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  She would willingly never see the light of day again if it gave her daughter the chance to break free from Patrick Connor and his evil influence. He was like a devil, waiting his chance to wreck people’s lives. He had no conscience and no real feelings. Pat was out for number one and number one only.

  It was down to Marie to stop him, and she would. If it was the last thing she did, she would take him out of the ball park and watch him die. Inside herself, she was almost looking forward to it. This fact frightened her more than anything.

  Alan nearly fainted when he saw Marie cleaning up the office. Her movements were stiff, but she looked much better.

  ‘What are you doing here, Marie?’

  She looked at him and smiled.

  ‘I had to be doing something. It’s strange, but in prison I was always busy. It was how I coped. Now I guess it’s a habit. Most of my injuries are just bruises, so as long as I’m careful I’m fine.’

  ‘Your boat still looks sore.’

  His sympathy cheered her. He cared, and after so many years of no one caring it was nice.

  ‘Shall I make us a cup of tea?’

  He nodded and watched as she moved about the little Portakabin. Already it looked better. Women were a touch at cleaning. It only took Marie ten minutes and the place was tidy. When he tried it took all day and still looked grubby.

  His mind was on the cocaine in his yard. He was getting seriously worried now. He could contact no one. All mobiles were off and no one was getting in touch with him. He had to get rid of it, and soon. If someone had had a capture, and that seemed likely, eventually one of them would give him up in exchange for a shorter sentence. He would hold no animosity, it was something he would do himself. He didn’t want a lump either. Especially since he didn’t even want to be in the business any more.

  The phone rang and he answered it.

  Marie sighed as she heard him put three grand on the two-thirty at Kempton. Alan was a gambler, and always would be a gambler. Addiction took so many forms that she wondered at times whether it was genetic.

  ‘I bought a greyhound, Marie. I was wondering, when you feel better, do you fancy a trip up to Peterborough to see it run? It’s a lovely dog. Been bumped a few times coming out the traps but if it gets a clean run it goes like the wind.’

  ‘Peterborough? Why not Walthamstow or Romford?’

  ‘It can’t run on SIS tracks, see. Not yet. But once we get it sorted it will.’

  Marie felt like laughing again. He was so bent it was impossible for him to do anything like normal people.

  As they sipped their tea she said nonchalantly, ‘Do you know a black bloke called Patrick Connor? He has blue eyes which makes him noticeable.’

  She had trouble keeping her voice level.

  Alan looked at her for long moments.

  ‘I thought you knew him very well. He ain’t exactly hard to trace, love, is he?’

  His voice had gone cold on her and she mentally kicked herself for underestimating the man before her. She swallowed hard and the sound was loud in the silence.

  ‘I’ll rephrase that, shall I? What do you know about him and his dealings these days?’

  ‘Dealings being the operative word with him, eh? I probably know as much as you. He’s a face now. Always was a bit of a wide boy, but he’s worked hard and now he’s emerging as one of the main dealers. Have I told you anything you don’t know?’

  Sarcasm was evident in his voice and demeanour. Marie was sorry to have vexed him. Alan was a nice man and had been good to her. Giving her a chance when no one else would have. He was a good man despite his obvious faults. He was kind, decent enough by his own lights, and didn’t deserve her giving him grief or involving him in things he had no business getting into or even knowing about.

  She decided on the truth. He deserved that much at least.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alan, but I suppose you know he’s in a relationship with my daughter? I was worried about her, that’s all.’

  ‘Have you seen your kids then?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Only Tiffany. I’m seeing my son at the weekend.’

  She didn’t add that she was going to look at him from afar, not actually speak to him. Her father was getting the address from Social Services though she understood from Carole Halter that Tiffany had contact with Jason. If her father had no joy she would get the address from Tiff. She was determined to see him. If Tiff knew where he was, then Patrick Connor knew as well. That was what worried Marie.

  ‘Oh. How is your daughter? I bet she was pleased to see you?’

  Alan was being nice again and she felt the sting of tears as she answered.

  ‘Oh, she was over the moon. Over the fucking moon.’

  It was the first time he had heard her swear. She went down in his estimation and that saddened him. For all he knew about her life and her troubles, her not swearing and being so ladylike had appealed to him.

  They finished the tea in silence. Finally Alan spoke.

  ‘One thing I have learned over the years, Marie. Nothing is ever how you want it to be. People are rarely what you thought they were. The best way to cope is to take one day at a time.’

  She looked into his face and felt an urge to kiss him. He was such a kind man despite his faults - and they were legion as his wife had pointed out to them both.

  ‘I know that, Alan. But sometimes it’s hard to do it. Especially when every day seems to bring a new problem, a new trouble. In prison it’s a controlled environment. You don’t pay bills, and everything is done for you. I never turned a light switch off or on in over twelve years. All I bought was toothpaste and sundries, a packet of biscuits or a Mars Bar. Now I have to try and fit in with the world, have to try and help my kids, and do you know the worst thing of all? I ain’t sure I can even help myself.’

  Alan shrugged.

  ‘Who can? I have trouble getting dressed in the mornings, that’s how fucked up I am. But you just have to keep at it, girl. It’s what you do. Just keep trying, day by day, to sort everything out.’

  His words were heartfelt and Marie appreciated the sadness behind them. He was absolutely right, though. You just had to keep going, day by day. Prison had taught her that if it had taught her nothing else.

  Louise was at the graveyard, her favourite place. She was kneeling down to pull errant tufts of grass and weed from Marshall’s grave and watering the small garden she had planted there. As she worked she talked to him, telling him all about her life and how much she missed him. Choice bits of gossip about how well his old friends were doing and how they all still missed him. She wouldn’t admit that she liked the vicious gossip better, like when she had heard that Marshall’s old school-friend Brendan had been given nineteen years for drug dealing. She had enjoyed that one. Brendan’s mother had always looked down on her and now she would know what it was like to lose a son.

  She could still remember Tracy saying to her all those years ago: ‘Nothing will bring Marshall back. Move on, Lou.’

  She smirked to herself. God paid back debts without money, and Tracy had been paid back tenfold for her remark. All the years they had been friends and she could say that to Louise, as if Marshall was a pet dog or cat! Something to be replaced. Well, Louise had blanked her after that pearl of wisdom and hadn’t spoken to her for years. Now she would find out what it was like to be without a child, a favoured child. But then, she reflected, at least Tracy could see her son, talk to him. Hold him even, on visits. Louise had heard that prisoners could ring home now. That had been a revelation to her. They were locked up because they were bad, and yet they had the privilege of using a phone. The world, as far as she was concerned, had gone mad.

  Tracy’s son could ring home, a drug-dealing bastard was still in touch with his mother, whereas her son, her good, kind boy, was in the ground and she could not touch him again until her own time came. And that couldn’t come quick enough for her. She would welcome death because it would reunite her with her son once
more. The thought brought a smile to her face.

  The weather was warming up, May would soon be upon them and then she could spend hours in this place. She would bring her lunch and read, sitting comfortably by her son’s remains.

  And she could think here, plan how she was going to put a spoke into her daughter’s relationship with her husband.

  Kevin was Louise’s husband, after all, only Marie’s father. Louise had given birth to a viper who used everyone around her. The trouble she had caused over the years, and still he wanted contact with her. Wanted to see her. Sometimes Louise had seen him staring into space and had known instinctively that he was thinking about his daughter. That Marie was in his mind as she had been from the day she was born. It had been hard on him, having to come to terms with the fact that his favourite child was a drug-taking whore, and Louise had allowed for that. She had at first expected him to disown the girl as she had, but had realised early on that if it wasn’t for her own strength of mind he would have stood by Marie. Fool that he was, he would have stood by her. Louise had put paid to that all right. She had forced him to abandon Marie and let them get a life of sorts without her ruining everything. But the hold she had over her father was strong and of long standing. Now she was threatening once more to take him from Louise. She would take her own mother’s husband without a second’s thought. That was what Louise had bred and the knowledge had nearly broken her.

  But she would fight Marie, and she would fight him. She would finally prove to Kevin what a whore his daughter was. How she used her body to get what she wanted. She had slept with everyone: friends of the family, teachers, anyone who could help her get what she wanted. And still Kevin had forgiven her. She probably let him touch her like she did everyone else. Louise’s mind forced the thought away. She knew in her heart that her husband was not like that. But, she reasoned, Marie was capable of making him do whatever she wanted. She could as a child. He had always been besotted with her. Since her birth, he had been all over her like a rash. It was something Marie had inside her, for all the badness. It was something that attracted men to her.

  Even her school-teachers had fallen victim to her charms. The humiliation of being told that her daughter had to leave the school because she had been caught out with the Maths teacher still smarted. She had charged the boys at school five cigarettes for sex, apparently. That was another story that had gone the rounds like wildfire. Friends would look at Louise with pity as Marie had yet another sexual escapade that was the talk of the district. No matter what her mother did, beat her, grounded her, put her in care, Marie wouldn’t change, wouldn’t toe the line. Sometimes Louise had thought she enjoyed the trouble she caused because it made her the centre of attention.

  She shook her head at the malice of a child who had set out every day of her life to vex her mother in any way she could. It had been a war between them, a war she had won. The day her child had been put into prison Louise had felt relieved because at last her troublesome daughter was somewhere safe and somewhere she couldn’t harm anyone ever again.

  She had celebrated that night. Alone she had drunk a toast to Marshall and told him that she loved him and his sister was paying for his death as she should. Marie had finally got what she deserved. Not just because of Bethany and Caroline - they were whores like her - but for the death of Louise’s beloved son who had been unable to live with what his sister had done. A decent, kind boy had died because of Marie and her lifestyle.

  Her daughter should have been hung for what she did. For the lives she had ruined, Louise’s included. Her marriage had died the day her daughter was sentenced, because Kevin had never forgiven his wife for being a witness for the prosecution. But what could she do? She had seen her that day with Bethany and Caroline. She had seen them arguing. She had had to tell the truth, she couldn’t lie about something like murder, no matter what her husband thought. This wasn’t one of Marie’s usual escapades, this was deadly serious. Someone had had to stop her once and for all, and that person had been Louise. Who better to bring her to justice than her own mother, the woman who had given birth to her and had tried to make her change her lifestyle? Yes, she had been forced to tell the truth. It was the only decent thing to do.

  Now Lucy, at thirty years old, was marrying that bloody prat Mickey because she was convinced no one else would ever want her. Marie had a lot to answer for, by Christ. Well, it was up to her to stop her daughter once more and she would. As God was her witness, she would stop her once and for all.

  Whatever she had to do.

  She didn’t notice Karen Black watching her, she didn’t notice the priest watching them both. She was with her Marshall and that was all that mattered. That was all that had ever mattered to her. When she was near him she felt her life was easier, that she had someone close by who understood her.

  Father Boyd stood over her and Louise looked up at him and smiled.

  ‘Afternoon, Father.’

  ‘The grave looks gorgeous. I wish more people remembered their dead.’

  He looked at the neglect around him and sighed.

  ‘It’s the least I can do for him, Father. He was a good son.’

  As usual she was near to tears talking about her child. Father Boyd wiped a hand across his bald head and smiled gently.

  ‘He was that. Always the good boy, Marshall. A fine altar boy as well.’

  He saw Louise Carter almost swell physically with joy at this praise of her son and prayed to God that the poor woman would finally be given ease from her grief. It consumed her like a fire and eventually would burn her out.

  She looked like a mad woman with her fiery eyes and grim expression. Marie, God love her, had always been a troubled child and a lot of that trouble had stemmed from this good Christian woman standing in front of him. One who, God Himself knew, would give to strangers yet demolish her own family without a second’s thought. Who saw only trouble in her girls and only goodness in her son, the lad who’d known how to smile and tell her everything she wanted to hear. Louise caused so much of her own unhappiness, was so determined to find the bad in everyone around her, including her own daughters.

  He had always liked the girls, though Lucy had too much of her mother in her ever to be happy. She had inherited the same jealousy that was the blight of the woman before him.

  Marie now had been a great child altogether when she wasn’t around this woman, full of fun and laughter, a good little girl who had been a joy to be around and had clearly loved her father. The priest had seen the jealousy her mother had tried to stifle as she observed father and daughter together. Though Kevin Carter had loved all his children, he had given Marie extra attention because this woman, her own mother, had not found it in her heart to give the little girl anything but verbal abuse and put-downs.

  Marie had been so pretty, a beautiful child who had grown into a beautiful girl. But she had been troubled all her young life, and no matter what she was supposed to have done he still prayed for her soul and for her peace of mind. Especially her peace of mind.

  ‘Would you not come and have a nice cup of coffee with me, Lou? I could do with the company.’

  She gathered her things together and walked proudly with the priest to the vestry. She complained about everyone and everything as they walked and he listened politely as he always did. He would talk once more to Kevin Carter, he privately decided. This woman needed psychiatric treatment and she needed it soon. It was like listening to a lunatic as she droned on and on about how terrible it was that other boys were living while her son was dead.

  He half guessed that Marshall Carter wished he could rest in peace and didn’t have to listen to this one every day of his mother’s life. Sure, the ground was cold, he knew that himself. But Marshall’s soul was gone to a better place and he deserved a bit of peace now until this one finally wore herself out and joined him.

  Father Boyd sighed heavily and listened to her, his face devoid of expression but his heart heavy with her sadness. He lit a ci
garette even though he was supposed to be giving up. He always needed a crutch when this woman was around, and nicotine was as good a crutch as any though, if he was honest, he would much prefer a large Scotch.

  He looked out of the window and saw that Karen Black was gone at last. There was trouble brewing there and he had a feeling that nothing he or anyone else did could stop it.

  Chapter Ten

  In the last week Marie had felt she was finally getting to grips with her life and her past. Work was a priority for her, it kept her sane, though it seemed that Alan Jarvis was having problems of his own. He hadn’t said anything but she could feel his nervousness. It helped take her mind off her own problems.

  Her father too had been a great comfort to her. Now, as they sat together in an Italian restaurant, she felt herself relax a little. They ate slowly. Marie enjoyed her food lately, even if she was eating too much of it. After years of prison stodge and the occasional treat, food was now a great comforter. They ate together in companionable silence, both aware that they had much to talk about but plenty of time to discuss things.

  That was another of the things prison had taught her. Time really was a great healer. In fact, time was something she had learned to appreciate because when you spent so many years waiting for it to pass, you realised that time wasn’t the enemy: you were the enemy of time. It was there to be used because time past could never be regained. And time did pass, excruciatingly slowly at times but it did pass, and you could let it pass you by or use it to your own benefit.

  The time spent without her children could never be brought back. What she had to do now was give them something to hold on to. Give herself something to hold on to. In prison she’d had no letters to write, no visits, so she was completely self-contained. She had had to be. Now it stood her in good stead.

  ‘What are you going to do, Marie? I’m sorry I couldn’t get the address but the social worker was a real hard nut.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Tiffany knows where Jason is. I’ll go and see her again. Want to come?’