

      ‘That’s really good of you. Thanks, Tom. I’ll pay you for the room and I won’t take no for an answer.’

      ‘If you insist,’ Tom answered.

      ‘I do,’ Robbie said with a laugh. ‘Drink up, and let’s both have another.’

      As closing time approached, Tom staggered over to the bell behind the bar and rang it, signalling last orders. There were only a handful of customers left, who soon finished up their drinks and bade Tom a cheery farewell as they left.

      Robbie helped the landlord lock up and then poured him another drink. He reckoned that Tom could only handle a couple more and hoped the man would then pass out.

      ‘So what brings you out to these parts then, Graham? It’s a long way from home,’ Tom asked as he took a stool at the bar.

      ‘Nothing special. I was on my way home from visiting my sister in Guildford and decided to take the scenic route back.’

      ‘That’s a lovely little motor you’ve got out the front. It must have cost you a packet. What do you do for a living?’

      ‘I’ve got a haulage business. It’s been hard work building it up, but it does me all right. I don’t get much time off so this is nice, just sitting here and relaxing with a decent ale and good company. Cheers.’ Robbie held out his pint to clink glasses and was pleased when Tom swiftly swallowed his whisky.

      ‘Look at the time,’ Tom slurred. ‘It’s nearly midnight so best we make this the last one and hit the sack.’

      ‘One more for the road, eh? Come on, man, it’s Christmas,’ said Robbie encouragingly.

      ‘Go on then, jush one more. And mewwy cwissmass …’ Tom’s head was bobbing and his eyes were slowly closing.

      Robbie wanted to punch the air with delight but refrained from doing so. This was just what he wanted – an unconscious landlord with a till full of money.

      ‘Let’s get you upstairs,’ he said gleefully as he heaved the large man up from the barstool.

      ‘I … I … I’ve gotta lock the doors and cash up,’ Tom moaned, belching loudly.

      ‘You’ve already done it, remember? Let’s just get our heads down and I’ll help you clear up the bar in the morning.’

      Tom mumbled incoherently as Robbie hauled him up the stairs. ‘Where’s your room, Tom?’

      ‘Ssthere,’ he slurred, staggering towards it.

      Robbie helped Tom over to his bed and the man almost fell onto it. He threw some covers over him and then rapidly made his way back down to the bar.

      This was a piece of cake, Robbie thought as he helped himself to a quick glass of brandy. His eyes surveyed the bar and he realised there was more than just a cash register full of money on offer. He could help himself to several large bottles of expensive spirits too.

      Robbie searched under the bar and found a bag that he stuffed with notes from the till. He quickly calculated that there was about fifty quid, if not more, so it wasn’t a bad haul. The landlord had been too drunk to realise that Robbie still had the pub keys, so grabbing a bottle of whisky he made for the doors.

      The cold hit him as he dashed outside, where he put the bag of cash and the bottle in the boot of his car before going back inside for more booze. In his haste Robbie let the door slam shut behind him, but he wasn’t bothered as he was pretty sure that not even a bomb under the bed would stir Tom.

      He filled his arms with bottles of spirits then suddenly spun around when he heard a growling noise coming from the end of the bar. To his horror he saw Tom standing there, looking very dishevelled and twitching with anger. The man was holding a large wooden club in his hand and Robbie was in no doubt that the ex-docker would readily use it on him.

      ‘It’s not what you think, Tom. I was just filling up and tidying the bar for you.’ Robbie saw Tom’s eyes flit to the till and the empty open drawer. He knew his lies were useless.

      ‘You thought I was too drunk to know what you’re up to, you lying, thieving bastard!’ Tom staggered towards Robbie, brandishing the heavy club, ready to strike.

      Astonished that the man had sobered up enough to make it downstairs, Robbie dropped the bottles and fled for the door. He ran outside and jumped into the car.

      Tom was surprisingly close behind and haphazardly swung the club, just missing his target. ‘You fucking dirty toe-rag! I’ll have you …’ he bawled as he lifted his weapon again, but before he could land a blow the car engine revved into life and Robbie hit the accelerator hard with his foot.

      He sped through the dark and winding country lanes, sniggering to himself. It had been a close call but he had got away with it. It saddened him that he’d have to ditch the car now, but it was very noticeable so he had no choice. He’d been mad to keep it this long, but now he’d nick an old banger, one that even if reported stolen the police would be unlikely to pursue.

      Robbie smiled