PROLOGUE

I was born in 1943, in Stratford, East London. A war baby, I was my mother’s first child and would turn out to be her only.

I never had a dad, but I had lots of different uncles who’d visit. Some were nicer to me than others.

Then Uncle Pete turned up on the scene and, unlike all the others, he didn’t disappear. Quite the opposite, he moved in with us.

Even though I was only six, I could tell Uncle Pete couldn’t stand the sight of me. I tried to be a good boy, keep out of his way so I didn’t antagonize him. That didn’t stop the beatings though, especially if he’d been down the boozer. He’d just stroll into my bedroom and start on me for no valid reason.

One day, after being whipped on my bare arse with Uncle Pete’s leather belt, I caught two buses and managed to find my grandparents’ home in Canning Town. I was in agony, had to stand up throughout the journey as it was too bloody painful to sit down.

Me granddad went ballistic, shot straight out the house.

My nan comforted me, bathed my sores and made me numerous cups of sweet tea.

I never lived with my mum again after that. I moved in with me nan and granddad. I was much happier there. Life was good for a while. Nan and Granddad never seemed to be poor like a lot of people. Granddad didn’t have a normal job, but sometimes he’d come home with lots of money and give me some. I recall asking him how he earned his money once. I was about nine at the time and I’ll never forget his words to me. He looked me in the eyes and said, ‘Kenny, one day when you’re old enough, I’ll teach you all about my world. I promise.’ After that I was always intrigued about Granddad’s world. Sometimes he’d go missing for almost a week, but Nan never seemed too concerned when I asked if Granddad was OK. ‘Your Granddad’s fine, boy. He’s on

a bit of work,’ she’d chuckle.
Tragedy struck first just after my tenth birthday. Nan

went off to Rathbone Street market one day, came home complaining of terrible stomach pains, spent the night on the sofa, and me and Granddad woke up to find her dead the following morning.

Granddad was never the same after Nan’s death. He lost his sparkle, seemed to give up on life and earning money. He rarely ate and started hitting the whisky. Would sit in his favourite armchair and drink a whole bottle before lunchtime. So I was packed off to live with me mum’s sister, Aunt Nelly.

Aunt Nelly was nice, lived in Bow. She’d never married, had no kids, but she felt warmer to me than my real mum ever had. She would praise me, show me love by hugging me. Affection, I wasn’t used to that. Only my nan had ever hugged me in the past. Not once do I remember my own mother doing so. She never even stepped in when Uncle Pete smashed the living daylights out of me.

I was still worried about my granddad, would regularly visit him, urging him to teach me about his world, like he’d once promised to. Unfortunately, by that time he was unable to piece together a coherent sentence. I was gutted. Even as an eleven-year-old, I sensed Granddad’s world was destined to be a mystery to me, and that would always haunt me.

Then fate struck. Me grandfather got rushed into the London Hospital one day. It was Aunt Nelly who sat me down and wiped away my tears as she told me he was dying. His liver had packed up on him.

I begged Aunt Nelly to let me see Granddad one last time. She was reluctant, but even she could see I wasn’t exactly your average twelve-year-old boy by that point. Not after what I’d been through in life. I was a proper little man.

Granddad had the same colour eyes as me: a bright, piercing blue. As I greeted him, I saw his eyes light up like they used to for the first time in years. He grabbed my arm and clung to it. ‘Kenny,’ he croaked. ‘Nell, leave me and the boy alone for a minute,’ he added, even though he was struggling to breathe.

Aunt Nelly left the ward, then Granddad smiled. That cheeky smile that I remembered and hadn’t seen for ages. ‘I never told you how I stole a living, did I, boy?’

‘No. Please tell me. I’m old enough now,’ I pleaded.

Granddad held my hand, clasped it like he never wanted to let it go. ‘You are my prodigy, Kenny. I want you to carry on the Bond name.’

‘Go on, Granddad. I will, I swear. I owe you and Nan everything.’

‘Never be a dogsbody. Only work for yourself.’ Grand- dad paused to catch his breath. ‘You earn money any way you can. That’s what I did. Banks, security vans – I’ve held up lorries carrying quality loads. You never thieve off your average man on the street, though. House burglars are vermin. Ya never rob your own, either.’

‘Yeah. But how? I wouldn’t know where to start.’

‘You’ll find ways. You plan. Always be cautious. That’s why me and Nan were never poor like every other bastard. I walked the walk and talked the talk. You can be the next me, Kenny. I can see it in you. The right road is boring. The wrong road is much more fun.’

‘OK,’ I replied. Granddad was taking ages to get a sentence out now, but I got the gist of what he was saying, and I was desperate to make him proud and carry on the Bond name.

‘Marry a good woman like I did. But stay away from the booze. It’s the devil’s work, that. And never forget what I taught ya. The stories, the sayings, they’ve all got mean- ings, boy,’ Granddad panted. I could see he was finding it harder to breathe, his grip on my hand was loosening.

‘I will, Granddad. I promise I’ll do all you say.’

Seconds later, me grandfather shut his eyes and died right in front of me. He had a half-smile on his face that I’ll never forget.

Later that evening, I picked up a pen and pad and wrote down every single quote and saying I remembered Granddad telling me. It was only then I began to under- stand the meaning of life and what carrying on the Bond name truly meant . . .