Chapter 1

The buzzer sounded as the shop door opened. In stepped a man in his early sixties, wearing a grey long overcoat. His hair was white and untidy, and so was his beard. He looked at the queue in front of him and groaned.

               Harry Buttle had shopped in Khan's Mini-Mart for as long as he could recall. When he was a kid, he knew it by the name of Swinton's Newsagents. Mr and Mrs Swinton were an odd couple. Mr Swinton was always friendly and joking, but Mrs Swinton never cracked a smile.

               Once, Harry got double-dared by his best mate to pinch a bar of chocolate—which he did. Mrs Swinton saw him, but said nothing. She just shook her head and gave him a look. Harry had seen that look many times since, and it always reminded him of her.

               The queue shuffled forward, and Harry clicked his fingers. 'Tea bags!' he said, remembering what he had come in for.

               The woman in front turned and glared.

               She was probably in her forties, but her face told a different story. She wore a stained white dress that was too tight for her. Her arms and neck were covered in tattoos, and her perfume stank to high heaven.

               Harry pointed at the shelf next to where she was standing.

               The woman looked him up and down.

               He reached around her, and the woman jerked backward. 'Oi, what's your game?'

               Harry held up his hands, then slowly picked up a box of tea bags.

               'Can I help you, love?' asked Mr Khan from behind the counter.

               The woman tutted, then turned her attention to the shopkeeper.

                'A bottle of Blinding White and twenty Kensington's,' said the woman, opening her purse.

               'Hey, love, you are over eighteen?' asked Mr Khan. He placed a large bottle of cider in a flimsy plastic bag and set it on the counter. 'I don't want to lose my licence for serving you if you're underage.'

               The woman didn't answer and threw her money down.

               Mr Khan smirked, then placed the cigarettes into the bag.

               Checking her purse, the woman tipped out the rest of its contents. 'Give me a number thirteen as well,' she said, pointing at the scratchcard stand.

               'Lucky for some,' said Mr Khan, tearing off a ticket.

               The woman grabbed her shopping and turned to leave.

               'Excuse me, love, but you're ten pence short. And did I mention that we've got a special on manners? Yes, they're free all day!'

               'Piss off!' said the woman as she barged past Harry and left the shop.

               'Charming! Is it me, or are people today just down right rude,' asked Mr Khan, as Harry stepped forward.

               'I don't know, I try and avoid them where I can.'

               'You're a wise man, Mr Buttle. If only I could do the same, but running a shop makes it a little difficult. Anyway, what can I get you? Your usual?'

               'Yes, please, and these as well,' said Harry, placing the tea bags on the counter.

               Mr Khan put a pint of milk and two tins of cat food into a plastic bag.

               'Better make that one,' said Harry, checking the money in his wallet.

               'Okay,' said Mr Khan, ringing the sale in the till.

               Harry glanced at the total on the display and rubbed his chin. 'I think I'd better leave the tea bags as well. I'm a bit short of cash.'

               Mr Khan went to put the tea bags into the bag. 'Don't worry, Mr Buttle, I know I can trust you. You can pay me tomorrow.'

               Harry shook his head. 'No—but thanks. It's fine.'

               He handed over the money and picked up the bag.

               'All right, Mr Buttle. You have a wonderful day and I'll see you tomorrow.'

               Harry nodded and left.

              Camden Cross was once a desirable suburb of the city. But years of neglect and the closure of local businesses caused the area to swiftly fall into decline. Rows of crumbling terraced houses stretched as far as the eye could see. The park, once a pretty place to relax, was now an overgrown dumping ground and gathering place for weirdos. The main high street fared no better. It was lined with boarded-up windows, charity shops, and foul-smelling takeaways.

              Harry glanced into the shop doorway of Henman's Department Store. Once home to the latest fashions, beauty products, and furnishings—now just an empty shell. Just like the other abandoned buildings, it was now used by pigeons, rough sleepers, and vandals.

              'Price of a cuppa?' said the man, sitting on top of his sleeping bag.

              Harry removed his wallet, then turned it upside down, showing it was empty. 'Sorry.'

              The man gave him the V-sign, and Harry walked away.

              After passing the Swindler's Arms pub, he checked for traffic and crossed the road. Just before turning the corner, he glanced over at one of the few remaining shops still trading: Goldberg Jewellers.

              Standing outside, dressed in black, was a man with a beard and thick, dark, wavy hair.

              Harry paused and watched as he removed something from his pocket. He pointed at the shop, and the security shutter started rising. Once clear, he unlocked the front door. But before he entered, he turned to see Harry staring at him.

              Harry raised his hand.

              The man nodded, then went inside.