Rock a Bye Baby by Mia Dolan Page A

grandmother had never before insisted she go outside while she changed from her day dress – except on those occasions when she asked questions about her mother – as she had now.
    Alan Taylor’s sleek Jaguar slid to a stop outside the Brooks’s place. He kept the motor running while he checked his appearance in the rear-view mirror, combing and patting his hair to hide areas where it was thinning.
    He smiled. ‘Not bad for your age, old son.’
    Satisfied that he was still the ticket, he jumped out of the car, smoothed his hair back one more time and rapped on the door.
    Babs answered. The state of her face threw him for a second – not that he was all that surprised. Tony was the sort of bloke who liked to think he was in charge of his family. He got pissed off when anyone tried to prove otherwise. He guessed Babs had been pushing her luck with someone, though she must have kept quiet about their own brief fling – he’d have heard from Tony before this if she hadn’t. Full marks to her for keeping her mouth shut. Maybe he should slip her a few quid for that.
    ‘Fell down the stairs, girl?’ he said blithely as he breezed into the tiny front room of Tony’s gaff.
    Babs threw him a meaningful look that he chose to ignore. Now to test Tony’s frame of mind.
    The bloke who’d helped him with a very profitable job down in Dover came in from the back somewhere.
    ‘Tony! You’re looking better, my old china! And smelling like violets,’ he said with a wink to denote that he was joking. ‘Your girl ready to go out and trip the light fantastic, is she? I’ve left our Rita waiting down at the Crown in Leysdown.’
    Tony looked surprised, but also better at ease. ‘She didn’t say you were giving her a lift.’
    ‘There and back, old son. Got to make sure they’re safe, haven’t you. Never know what perverts are about nowadays. I said I’d pick them up and take them home afterwards.’
    ‘Good of you to give her a lift.’
    ‘No goodness about it, mate. Glad to do the favour.’
    Everything was OK. Alan had known Tony Brooks for a while and before that by reputation. Not the brightest bloke he was ever likely to meet, though not the thickest either. Alan prided himself on being a good judge of character and hand-picked the blokes he had working for him. He worked out their strengths and their weaknesses, then used them accordingly. He could play blokes like a violinist could play a violin, though more profitably. They carried the can, he reaped the proceeds.
    Tony Brooks had one big flaw: his pride. He was the sort who could get well out of order if his pride was hurt. Alan made sure he never dented his pride. Couldn’t count Babs of course; just a moment of weakness on his part – a few quid in her pocket would keep her sweet and her mouth shut.
    ‘How about I come with you and we have a pint or two?’ Tony suggested.
    Alan shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted. ‘Can’t, mate. Got a little errand to do after dropping off your girl. Could pick you up after though. How about that?’
    ‘Suits me fine,’ said Tony, looking and sounding sincerely grateful. ‘Gives me a chance to settle in like.’
    He threw a meaningful look at Babs. Alan got the gist of it – Tony was making up for lost time and the lack of female company in Wandsworth. Poor cow would have trouble walking by the end of the week. Likely have a bun in the oven as well.
    His attention was diverted to Marcie who had just come down the stairs. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed. That was the saying that came to mind, though he was after a bit more than that. Women were glorious no matter what age they were, but there was nothing like a young piece of fruit that hadn’t yet been picked.
    At the sound of the door opening, he turned round and adopted his most disarming smile. ‘And here comes Tony Brooks’s little princess. My, my, girl, all the young fellahs in Sheppey are going to be after you. You’ll have your old dad