people. She needed to turn and run right now.
‘Ruth!’ she cried, ‘Come on!’
‘I’m coming!’ Ruth called back, not daring to look away from the people in front of her. She took another couple of retreating steps, and then she began to turn.
But something lanced through the air towards her; a brick, a piece of loose paving . . . it hit her on the back of the head and she lost her footing and tumbled to the ground.
‘Ruth!’ Jenny screamed.
The crowd from the estate were upon her almost immediately and before the mob closed around Ruth’s prone form, Jenny spotted the platinum blonde kneeling down over her, tears streaming from bloodshot eyes, punching Ruth’s face repeatedly with a balled, bony fist.
‘Oh my God!’ she whispered, rooted to the spot.
‘Jenny. For fuck’s sake come inside!’ hissed Paul, standing in the space between the truck and the pavilion.
She turned to look at him. ‘We’ve got to help her! They’ll kill her!’
Jenny turned back to look at the crowd. There seemed to be some amongst them who were reluctant to take part, there were even some who were desperately trying to pull others back off Ruth.
‘Come on, inside!’ Paul grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the gap. ‘There’s nothing we can do for Ruth now.’ He led her to the revolving door, pushed her ahead into the open segment and leant hard against the plastic door to turn it - looking anxiously over his shoulder, as the door slowly moved.
Without power turning it, he had to work hard to budge it.
Jenny emerged from the segment into the greenhouse heat of the foyer, just as Paul dived into the next open segment. She saw the first of the mob squeeze around the front of the truck, and along the pavilion wall towards the door, hammering their fists on the thick plastic to intimidate them.
‘Come on Paul!’ she screamed, and reached out to grab a panel as it swung round in front of her. She threw her weight against it, and the door turned a little faster.
Paul emerged just as the first of them entered an open segment. He quickly grabbed a bucket seat from nearby and wedged it into the closing gap. The door shuddered, and through the thick glass she could hear them outside jeering angrily.
Inside, she could hear a pin drop. Mr Stewart’s staff, uncertain what was being shouted at them through the plastic, but clearly understanding the intent behind the jeering and taunting, stared in horrified silence at the pale, enraged faces outside.
One of Stewart’s older ladies, a Nigerian, started crying, repeating something over and over.
A prayer?
Jenny’s blood ran cold. ‘They killed her,’ she muttered to herself. ‘They killed Ruth.’
And we’re going to be next.
CHAPTER 62
9.51 p.m. GMT Shepherd’s Bush, London
If this had been a normal night, like, for example, this time last year, they would have been out in their tiny backyard. Perhaps Dad would have barbecued some kebabs, and Mum would have rustled up some salad and spoon-bread. She would almost certainly have invited over the neighbours from across the street, the DiMarcios, because they made Mum laugh. Dad probably would have kept to himself though, he just wasn’t that good with Mum’s crowd.
The point is, it being so warm now that the predictable early June clouds had gone away, they would have been outside, enjoying it - getting tipsy on sangria.
Instead she was trapped inside someone else’s home, an unfamiliar environment, looking out at the last light of a warm summer evening.
Leona looked out of the front-room window - the blind drawn across to hide her - on to the avenue. She saw the net curtains twitch upstairs at the DiMarcios’ house. They must still be there then; hiding like her and Jake, and hoping nothing about the outside of their hiding place would attract the attention of the gang tonight.
Last night had been truly terrifying, hearing the sounds of them breaking in to someone’s home, just thirty or so yards up St Stephen’s Avenue. Leona had heard a lot of voices; cheering, shouting, laughing. In and amongst that cacophony, she swore she heard someone screaming somewhere in that house.
She wished she hadn’t.
‘Are the Bad Boys back again?’ asked Jacob anxiously, looking up from the deck of cards he had spread out on the lounge floor.
‘Not yet, Jake. They won’t come out until it’s gone dark.’
Jacob nodded. It was still light now, light enough to be able to read the numbers on his Yu-Gi-Oh cards