filled with china dolls and frilly curtains.
Ning reached Nebraska House just before five, but a mix-up in the paperwork meant it was nearer to 7 p.m. before she was allocated one of the care home’s dingy single rooms. Dinner was evil and Ning sent Fay a picture message showing curry and rice with the word, EWW!
Fay texted back a few minutes later, I have a big double bed, the foster-mum makes Victoria sponge cake that’s 2 die 4.
Once she’d settled in her room, Ning called her mission controller, James, to confirm that everything was OK.
‘If you get a chance, pop into room sixteen and see if it still says James Choke on the wall,’ James said.
‘Who the hell is James Choke?’
‘My pre-CHERUB name,’ James explained. ‘I was in Nebraska House for a while after my mum died.’
‘The rooms look like they were painted quite recently,’ Ning said. ‘So how’s Ryan doing?’
*
Friday night drew a crowd of more than fifty to The Hangout, and a few of them were even girls. It was officially a disco night, but although Barry had folded up the ping-pong tables to make space, nobody seemed interested in dancing.
Ryan sat at the back of the room with Abdi, who’d sneaked in an Evian bottle filled with vodka.
‘Where’s the rest of the gang?’ Ryan asked.
Abdi pointed discreetly at the single heavy sitting outside the office. ‘Friday and Saturday are busy,’ he explained. ‘Youssef makes deliveries for a dealer. Sadad’s got a gig as a lookout that pays thirty pounds a night.’
Ryan smiled. ‘You reckon I can make some money?’
Abdi nodded. ‘Not right now, but they’ll find you something once they get used to your face.’
‘What if I just go up and ask?’
‘If you’re lucky they’ll laugh, if you’re unlucky they’ll smack you down. Either way, being pushy’s not gonna help your chances.’
‘So how come you’re not working?’ Ryan asked.
Abdi looked shame-faced at the floor between his legs. ‘A couple of months back I had a little gig selling cocaine and heroin from an alleyway beside my mum’s hairdresser’s shop. Two guys jumped me and stole two hundred quid’s worth of gear. So now I’ve got to pay it back at ten pounds a week for thirty-six weeks.’
‘That’s three hundred and sixty.’
‘Interest,’ Abdi explained. ‘The only reason I didn’t get stomped is because my mum does hair for a lot of Hagar’s boys’ girlfriends.’
‘But you can’t help it if two guys jump you,’ Ryan said.
‘Rules are rules, Ryan. If you’re man enough to take merchandise and sell it, you’ve gotta be man enough to look after it.’
‘You wanna play pool?’ Ryan asked.
‘There’s like twenty people waiting,’ Abdi said, as he took a big slug from his boozed-up Evian bottle. ‘Unless you wanna beat them all up like yesterday.’
Ryan pointed at a fit blonde girl sitting a few metres away. ‘How do you rate my chances with her?’
‘About two per cent,’ Abdi said, as he offered Ryan a slug of his Evian. ‘For courage.’
‘Booze breath won’t help,’ Ryan said, as he stood up. ‘Wish me luck.’
But before Ryan got anywhere near the girl he noticed a big Somali dude coming his way.
Abdi looked up eagerly. ‘What can I do for you, boss?’
‘Where is everyone?’ the dude asked.
‘Out and about,’ Abdi said. ‘I’m available.’
‘You don’t exist until you’ve paid your debts,’ he said, before pointing at Ryan. ‘Walk with me.’
A Flo Rida track started up as Ryan followed the thug across the room and out of the main door where it was quiet.
‘You wanna earn a fast tenner?’
‘Sure,’ Ryan said.
‘You know Dirtyburger?’
Ryan nodded. ‘I’ve never eaten there, but I’ve been past it on the way to school.’
‘OK, I’ve got some people on the Pardew estate that need feeding, you see?’
‘Sure,’ Ryan said.
‘Get five burgers, five fries, five Cokes. Take them up to flat fifty-six. Make sure to ask Clive how it’s going, then you come back and tell me what he says. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ Ryan said, as the man peeled twenty-pound notes out of a roll.
‘Don’t screw up. If you do, don’t show your face around here no more.’
*
Fay went to bed early and set the alarm on her phone for 5 a.m. Her room was comfortable and decorated in neutral shades so that it would suit any short-term foster-kid, from a three-year-old girl to a sixteen-year-old boy.
After waking and taking a piss, Fay crept downstairs and looked in the cupboard by the front door. All she found were shoes and coats, so she walked through to the kitchen. She checked