Under the flickering orange glow of the estate lamp post, Greg delivers his final ultimatum to a desperate Billy and Danny. Meanwhile, the crescent witnesses an unprecedented shift in solidarity as Martha Green walks side by side with Sandra and Chrissie, and Tommy Higgins rallies the neighborhood to prepare for a physical siege.
The battered black bouncer’s coat didn't move as the Ford Transit van clicked to a halt by the kerb. Greg stood directly under the yellow sodium lamp, his swollen eye looking dark and jagged in the harsh light. He didn't look at Danny as the driver's door opened; his gaze was fixed entirely on Billy Harrison, who was stepping out with his leather mail bag still slung over his shoulder like a lead weight.
"You’ve got that look about you, Billy lad," Greg said, his voice a low, painful rasp against the freezing river air. "The look of a fella who’s just watched his last card drop into the mud at Haydock."
"The tip was a dud, Greg," Danny stammered, scrambling out of the van and holding his hands up. "Red Marauder clipped the hurdle. The sixty quid is gone. We’ve got nothing left until the postie wages clear on Friday."
Greg stepped out of the shadows, his massive frame blocking the pavement. He reached into his pocket, not for a weapon, but for a small, folded piece of Post Office stationery. "Friday's too late, Danny. The investigator’s clerk lives down on my road. He’s already asking why a red van was sitting on hazard lights near Penny Lane while three hundred pounds of student money was moving through the Mathew Street clubs. I’m handing this over at eight tomorrow morning. Your blue uniform won't save you then, Billy."
Billy looked at the paper, his throat completely dry. He could see his own house just fifty yards down the crescent. The kitchen light was on; his mum was probably clearing the table, entirely unaware that the holiday savings his dad had used to square Kevin’s debt had only delayed the execution. "Just give me until tomorrow night, Greg," Billy whispered, his Scouse accent cracking. "My dad... he's organizing something down at the school. The whole estate’s in bother. Just give us one day."
Before Greg could answer, a low murmur of voices echoed from the end of the road.
Billy, Danny, and Greg all turned to look. Walking side by side under the drizzle were Sandra, Chrissie, and Martha Green. Martha was moving slowly, her floral apron tucked into her heavy coat, her head down as Chrissie kept a steady, reassuring arm linked through hers. To anyone who had lived on Dockside since the first brick was laid, the sight was a structural impossibility. The crescent's fiercest busybody was walking in lockstep with the two girls from number four.
"You boys want to clear the pavement," Martha called out, her voice lacking any of its usual sharp venom as she spotted the trio by the lamp post. "There’s heavy work coming down this road tonight, and we don't need lads loitering under the lights."
Greg looked at Martha, then at Sandra and Chrissie, his hard bouncer's expression shifting into one of pure confusion. The fractures on the estate were closing up right in front of him, forced together by a common disaster. He slowly slid the paper back into his pocket, looking dead at Billy. "Tomorrow night, Harrison. When the school meeting finishes. If I don't have the hundred quid by then, the union won't be the only thing collapsing on this road."
As Greg walked away into the dark, Tommy Higgins’s blue Transit rumbled onto the crescent, followed closely by Mike the milkman’s electric float. Tommy didn't park in his driveway; he pulled the heavy van sideways right across the main entrance of the estate gates, blocking the asphalt entirely.
"Oi! Billy! Danny!" Tommy shouted, banging his door shut as he hopped down into the grey slush. "Stop scratching your heads and get down here! Mike’s brought three crates of empty bottles from the depot, and the joiners are bringing the timber from Duke Street. We’re laying the first line of the blockade tonight."
Billy looked from the barricade to his own front door, the heavy brown envelope of secrets still burning a hole in his imagination. The community was digging in for a war against London, but as he walked down the hill to help Tommy lift a heavy wooden pallet into the road, Billy knew his own trenches were already caving in.
Dockside has been developed using AI.
