Freddie was humming to himself as he slipped inside his flat in Barking. It was a nice gaff on Highbridge Road, with a decent view of the River Roding. Of course, the river was nearly stagnant and not much to look at, but it was decent property by all means, and Fred was proud of the little home he'd made for himself.
Outside of the occasional sloshed bird he brought home, the place was normally empty, outside of a mongrel named Alfie. He was an illegal breed (at least since the passed the legislations); a Staffordshire bull terrier, short and stocky with a rather muscular build. The big black fella was resting on the sofa and perked his head up upon his master's entry, huge tongue lapping out the side of his mouth almost immediately in excitement.
'Hello, Alfie!' Fred greeted him cheerfully, grinning from the drink and his elation over the night's events. He had known about the Greeks for some time now. He always kept an ear close to the ground—if old Archy had taught him anything, it was that having eyes and ears all over the city was an important part of business. Personally, Freddie didn't really find the bubbles to be much of a threat, but the sheer fact that they even wanted in on the jobs meant he was being slagged off. If someone thought they were good enough to take over, that meant he wasn't up to the task, right? As far as he was concerned, the Greek bastards needed to be put in their places. And if he had things his way, that would be six feet underground.
But the best part of the night, by far, had been making good with Stella. Hell of a woman, she was. "High calibre" he liked to call it. She was a different breed, then again the posh ones always were. It was the little things that separated them from the rest; she was done up from head to toe, always well-maintained, manicured, and clean. He loved the cleanliness of her, the natural scent that emanated from her skin, sort of like a baby's downy head. There was just something grimy about most of the birds he was with, and they had bad teeth, too. He couldn't stand that in a woman, the untidiness of her. But Stella, she was something else. Something wonderful, and the funny part of it was that she wanted him. Him, of all people!
Footsteps on the lino alerted him, and he peered up to see his sister, Frankie, leaning on the wall of the doorway. She was wearing a silk, cream-coloured blouse, and nothing else, outside the jewellery she'd forgotten to take off. Her hair was a mess, and even pissed as he was Freddie could tell she'd been drinking, too. Then again, she always was those days.
'Well,' began Fred in good humour, looking at Alfie with an amused expression. 'What kinda guard dog you turned out to be, eh?'
Frankie sniffed and rubbed her tired face, which was slightly puffy from sleep. 'I need to talk to ya, Freddie.'
He took his time setting down his keys and hanging up his jacket before slowly approaching her near the hall, his feet sliding against the kitchen flooring with each step. When he reached her, he put his hands on her narrow waist, feeling her through the soft material of her blouse. 'You look good.'
As he kissed her lips and neck, she turned her head away from him and blinked her watery eyes at the ceiling. 'Freddie, Freddie, stop,' she said firmly, pushing at his chest. 'Please, I wanna talk.'
Pulling back, he looked at her as if she'd grown a second head before his expression softened slightly and he nodded a few times, his eyes intense as they normally were. 'All right. Talk.'
Slipping away from him, she stepped further into the kitchen and pressed her palms flat against the counter top while she thought over her words carefully. 'I'm having a really hard time, Freddie.'
He blew out a breath from between his teeth and nodded, wide-eyed, as if to say, "Well that's bloody obvious". Fortunately, she couldn't see this gesture, and took a shaky breath before continuing:
'It's been hard lately, with you gone all the time. And now Junior's getting married, and Donny's come back . . . ' She closed her eyes and swallowed, her voice cracking. 'I feel worthless. And old. And I'm scared, and lonely, and . . .'
Here she turned around to face him, pushing back her long brown hair out of her eyes. 'I need my bruvver. I need you, Fred.'
'Aw, babe,' he said in that deep baritone of his, stepping across the lino to wrap his arms around her again. 'C'mere. I'm here for you, Franks. I always have been, haven't I? Ever since we was kids.' He kissed her tears and stroked her hair gently, feeling her sigh against his touch. 'I been out of me mind with worry about you. You been a bit off yer trolley lately, ain't you.'
The accusation stung, but Frankie nodded against his chest. Freddie chuckled and held her tighter.
'Well, I'm here now, baby. Let old Freddie handle everything. You shoulda come to me sooner. I thought Donny had a handle on things, or I woulda done me duty and took care of you proper. Then again, I suppose I shoulda known better meself. Donny's always been a few sarnies short of a picnic. Couldn't trust him to have a handle on a bicycle, knowing him.'
Kissing her once more, he looked down into her eyes and said, 'Come on, now, how about we get you cleaned up, eh?'
There was something hesitant in Frankie's eyes, and she bided a few moments of time by toying with the top few buttons on his shirt. She was chewing on her plush lower lip for a bit before speaking up. 'I ain't been with anyone else, you know.'
Freddie blinked. 'Huh?'
'Since Tommy. I ain't been with anyone else but you.' Now she was looking at him, her silver eyes glossed-over with tears. 'But you've been out shagging around the whole time.'
Fred's brows furrowed defensively, and he shook his head a few times, stroking her arms. 'Don't be silly now. Come on, I'll run you a bath.'
Her voice was low and cracked as she spoke, her eyes not quite meeting his. 'I can smell her perfume.'
He sniffed and blinked his bleary eyes a few times, head cocked to the side as he stared at her in disbelief. Frankie straightened out her posture, struggling to look him in the eye as his gaze bored into her like a drill through her skull. Each word that spilled from her lips wavered as if it were made of water. 'It's like you don't care about me. You say you care, but you don't spend time with me any more, and you shag any tart with a pair of fake tits.'
Pressing her lips together briefly, she shook her head, a tear escaping the corner of her eye and rolling down her cheek. She was filling the silence now, rambling. 'I try and get a shag, and look what happens to the bloke. Except no one can, can they, because he's disappeared into thin fucking air, just like anyone else I might want to be with. I know what happens to them, Freddie. I know you done summink to him. I know you done summink to Tommy.'
Freddie inhaled through his nose and spoke at last, nodding a few times before any words came out. 'Get a hold of yourself, Franks.'
Turning from her, he faced the table and began unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off and leaving him in a thin, white vest, revealing the number of faded tattoos that lined his shoulders and chest.
Frankie's breath was coming in quick pants and the tears began rolling down her cheeks. 'You killed Tommy, didn't you? You killed him because he fucked me.'
Freddie's fist slammed into the table and his sister couldn't prevent the squeak from escaping her throat. In an instant, he'd flipped around and jabbed a ring-adorned finger against her breast bone. 'You don't know what you're fucking talking about. I didn't kill Tommy, you mad woman. Tommy moved to Deptford.'
'Oh yeah?' she pressed on, despite knowing she was being argumentative for the sake of it. She couldn't control herself; the words were forcing their way out from her throat like vomit. 'Then why don't he work for me no more? Why don't he talk to me no more?'
Freddie was seething, his nostrils flaring in anger, and he lowered his face mere centimetres from hers, his breath hot and pungently tinged with the scent of Teacher's. 'Maybe it's because you was such a bad shag.'
The slap was automatic, and the sound rang through the gaff, which was silent except for the sound of Alfie's nervous panting as he watched the scene unfolding before him.
Immediately, Frankie knew she had made a mistake. She could see the rage in her brother's eyes; he was losing himself into his emotions again, and this time she wasn't sure she could pull him out of it.
Before she could open her mouth to attempt to diffuse the situation, he'd brought back his hand and swung it violently at her. The blow to the side of her head hit her so hard she was knocked onto the floor, and she gasped loudly, opening and closing her mouth a few times as she tried to come out of the fog of her dizziness.
She was in disbelief, and she could already feel the side of her face beginning to swell. Deciding not to say anything else, she clamped her mouth shut and began crawling away, one eye closed from the pain, but the sudden feeling of her brother's hand grabbing her by the hair made her shriek.
'Why do you have to ruin everything?!' he screamed at her, shaking her head back and forth. The dog was barking in excitement, unaware if they were fighting or playing. 'I had a good day today, and here you come in, starting fights with me! Why the fuck do you do that, you slag?! Tell me! Tell me!'
Roughly, he shoved her from him, and she skidded back on the lino. It was only after this as he saw her lying there, frail and bruised, and noticed the long strands of brown hair in his hand that had been yanked out from the root, that he realised the severity of what he had done. His anger subsided and was replaced by the horror of the fact he'd hurt his sister. His Frankie, the woman he loved and cared about more than anyone, his first love, his only love. Frankie, whom he'd shared nights with in the caravan, and the old estate, learning how their bodies worked together, in an attempt to sort through the confusion her mum had left in him with her touching and teachings. Frankie was his everything, and he'd hurt her. Badly.
She was looking at him with hate in her eyes, and it struck him like a dagger. He wanted to take it all back, to go back in time, and not let his anger get the best of him, but when he reached out to her, she pulled away, as if the thread that had once connected them had been severed.
'Frankie . . . '
'Don't,' she spat, pointing her finger at him. 'Don't you dare "Frankie" me.'
'I'm sorry—'
'Sorry?!' she nearly screamed. A hysterical laugh escaped her throat. 'You're fucking mental, is what you are! You're not my bruvver, you're a fucking animal, Freddie! An head case! How are you gonna control East End when you can't even control yourself?!'
He swallowed thickly. Frankie had never, ever spoken to him like this before. And she was the only person in the fucking galaxy who could and get away with it. He didn't feel anger. He was filled with nothing but remorse.
Reaching out for her arm, he attempted to grab her and keep her close to him, but she jerked out from his touch violently and her face contorted into an emotion he had never seen on her before in his entire life. Pure loathing.
'Don't you fucking touch me!' she screamed, and as she did so she brought her hand across his face. Her nails cut into his flesh, and he could feel four distinct scratches across his cheek, which slowly began to bleed. Jabbing her finger at him, she shouted, 'Don't you dare touch me, you bastard!'
Without another word, Frankie stood from the floor and bustled off to collect her things and dress herself, leaving Freddie to stare at the ground, mortified at what he'd done. To his own bloody sister and all.
His hand was trembling as his fingers slowly closed around the hair he had ripped from her scalp. He was only vaguely aware of Frankie's presence as she moved through the flat, until he was jarred from his thoughts when the front door slammed shut and left him with a deafening silence.
A few long, solitary moments passed before an uncontrollable feeling welled up into his body, and he rose from the floor, inhaling and exhaling through his nose hurriedly. And then, like a geyser, all the anger inside of him exploded, and he slammed his fist into the wall hard enough to break through the plaster, again and again, until his knuckles bled.
'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!'