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For more than a decade two East End families have been locked in a bitter war.
On one side are the Mitchells, a notorious underworld mob from East London's Canning Town. They have an iron in every fire and will resort to intimidation and violence to get what they want. When Stanley Smith's lovely young daughter, Jessica, announces that she is to marry Eddie, the son of mob boss Harry Mitchell, Stanley is horrified, but too afraid to stand in their way.
On the other side are the O'Haras. The Mitchells' biggest rivals are a travelling family who live in nearby Stratford. They compete with the Mitchells for pub protection and the two families hate each other.
Caught between these two families at war, are two innocent children, who will grow up to love the wrong people and spark the last terrible act in the long-running feud. 1988 was a happy year in many people's lives. Some called it The Rave Year, others The Second Summer of Love. For Eddie Mitchell and his family it is neither. 1988 is the year in which his whole dangerous, violent world explodes around him.
be mums together. As the Guns N’ Roses song was played on the radio, Jessica turned it up full blast. She wasn’t usually a fan of rock music, but the song was called ‘Sweet Child O’Mine’, and Jess couldn’t resist joining in with the chorus. Back in Southend, Jed was having trouble inserting his penis inside Frankie. ‘Are you OK?’ he whispered as he finally entered her. ‘I’m fine,’ Frankie lied. She felt as if her insides were being ripped to shreds. ‘I love you, Frankie,’ Jed told her as his
less physically sick he would feel. Frankie woke up feeling like nothing on earth. She was meant to be going over to Kent with Jed to drop off a horse that he’d sold, but she felt too ill to do so. She rang him up to explain. ‘I’m so sorry, Jed. I’ve been as sick as a pig. Do you feel OK? I think that Chinese we ate last night was a bit dodgy.’ Jed laughed. ‘You see me, Frankie – never had a day’s illness in me life. I ain’t even on no doctor’s books. I’ve told you before, you don’t eat enough
properly identified. The coroner had said he was 90% certain that Harry had died of head injuries, but couldn’t be absolutely positive. The only thing everybody could be sure about was that Harry Mitchell had died in one of the worst ways imaginable. Picturing Jimmy O’Hara and his cronies gloating, Eddie smashed his fist against the bedroom wall. O’Hara had held a party round his on Christmas Eve to give himself an alibi, Eddie was certain of that. He obviously hadn’t committed the murder
amazement. He had to be joking, surely. She didn’t even know where Cambridgeshire was, but it sounded a long way away. ‘You are having a laugh, aren’t you?’ Jed stopped at the red traffic light. He leaned towards her and softly kissed her on the lips. ‘No, I’m not having a laugh. It’s where my family comes from. You’ll love it. It’s absolutely beautiful, Frankie, just like you are.’ As his piercing green eyes gently teased her, Frankie looked away. The effect he had on her was abnormal and she
orders, he was always obeyed. ‘How you gonna collar Butch on his own?’ Eddie asked. Harry smiled. ‘Every Wednesday morning Butch travels alone up to Southhall horse market. It’s his only day away from the boys. The horsebox he goes in isn’t kept on the site, he keeps it in a lock-up around the corner. He leaves really early, about half-five and I’m gonna wait for him at the lock-up.’ Reg nodded. He loved the idea. ‘What you gonna do? Frighten him or finish him off?’ Harry shrugged. ‘I dunno.