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  ‘I liked her, Alan.’

  He smiled ruefully.

  ‘So did I, once. In fact I loved her. But she couldn’t cope with me and me philandering ways, as she put it so succinctly to the divorce court. Her constant talking drove me fucking mental and all. Now she calls me Cheque Book Charlie to me face.’

  Marie made them both a coffee.

  ‘Thanks for giving me a chance with the job, Mr Jarvis.’

  Even her voice sounded brighter than before.

  ‘You are an asset, Marie. If you can cope with Beverley, you can cope with anything. But there is one thing. Can you call me Alan? Every time you say “Mr Jarvis” I think me dad’s outside.’

  Marie didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure how to answer. It was so long since she had practised the niceties of everyday living it was hard to know what to say.

  But Beverley Jarvis had been like a breath of fresh air and Marie would be grateful to her till she died for breaking the ice like she had and making her laugh out loud. It had felt strange, odd, to be laughing again. But she had enjoyed it. That was the great thing, she had really enjoyed it.

  Kevin stood nervously outside the halfway house. As women walked in and out he felt they were all staring at him. He moved along the road so he could watch the doorway unobserved. His nervousness was caused mostly by the thought that his wife would launch him into outer space if she knew where he was.

  As Marie walked along the pavement his breath caught in his chest. She looked beautiful. There was no mistaking her. She had that proud bearing. Even drugged out of her brains she still seemed to be looking down her nose at the world.

  Her long legs were shown off to advantage by the black pencil skirt of the suit she wore, which was fitted and made her look almost school-marmish in its severity. But Marie was a big sexy woman and nothing she did could ever really hide that fact. His mother had once said, ‘Men will love her or hate her, and the same with women.’

  Marie was too good-looking for her own good.

  He blamed himself for the way she had turned out. Himself and his wife. He had loved his eldest daughter too much, her mother had loved her too little.

  As he walked towards her he raised his hand in greeting. He saw the look on his daughter’s face turn from confusion to joy and was glad he had come. It was the look she had given him as a child when he came in from work and stood up for her against her mother. A look of joy tinged with relief.

  ‘Dad?’

  Her voice was different, quieter.

  ‘Marie. You look well, love.’

  It was the right thing to say.

  ‘How did you find me?’

  They stared at each other for long moments.

  ‘I rang Old Bill. They told me where you were, being your father, like . . .’

  The cold was cutting into her bones but she didn’t know where to take him. It was after six and she had to be in by six-thirty. For the first time this irked her. Suddenly she wanted to go out for the evening. Catch up on old times. Be herself.

  ‘Come in with me and we’ll have a coffee, eh?’

  Kevin nodded.

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  He hugged her then. It was a spontaneous gesture and she hugged him back, awkwardly at first until she relaxed. They laughed together. She felt the tears then and swallowed them down. After thirteen years, close human contact seemed at odds with what she had become accustomed to and tears burned her eyes.

  ‘Oh Dad, it’s so good to see you.’

  As they walked into the building they were so wrapped up in one another that neither of them saw Lucy standing across the road, a look of complete revulsion on her face.

  Anastasia had the demons in her. She had cried literally all day and nothing was right for her. At thirteen months she was at a stroppy age and Tiffany was tired after her night on drink and drugs. She’d wanted to obliterate that scene with her new boss. Now she was paying the price.

  As the child picked up a cup of cold coffee and poured it on to the carpet Tiffany lashed out. It was a hard smack and caught the little girl unawares. She screamed with fright and pain. Immediately, Tiffany was cuddling her.

  ‘Mummy’s sorry. Mummy’s sorry,’ she repeated over and over again.

  Anastasia clung to her, hot tears pouring down her face and making her hair damp. Tiffany had never felt so bad in her life but the day had been so long. Every time she thought of what she had done last night she felt sick inside.

  She cradled the child in her arms, whispering to her and trying to make the little girl feel better. Eventually Anastasia went to sleep, still giving occasional little hiccoughing cries. As her mother laid her gently in her cot she realised the full extent of her responsibilities. The thought that her temper had got the better of her like that and made her hurt her own child filled her with such guilt and self-loathing she wanted to die.

  The flat was quiet. Too quiet.

  Normally Pat would have been round by now and Tiffany realised she had come to rely on seeing him. She had no real friends, her years in care had seen to that. Any friends she had made then she didn’t mix with now. Didn’t want to be reminded of what her early life had been like. So it was a lonely existence for her. Carole would have been welcome, because she had known Carole all her life and didn’t have to pretend to be something she wasn’t with her. But she knew she wouldn’t see her mother’s old friend for a while.

  Tiffany rolled herself a joint and smoked it until she felt calmer. The babysitter would be coming soon and she had to get ready for her first night’s work. The thought of leaving the child after smacking her made her feel even guiltier. But she got ready anyway.

  She wanted to really earn tonight to prove to herself that she was doing the right thing. Had done the right thing the night before.

  She gently stroked her daughter’s brow and then went and got ready.

  An hour later she was sitting on the bus in a heavy coat, dressed like a schoolgirl underneath and feeling ridiculous. But the money was uppermost in her mind. She suppressed every other emotion. Especially the guilt and the shame.

  Louise dished up in her usual haphazard fashion. As Kevin sipped a scalding hot cup of tea he glanced over at Lucy and caught the look she was giving him.

  ‘All right, love?’

  His voice was concerned.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  She sounded sullen.

  ‘Who you talking to?’ Louise’s voice was sharp and she stopped serving to look daggers at her youngest daughter.

  Lucy stared at her mother in confusion. She wanted to blow her father right out of the water but knew she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she had done her dirty deed for Karen Black.

  ‘I’m tired.’

  It sounded lame even in her own ears.

  Louise slammed the saucepan on to the table.

  ‘We’re all bleeding tired! What makes you think you’re any more tired than me or your father? He’s out by six most mornings.’

  ‘Since that bitch was paroled this house has been like a bloody morgue. She ain’t even in it but we’re all paying the price anyway.’

  Lucy looked at her father as she spoke and he averted his eyes.

  Louise, however, thought her daughter was now the fountain of wisdom.

  ‘I know what you mean. I was at Marshall’s grave yesterday and I saw Maeve Cavendish. She walked right past me. I know why and all. Everyone knows she’s out and about so it will all start again, you mark my words, the phone calls, the threats . . . It will all start again, I know it will.’

  ‘We should have moved away before. When it all happened.’

  Kevin’s voice was loud in the confined kitchen and Louise rounded on him.

  ‘Oh, that’s right. Run away. That’s you all over, you spineless git. Well, no one is forcing me from my home and that’s that.’

  He sighed heavily.

  ‘In that case, you’ll have to put up with the hag then, won’t you?’

&nbs
p; Lucy watched her mother and father in fascination. He’d never, ever stopped her before when she was going off about Marie.

  Already her sister was working her magic. Like all men, her father was automatically on her side, no matter what she had done.

  Louise looked at her husband as if she had never seen him before and he had just appeared to her as an apparition. She slung the spoon she had been using to serve the dinner into the sink and turned on him.

  ‘Who’s rattled your fucking cage? First she comes in with the hump and now I have you and all. I am plagued by the pair of you.’

  She stormed from the kitchen and banged heavily up the stairs.

  Lucy laughed nastily.

  ‘Pity Marie’s not here to see her handiwork. Even from miles away she can still cause a row in this house, can’t she?’

  Kevin had had enough.

  ‘She didn’t need to with you here, Lucy. I seem to remember most of the rows were caused by jealousy, yours and your mother’s, and you can tell her that from me if you like. I am off down the fucking pub for a pint and a pie.’

  Lucy was shocked by her father’s words. The fact they had the ring of truth about them didn’t help in any way. She stared at the debris of her mother’s efforts and felt a flicker of hatred once more for the sister who even as a murderess could still get her father to defend her.

  As the door shut on him, her mother came down the stairs. She looked old suddenly. Old and haggard. Lucy felt ashamed of what she had caused.

  ‘Sit down, Mum, I’ll dish up, shall I?’

  Her voice was small, like a little girl’s.

  Louise surveyed the tepid food and shook her head.

  ‘Bin it, Lucy. I ain’t hungry now. He gone to the pub?’

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘No surprise there then.’

  Louise lit a cigarette and smoked in silence as her daughter cleared away. Her whole life was crumbling around her as it had once before. And the same person was responsible.

  If only she had had an abortion all those years ago, how different her life would have been today.

  How much easier it would all have been.

  Patrick stood at the back of the club and watched Tiffany at her first night’s work. She stood out from the other girls because of her extreme thinness and was in high demand because she was new.

  He saw her dancing provocatively before a table of middle-aged men. They would be her prime market and she was sensible enough to know it. Her legs were long for her height and she was narrow-waisted. If she’d only had her mother’s build she’d have been worth a fortune in no time.

  When she went for her break he shot round to the dressing room. It was full of the smell of deodorant and fresh sweat. Girls sat around smoking, snorting and laughing.

  He saw Tiffany’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

  ‘All right, Tiff ? Thought I’d bring you a little gift.’

  He placed the gram of cocaine into her palm.

  ‘A little gift of a little lift!’ He laughed at his own wit.

  Tiffany was so pleased to see him she felt the urge to cry. She had missed him so much. Other than Anastasia he was her only source of affection. All the girls were looking at him. Some seemed to know him. Tiffany deliberately overlooked that fact, telling herself he was a dealer so of course some of them knew him. How well she didn’t care to dwell on too much.

  As she cut herself a line and snorted it she felt all her inhibitions and fears melt away. After drinking down a large gin and tonic, she felt much happier.

  ‘You needed that, didn’t you, darling?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You coming round later?’

  Pat smiled at her.

  ‘I might. But I have to see a bloke. I’ll pick you up about two-ish and you and me can do my bit of business first, eh?’

  She nodded, ecstatically happy now. She was high and she was friends with Pat again.

  Life was looking up at last.

  Marie lay in her bed and for the first time in years felt restless. It was a strange feeling. Half of her was scared shitless at the thought of seeing her family again, the other half desperate for a glimpse of her kids.

  Her father was going to try and find out their addresses so she could at least look at them from a distance, even though it would be hard not to go up to them, talk to them. But she would have to be satisfied with what she got. That was something that would be true of the rest of her life, and she knew it.

  She was finally glad she was released.

  She had a job and she had had contact with her father. God love him, she knew the trouble it would cause if her mother ever learned he had come to see her. So the fact he had done it was all the more important to her.

  She tried again to picture her children. She hoped they were happy, living good lives surrounded by nice people. It was important to her that her children were leading happy, fulfilled lives. Clean lives where they could look others in the face and know they were good people.

  Marie smiled in the darkness.

  If she could just look at them once more she would be happy.

  Her father said that Jason had been with the same family for years. They had informally adopted him and that pleased her. She hoped her daughter had fallen on her feet as well.

  If only she had listened to her mother all those years ago!

  But Louise had not offered advice, she had demanded things of her daughter, and being the type of girl she was, that had made Marie worse. Each fresh shocking thing she had done had given her a feeling of satisfaction. Each time her mother went ballistic she had felt she had achieved something. Each time her mother called her a whore she had made sure she fully lived up to the epithet.

  She had been such a fool! If only she had known then what she knew now. But then, as a friend in prison had once pointed out, eventually you regretted the things you hadn’t done as much as the things you had.

  That was very true.

  Every time she had picked up a drink or taken a drug she had felt better inside. She had needed to obliterate the present. Now she wanted to obliterate the past.

  But she couldn’t.

  All she could do was take the little things life gave her and be grateful for them. Seeing her kids, even if only from a distance, would be the start of real life for her. She could put her mind at rest about them once and for all.

  Or at least she hoped she could.

  Tiffany didn’t like Sol Medlock. He was a man in his fifties with a heavy belly and a distinct shortage of hair and teeth. She knew he was also a number one dealer and that Patrick needed him. That had been explained to her over and over in the car on their way to his flat.

  ‘So be nice to him, OK, Tiff ? Just for me, eh?’

  She smiled confidently at him.

  ‘Of course I will. Stop worrying.’

  She was high as a kite. Patrick had given her a pipe to smoke and the buzz was astronomical. She felt invincible inside. It was a fantastic feeling.

  ‘Your eyes look fucking sexy, girl. You want to see them.’

  She was buzzing. The car window was open and icy cold hit her face and it felt great. As they pulled up outside Sol’s flat, Patrick handed her another pipe.

  ‘Have a quick blast before we go in, babe.’

  She was happy to oblige.

  Ten minutes later she was sipping a vodka and Red Bull and could hear Patrick arguing with Sol in the state-of-the-art kitchen. The flat blew her mind. All steel units and polished wood floors, it was like a magazine picture. She wanted a place like this one day and was determined to get it.

  Patrick came back into the lounge and sat beside her.

  ‘All right, mate?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Can we go soon? I have to take the babes to playschool in the morning so I can have a few hours’ kip.’

  Patrick looked at her with his deep blue eyes.

  ‘I need a favour, Tiff.’

  She knew what he was going to say
before he asked but still she told herself not to be so silly. That Patrick wouldn’t do this to the mother of his baby girl.

  ‘What do you want, Pat?’

  He grinned, displaying his even white teeth.

  ‘Could you be nice to Sol for me, babe? Just for a while. I have to go and call in a debt otherwise he is going to cause me right grief.’

  She was already shaking her head.

  He gripped her arm tightly.

  ‘The thing is, Tiff, I ain’t asking as such. Know what I mean? He said if you put out for him he would give me the time I needed, see.’

  Tiffany knew that she was being asked to perform a function Patrick would normally have required from one of his working girls. The confusion on her face was heartbreaking to see. Yet he just stared at her as if she was the one who was in the wrong. He could do that, make you feel you should be doing what he wanted instead of what you knew you should be doing.

  ‘Don’t do this to me, Pat. Please.’

  Her voice was low, barely a whisper, and she realised he was not going to listen to her. Instead he prepared another pipe.

  He was speaking in a singsong tone as if to a recalcitrant child.

  ‘Get that down you, nice and deep, Tiff. Then just do what the fuck you are told. You know I will not be crossed. If I say something, I expect it to be done. All my women know this, Tiffany.’

  She took the pipe gratefully and drew deeply. The crack hit her brain in nanoseconds and she felt the overwhelming rush of euphoria.

  Then Patrick smiled at her. A real smile.

  ‘Whatever he wants, OK? And I’ll give you a couple of ton for your trouble, baby, OK?’

  As he left the flat Tiffany saw that Sol had been observing them from the kitchen doorway. He was smiling at her. She felt her heart sink down to her expensive sexy boots. She was caught in a nightmare and it was of her own making. She knew she should have walked out but she hadn’t.

  What was it with her? Why did she roll over every time Patrick told her to? Even when she knew that what she was doing was wrong? Even the new rush of crack wasn’t enough to blot out the horror of exactly what she had agreed to do.

  There was a ringing in her ears and she found herself feeling sick. As Sol put his hand on her shoulder she forced herself to relax.