Alice Jenkins walked home with a genuine smile plastered across her face. The meeting with her lover had gone far better than she could have hoped. At first, she’d been petrified about telling him that she was pregnant, but she needn’t have worried. He professed his love for her and promised to stand by her, then to cap it all, they made love without condoms for the first time. It was so much better.

The closer she got to home, the more her mood turned to apprehension; she still had to tell her parents, but she was sure that they, too, would be happy for her. Alice was naïve, even for a thirteen year old. It was one of the things that first attracted her lover, not that he ever told her that.

Tom and Mary Jenkins were a working class couple with four children, Alice being the youngest by a few years. Tom called himself a builder, but in reality, was little more than a labourer. His evenings and much of his pay was spent down the local boozer, now often accompanied with one or more of his sons. They lived in a council house, on a typical estate. Mary, and to a lesser extent, her husband, was proud of their lives. Tom had always worked, with the odd exception of the occasional bad winter; she had brought up her children well, at least in her eyes.

When the family learned about Alice’s pregnancy, they were not happy, not in the slightest. Mary was concerned about what their neighbours would think and how it would reflect on her. Tom was fuming. How dare any boy touch his angel. He assumed it was rape, even when his daughter told him otherwise. The culprit would pay, and pay dearly. Alice’s brothers were of the same mind as their father.

Seeing the reaction of her family, Alice refused to disclose the name of her lover. This proved immaterial, as a quick search of her room showed numerous scribblings about Alice Johnstone, Mrs. Alice Johnstone and Mrs. Steve Johnstone, all written with the hearts expected of a teen’s first crush.

Alan Jenkins, at eighteen, the youngest of the boys, recalled someone of that name who lived on the same estate and went to the same school as Alice, though was a couple of years older. Now that they had a name, the men made plans to deal with the pervert. Mary quietly checked out an alleged abortionist.

Stephen Johnson was a quiet young lad of sixteen. He was tall and skinny. He was also an exceptionally gifted footballer, and if he could manage to put on some muscle stood a fair chance of a professional career in the game. He seemed to be two different people; on the pitch, he was loud and confident, off, he was quiet and shy.

Walking home one evening after football practice, he was set upon by a gang of men. Fists, feet and long pieces of two by four, all made sickening contact with the young man’s body. As prearranged, the attackers wore masks and never never spoke. Tom Jenkins was certain that the finger would be pointed at his family but was not going to make it easy for the police. It was almost an hour before anyone spotted Stephen’s unconscious body and called for an ambulance. He was rushed to hospital where the doctors couldn’t believe the number of injuries that the patient had sustained. Every limb was broken multiple times, half his ribs suffered similarly. His worst injuries were to his head and face. He had a fractured skull and a heavy boot had connected with his upper cheek, shattering his left eye socket.