own. They didn’t need her around.
****
Slipping his arms into his shirt, Charlie tugged up the collar and checked himself out in the mirror. Yeah, that’d do. Looked the business in his club gear, Charlie did. Always dressed to impress—and the birds always were. That’s most likely what got DI Short’s goat up earlier, those two girls obviously giving him the eye. Miserable old git probably hadn’t had his leg over in decades, if ever.
Far from annoyed at the copper’s feeble attempts at intimidation though, Charlie had been quite relieved. Short said it was a Stop and Search, picking on him, as per. Charlie had been a bit nervous, he had to admit. He thought Rachel might have been pissed off enough after the accident to go telling tales. The last thing Charlie needed was getting dragged into the station when he needed to be making some dosh, while Short tried every trick in the book to keep him there.
He shouldn’t worry, though. Rachel was stuck on him, after all, wasn’t she? Probably hoping he would go around to her mum’s with a bunch of flowers, the silly bint.
Good job he hadn’t been carrying anything other than a regular pack of fags, though. Wouldn’t put it past DI Short to drag him in if he got so much as a sniff of a spliff. As it was, the copper’s car door had been more dented than Charlie’s pride. Serve him right. Charlie didn’t take kindly to police intimidation.
Giving himself an approving wink, he ran some wax through his hair, then smoothed his shirt over his torso and admired himself from both sides. He’d rather have worn the FCUK shirt, but there was no way he was getting that out of the bin after the tart had been in it. Still, this one was good. Slim cut, black with a fine white stripe, it showed off his physique.
Charlie flexed his pecs. Disciplined, that’s what he had told Steve he was. Fifty sit-ups every morning, gym five nights a week, that’s what gets you muscles, like these, mate.
That was a bit of a lie, but still … he was toned . He’d have ‘em gagging for it at the nightclub. So long as it was a skinny one gagging for it. Charlie couldn’t abide fat and flabby. Made him puke. Which reminded him, the tart had spewed in the kitchen. Must have been feeling a bit dodgy, poor cow. But then, they had to learn who was boss, as far as Charlie was concerned. There’d be no bloody men left in fifty years’ time if they didn’t reassert themselves. Wiping some aftershave under his armpits, Charlie headed for the door, feeling pleased with himself.
He was hot to trot tonight, no doubt about it. The heroin had hit the spot.
****
Kayla wriggled into her leggings and pulled her trackie top over her snake-print cami, which wasn’t quite appropriate attire for such a sombre occasion. The rose tattoo on her left boob they wouldn’t be overjoyed about either.
She dropped her smokes and mobile into her backpack and had a quick check she had everything she needed: make-up bag, earrings, platform shoes, spare knickers … She scanned the room. Ah, yes, and Chloé . She popped that in for good measure, then inched her door open to have a listen.
What were they doing down there? Talk about prolonging the agony. She peered along the landing. All quiet on the Western front. Was that a good sign? Or had they killed each other already?
Kayla headed for the stairs, creeping down the first four steps—expertly avoiding the squeaky one, and deposited herself on the fifth.
****
‘It’s just the washer, I think,’ Daniel said, drying his hands as he came into the kitchen from the utility after checking the tap. ‘I could drop by tomorrow and have a go at it, if you like?’
Jo glanced at him, then quickly away. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I would do it myself but the plumbing in this house has always been a mystery to me. I’d fix the tap and end up drowning us all. Um, I mean, Kayla and …’
She trailed off awkwardly, turning away to reach for the kettle. ‘Tea or
****
Slipping his arms into his shirt, Charlie tugged up the collar and checked himself out in the mirror. Yeah, that’d do. Looked the business in his club gear, Charlie did. Always dressed to impress—and the birds always were. That’s most likely what got DI Short’s goat up earlier, those two girls obviously giving him the eye. Miserable old git probably hadn’t had his leg over in decades, if ever.
Far from annoyed at the copper’s feeble attempts at intimidation though, Charlie had been quite relieved. Short said it was a Stop and Search, picking on him, as per. Charlie had been a bit nervous, he had to admit. He thought Rachel might have been pissed off enough after the accident to go telling tales. The last thing Charlie needed was getting dragged into the station when he needed to be making some dosh, while Short tried every trick in the book to keep him there.
He shouldn’t worry, though. Rachel was stuck on him, after all, wasn’t she? Probably hoping he would go around to her mum’s with a bunch of flowers, the silly bint.
Good job he hadn’t been carrying anything other than a regular pack of fags, though. Wouldn’t put it past DI Short to drag him in if he got so much as a sniff of a spliff. As it was, the copper’s car door had been more dented than Charlie’s pride. Serve him right. Charlie didn’t take kindly to police intimidation.
Giving himself an approving wink, he ran some wax through his hair, then smoothed his shirt over his torso and admired himself from both sides. He’d rather have worn the FCUK shirt, but there was no way he was getting that out of the bin after the tart had been in it. Still, this one was good. Slim cut, black with a fine white stripe, it showed off his physique.
Charlie flexed his pecs. Disciplined, that’s what he had told Steve he was. Fifty sit-ups every morning, gym five nights a week, that’s what gets you muscles, like these, mate.
That was a bit of a lie, but still … he was toned . He’d have ‘em gagging for it at the nightclub. So long as it was a skinny one gagging for it. Charlie couldn’t abide fat and flabby. Made him puke. Which reminded him, the tart had spewed in the kitchen. Must have been feeling a bit dodgy, poor cow. But then, they had to learn who was boss, as far as Charlie was concerned. There’d be no bloody men left in fifty years’ time if they didn’t reassert themselves. Wiping some aftershave under his armpits, Charlie headed for the door, feeling pleased with himself.
He was hot to trot tonight, no doubt about it. The heroin had hit the spot.
****
Kayla wriggled into her leggings and pulled her trackie top over her snake-print cami, which wasn’t quite appropriate attire for such a sombre occasion. The rose tattoo on her left boob they wouldn’t be overjoyed about either.
She dropped her smokes and mobile into her backpack and had a quick check she had everything she needed: make-up bag, earrings, platform shoes, spare knickers … She scanned the room. Ah, yes, and Chloé . She popped that in for good measure, then inched her door open to have a listen.
What were they doing down there? Talk about prolonging the agony. She peered along the landing. All quiet on the Western front. Was that a good sign? Or had they killed each other already?
Kayla headed for the stairs, creeping down the first four steps—expertly avoiding the squeaky one, and deposited herself on the fifth.
****
‘It’s just the washer, I think,’ Daniel said, drying his hands as he came into the kitchen from the utility after checking the tap. ‘I could drop by tomorrow and have a go at it, if you like?’
Jo glanced at him, then quickly away. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I would do it myself but the plumbing in this house has always been a mystery to me. I’d fix the tap and end up drowning us all. Um, I mean, Kayla and …’
She trailed off awkwardly, turning away to reach for the kettle. ‘Tea or
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