ran downstairs an' caught me. Gave me the beatin' of me life.
Never was one to hold back with his fists, my dad. So he beat me, and my auntie came downstairs without
clothes on, tried to stop 'im, and he hit her too. Just smacked her one in the eye and she fell down, all naked
and that. Mum came home later —she'd already heard what had 'ap-pened from her sister—and she and
Dad had a row. Real screaming, shouting match right in front of me, while I held a cold flannel against my
mouth and cheek where he'd hit me. I thought he'd hit her too, but he didn't, and then she ran away.
Just...left." He shook his head, looking down at the scarred timber table, as though searching for clues to his
mother's whereabouts in the scratched names.
"What about your dad?"
"Kicked me out. Said he'd never wanted me, I'd ruined his life, and told me to piss off an' ruin
someone else's."
"Fucking hell, Cadge."
He grinned. "Told you. Not much fun." He noisily sucked up the dregs of his drink, and a few eyes
turned their way.
"Just fucked-up adults, Cadge, that's all. They didn't mean it, I'm sure."
"Maybe not Mum," he said. "Maybe not her." He seemed to drift away for a time. Jazz let him. She
finished her drink and scanned the street outside. Tourists, office workers —she could tell them apart with
ease—and she spent a couple of minutes picking out people who'd have fat wallets. She seemed to be a
natural at this thieving lark. Her mum had always told her to be observant, cautious, secre-tive.
She gasped and closed her eyes, catching a whiff of perfume that reminded her of so much. Waking
from nightmares and she's there for me, ready to calm and soothe... Arriving home from school and
she gives me a kiss, and I can always sense her re-lief that I'm okay... Passing her bedroom in the
morning, seeing her staring into the mirror, smelling that perfume she always used and feeling both
contented and sad...
"What is it?" Cadge asked. His hand closed around her upper arm, warm and protective.
Jazz opened her eyes. "Beautiful," she said. "Perfume my mum always wore." She glanced around
and saw a tall, smart woman just sitting down at a table. Perhaps she had a daughter too, and perhaps her
daughter would not appreci-ate her fully until she was gone.
"Beautiful," Cadge said. "That's something to hold on to, Jazz."
She nodded. "It is. Come on, let's go."
"Yeah." He slipped from the stool and grabbed her hand, and Jazz gave him a brief squeeze. He
beamed. "Yeah! This'll be fun."
They exited the shop and turned left, and the crush of pedestrians forced Cadge to let go of her hand.
Jazz weaved through the people, head down but eyes always looking for-ward.
The chemist was on a corner at the T-junction of two streets. A pub took up the opposite corner, one
of those old London boozers with leaded stained-glass windows and his-tory oozing from every glazed
brick. There was not quite so much bustle here, and a woman smiled thinly at Jazz as she walked by. What
does she see? Jazz thought. She'd come topside that morning wearing nondescript jeans, a baggy T-shirt,
and a denim jacket, the clothes worn but not tatty. Why did she smile? Jazz turned and watched the
woman walking away, and Cadge frowned a question.
"Nothing," Jazz said.
"Calm down," Cadge said. "You know how it'll go. Take it easy. This is what I'm good at. Just follow
my lead." With those few words, Cadge took charge. He glanced at his watch, listened for the sound he
was waiting for —raised voices—and then walked past Jazz and approached the shop.
Timing was crucial, and Jazz marveled at how perfectly it flowed.
Hattie ran from the shop, screeching and scattering packets and bags behind her: toothpaste, throat
lozenges, corn plasters, and sun cream. She darted straight across the road and pelted down the street,
waving a bag over her head.
A man shouted in the shop, a deep, angry roar, and then Stevie Sharpe leaped from the door. He
stood there looking around for a few seconds, eyes skimming past Cadge, paus-ing briefly on Jazz, and
passing on. His long hair swung as he spun around and saw Hattie disappearing along the street.
A man appeared beside Stevie wearing the white coat of a pharmacist, and Jazz froze. He's caught!
she thought. He should have run faster, shouldn't have looked around for us, shouldn't have looked
at me!
But then she saw what was happening.
"I'll get her, mister!" Stevie said. And he took off after Hattie.
Cadge did not break pace at all. He slipped into the
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