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introduced a uniform policy for the younger pupils, and while Steph was still allowed to attend school in her own clothes, Angela unfortunately wasn’t.
    ‘What am I gonna do if Jacko looks in my bag and sees my uniform, Steph?’ she asked, with panic in her voice.
    ‘Don’t put your bag down. You’ve no need to if you’re walking round Romford, have you?’ Stephanie replied, suspiciously. She had a gut feeling her sister was lying about where she and Wayne were supposedly going to.
    ‘Please walk to the Heathway with me, Steph. I’ll quickly get changed in the bogs, then you can take my bag to school with you.’
    ‘I ain’t lugging your poxy bag about with me all day. It’s bad enough I’ve gotta forge you a note from Mum,’ Stephanie said, angrily.
    Angela had a habit of being nice to her sister when she wanted a favour in return. ‘Please Steph, I beg you. I’d do it for you. What about that time I stole that lipstick out of Boots for you because you were too frightened to nick it yourself? I’d do anything for you, you know I would.’
    Staring at the look of innocence in her younger sister’s eyes, Stephanie smiled at her. ‘All right, I’ll take the poxy bag, but get your arse in gear ’cause I don’t wanna be late for school. Your lies will get you into big trouble one day, Ange, you mark my words.’
     
    Wayne Jackman shuddered as he got into the tide-marked, stained bath. His nan had obviously forgotten to put the immersion heater on again and the water felt like ice.
    Wayne had been brought up in Bonner Street, Bethnal Green. He was the only son of his parents, Jill and Lenny, and had two younger sisters, Lucy and Samantha. Wayne’s childhood was anything but perfect. His dad was always in and out of prison, and money was scarce, but he’d been happy in his own little way. One day in 1978, life had changed dramatically for Wayne when he’d arrived home one evening to find his house cordoned off. His dad had recently been released from Pentonville after serving a three-year sentence for GBH and, seeing as how the police had raided his house in the past, Wayne’s first thought was that his dad had done something bad again.
    ‘I live here. Let me see my mum,’ Wayne had screamed on the evening in question, trying to barge his way through the crowd of coppers.
    It had been Jean, his next-door neighbour who had tearfully broken the news to him. His mother had been stabbed to death by his own father. Months later, Wayne learned the reason behind his father’s actions: his mother had been having an affair while he’d been in prison, and had got pregnant by the man he knew as Uncle Darren.
    After spending a month in care, Wayne was sent to live with his dad’s parents, Doris and Bill. His sisters had already been given a home in Leicester by his mum’s sister, Kim, but she already had a son and didn’t want him. At first, Wayne had missed his sisters immensely, but over the years he’d taken his grandparents’ advice and all but forgotten about them. He had written to them twice, but they had never replied, and if they couldn’t be bothered with him, why should he worry about them?
    ‘Evil little whores. They’ll turn out just like their mother,’ his nan had convinced him.
    Wayne was fairly happy living with his grandparents. They adored the ground he walked on, gave him plenty of money and a free rein to do whatever he wanted. The house was a total shithole and his nan and grandad were heavy drinkers, but neither of these things particularly bothered Wayne. As long as he was clean and wore nice clothes, how they lived their lives was none of his business.
    ‘All right, boy? Whaddya want for breakfast?’ Doris asked her grandson as he sauntered down the stairs.
    ‘Just toast. I’ve gotta go and meet me bird. You’re still going out, ain’t ya?’
    Rolling an Old Holborn cigarette, Bill chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, me and your grandmother won’t stop you from sowing your wild