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  The thought made her smile, but as the evening wore on the idea kept coming back into her mind. Eventually, she took a Mogadon and went to bed. It was ten-fifteen.

  She was soon sweating. Slipping on her dressing gown, she got up again. She glanced at the clock. It was only ten-twenty. The evening was crawling by and sleep, she knew, was a long way off.

  She put on Sade, poured herself more wine and settled on the leather sofa once more. The words of ‘Somebody Already Broke My Heart’ seemed poignant tonight. She felt a great well of loneliness. Patrick hadn’t been in touch for days. She felt the sting of tears again.

  Anastasia cried out in her sleep and Tiffany leapt off the sofa and went to the child’s room. She was settled again, one little chubby arm flung over her eyes, legs spread-eagled, the picture of restful sleep.

  Tiffany wiped a damp hand across her face. Even her skin felt wrong. Itchy, unreal. She picked up the phone and dialled Patrick’s number.

  It rang and rang in her ear, as she knew it would. She wondered briefly who he was with. She dialled again. Her friend Rosie would get her what she needed, she was good like that. One little pull and she would sleep, her nerves would be sorted and her mind would shut down.

  It was only for one night. She just needed a little something to expel the demons that stopped her relaxing properly. Rosie needed the money up front but she would do the good deed.

  As soon as Tiffany knew the rock was on its way she felt herself start to relax. She smiled. She had done the right thing, already she felt better.

  In future, she told herself, it might be worth keeping a little stash for her own use. She already knew she couldn’t rely on Pat to supply her all the time and it wasn’t really that cheap, but she consoled herself with the fact that she was in the money now and could afford whatever treats she wanted. For her daughter and for herself.

  She wondered what she would have done if she had not got hold of Rosie. It had crossed her mind, only briefly, to maybe leave her baby sleeping while she jumped in a cab and scored a rock.

  The knowledge scared her even as the thought of the crack arriving cheered her.

  She put it out of her mind; she would never have done it, never. She had not seriously considered doing it anyway. It had just been a thought that had crossed her mind. That was her mother’s little game, and she wasn’t like her mother. She was nothing like her mother at all.

  She was just down in the dumps, that was all. A bit depressed.

  It didn’t occur to her that the depression was a direct result of her love of crack. Like her mother before her Tiffany had a very selective memory and it stood her in good stead.

  She stood at the window looking out for Rosie’s cab. She seemed very young and very vulnerable and very agitated.

  And of course she was all three.

  Marie had been in hospital for four days. She smiled when she saw Alan Jarvis walking towards her with a large bunch of flowers. He looked sheepish.

  Unlike most women of his acquaintance Marie didn’t worry about the damage to her face. She’d made no attempt to hide the marks with make-up. The look of her broke his heart.

  ‘Are you in pain?’ His voice was gentle.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  Her voice was small now, as if she had just realised what a sight she must look.

  ‘The flowers are lovely but you shouldn’t have, you know.’

  He grinned.

  ‘That’s me, ain’t it? All flamboyant gestures. I thought you might need cheering up.’

  Two plainclothes officers arrived in Marie’s side room then and Alan instinctively recognised them. He was immediately nervous. She picked up on this and made his escape easy for him.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming, Mr Jarvis. I should be back at work next week.’

  ‘When you’re ready, mate. See you later then. ’Bye.’

  He was out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him, sweat running down his back. Outside he took deep breaths to calm himself.

  DI Smith grinned at Marie.

  ‘How you feeling?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Sore. What can I do for you now?’

  Her voice was low, full of sleep.

  Smith left it a beat before he spoke again, concentrating on her face and arms which were black and blue.

  ‘We don’t think this was a simple mugging.’

  Marie already knew that much.

  ‘Nothing was taken, was it?’ the police officer observed.

  ‘I told you over and over, I kept hold of me bag. Why I don’t know, there was fuck all in it.’

  ‘So you say. Now, knowing your past history, we think this might have been some kind of revenge attack.’

  She shrugged again. Her slim shoulders made her look very vulnerable and Smith was sorry for her despite himself.

  ‘Well, if it was, they didn’t say anything to me.’

  Smith knew her well enough already to know that she was very economical with words.

  ‘You wouldn’t tell us anyway, would you?’

  The voice of DC Snetterton was high and childlike, completely at odds with his large and lumbering frame.

  Marie stared at him for a few seconds before answering.

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I would have told you because I don’t ever want to feel or look like this again.’

  It was the right answer. They left soon afterwards. But the fear was inside her again like a cancer. She could be taken back into prison in an instant and she knew that. All she wanted was to get out of hospital, back to her job, and then she wanted to see her children. Both of them.

  That was her priority at the moment. Nothing else mattered.

  Kevin rolled over in bed. He felt great. Inside he was buzzing. He turned back and kissed the woman beside him.

  ‘I needed that.’

  Susan Tranter smiled. ‘So did I. Fancy a cup of tea?’

  She slipped on a dressing gown and padded downstairs to put the kettle on. Kevin lay back and surveyed the bedroom. It was, as usual, like a tip. That was part of Susan’s charm. She was seriously untidy yet the bedding was clean, her cups were clean, she was clean.

  The house, though, was like a pigsty. But he relaxed there like he had never relaxed at home. Susan was so easygoing it was unbelievable. Even his feet, and they were legendary, didn’t faze her.

  He knew that if Lou had an inkling where he was there would be creations of Olympic proportions but at this moment in time he didn’t give a flying fuck. He had needed someone and Susan was someone who liked to be needed. It worked well for them.

  She loved sex, adored it. She settled down for a session and put her whole heart into it. That alone was a touch as far as he was concerned. Plus he could have a cuppa, get dressed and go on his merry way without any recriminations whatsoever.

  Yet he knew she loved him. Loved him deeply. He could feel it from her, feel it wrapping around him, and in his heart he loved her back though he had never told her. They talked about everything, but they had no need to talk about themselves or their feelings.

  She brought up the tea and climbed into bed with him.

  ‘How is Marie?’

  He sipped the scalding liquid.

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t. She puts on this front to the world and it’s impossible to get behind it.’

  Susan sighed.

  ‘Well, that’s understandable really. All she wants is a bit of peace. From what you’ve said she’s a changed woman. She would be - twelve years’ bird would change anyone. Give her time to acclimatise herself to being home.’

  Kevin nodded.

  ‘But she’s not home, is she? She’s in a hostel.’

  Susan was a fatalist. If it was going to happen, it happened. That was her philosophy in life.

  ‘Not for ever. Soon she’ll be out of there and doing what we all do: surviving. One day she will have good times, another day bad times. It’s called real life and she will have to ge
t used to it.’

  Kevin hugged her.

  ‘You are better than a tonic, girl, do you know that?’

  ‘I have me moments. Have you told her you know where Tiffany is yet?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I’ll wait until she gets over this lot first.’

  ‘Bastards, that family are. Especially that Karen. Fat whore she is.’

  Kevin felt his temper rising again.

  ‘They will get their comeuppance, don’t you worry about that.’

  He gulped at his tea. He was going to see to it that whoever had hurt his daughter would know what pain felt like themselves. It didn’t occur to him that retaliation would only exacerbate an already explosive situation. He was out for revenge.

  Patrick was smiling; it was a real smile that made him look younger and more handsome. Louella Vidon liked the look of the big black man chatting her up and let him know it by smiling provocatively back.

  Jimmy Dickinson watched as his bird eyed the coon. He was not a happy bunny.

  ‘Go and get us another drink, Louella.’

  She jumped up to do his bidding. Louella Vidon knew exactly what side her bread was buttered, and she knew better than to ignore a direct order.

  As she went to the kitchen Jimmy grinned.

  ‘Like what you see, do you, Pat?’

  He shrugged good-naturedly.

  ‘Give us a break, Jim. With them tits, who wouldn’t?’

  Even Jimmy laughed at the answer.

  ‘Show me what stock you got, mate, I have another appointment,’ Patrick prompted him.

  Louella came back with the beers and the men retired to the cellar of the house to do their business. As they walked down the steep staircase Jimmy kept up a running commentary.

  ‘Most of the guns are old, I keep them for the divs. But they’re a very lucrative earner. The main money, though, is in semi-automatics. I rent them out, see, but the penalty if they’re used for a murder is big. I mean, the gun’s a fuck then, ain’t it? Old Bill have it profiled and want the fucker. Stands to reason. I borrowed out to Jerry the Ponce; he shot his fucking brother and got caught. Never got me dough or me fucking gun. Ponce by name, eh?’

  Both men laughed.

  Patrick took in all the hardware at once, pricing it in his head. He could see the look of pride in his cache on Jimmy’s face and smiled at him.

  Louella’s voice came down the stairs.

  ‘There’s some geezers here for you, Jim. Mickey Samms and Nobby Brewer.’

  Pat saw a fleeting expression of fear cross Jimmy’s face.

  ‘This anything to do with you, Pat?’

  Patrick grinned.

  ‘’Course it is, Jimmy. I want what you’ve got, my son.’

  He called out loudly, ‘Down here, boys.’

  Jimmy was gutted.

  ‘You black fucking cunt . . .’

  Patrick laughed good-naturedly.

  ‘You always take everything so personally, Jimmy. This is just business, mate.’

  Mickey and Nobby were smiling from the stairwell. Nobby opened his coat and from a long pocket inside took out a pump-action shot gun. He threw it to Patrick who cocked it and aimed it at Jimmy’s face without a second’s thought.

  ‘’Bye-bye, Jimmy.’

  He pulled the trigger and took the boy’s head off. Louella came screaming down the stairs. He caught her just above her enormous breasts and the report threw her back into the hallway.

  Nobby and Mickey had been forced to duck as he fired and were annoyed.

  ‘Fuck you, Pat, you mad bastard!’ Nobby yelled indignantly.

  He laughed.

  ‘Clear this place while I look around. We’re OK for a while, Jimmy had it all soundproofed last year.’

  He stepped over the boy’s body without glancing at it. At the top of the stairs Louella was still breathing loudly, a wet sound from the blood seeping into her lungs. He looked into her eyes as he passed her by and smiled.

  ‘Not long now, Louella, and you’ll be reunited with your boyfriend.’

  As he ran upstairs he wondered where Jimmy kept his jewellery. He had a few nice diamond rings that Pat had always admired, and a blinding necklace. He was whistling between his teeth as he opened drawers and cupboards.

  He heard another shot and guessed that someone had put Louella out of her misery. He heard the others laughing as he began to tear the place apart.

  On the dressing table stood a photo of Jimmy’s two young sons. He picked it up and dropped it into the bin. He was still smiling as he ransacked the house.

  Tiffany was feeling better. She had given her baby breakfast and drawn on a little rock to get her head together. When she opened the front door to Carole Halter she was smiling.

  ‘Hello, mate.’

  Carole followed her into the lounge.

  ‘That kid is so good-looking!’

  She produced a tube of Smarties and Anastasia squealed with delight. In the kitchen Tiffany put the kettle on and looked out over the grey building opposite.

  ‘You ain’t heard then, Tiff ?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘About your mum?’

  She rolled her eyes.

  ‘What’s she done now?’

  Carole shook her head.

  ‘Karen Black and her sisters give her a kicking. She’s in hospital.’

  Tiffany let the news sink in.

  ‘Is she bad then?’

  Her voice sounded as if she didn’t care one iota.

  ‘Very bad by all accounts.’

  Tiffany sighed.

  ‘It was on the cards, I suppose. Karen Black wasn’t going to let it go, was she? And who can blame her?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right but I wish I could go and see her.’

  Tiffany didn’t answer.

  ‘She was a good mate to me, old Marie.’

  The girl poured scalding water into the cups.

  ‘You’ve changed your fucking tune!’

  Carole was instantly on the defensive.

  ‘Marie was a rip, I don’t dispute that. But she could be a good mate when she wanted to.’

  Tiffany shook her head at the hypocrisy of the woman before her. You never got the truth out of Carole Halter, she would lie about anything. If you asked her what she’d had for breakfast she would add a sausage.

  ‘Anyway, what are you telling me for? It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘She is your mother. I thought you had a right to know, that’s all.’

  Tiffany sighed heavily, her baby face looking cross.

  ‘My mother? According to you and Patrick she didn’t give a fucking toss about me or me brother, so how come you want me to feel sorry for her now?’

  Carole shook her head.

  ‘She’s still your mother, love.’

  Then she eyed the crack pipe on the table.

  ‘Whose is that?’

  Tiffany didn’t answer her but her face had paled.

  ‘You stupid little whore! That’s a mug’s game and you of all people should know. It’s more addictive than a twelve-inch cock!’

  Tiffany threw the mug of scalding tea into the sink, anger making two bright red spots appear on her cheeks.

  ‘I am not addicted. It’s recreational, that’s all . . .’

  Her voice trailed off as she saw the genuine concern on Carole’s face.

  Tiffany lowered her voice.

  ‘I am not addicted, Cal, honestly.’

  Carole stared at the girl in front of her for long seconds.

  ‘You are your mother’s daughter all right. That’s what she used to say and all.’

  Tiffany’s face twisted with anger at her words.

  ‘Why don’t you fuck off, Cal, and leave me alone?’

  The other woman’s natural aggression was to the fore now and she said nastily, ‘Who d’you think you’re talking to, eh? I ain’t a fucking ice cream you can cunt at will, girl. I’ll slap your face for you if you keep that attitude up
, you lairy little bitch. All I’ve done for you over the years . . .’

  She seemed genuinely aggrieved, but Tiffany was having none of it.

  ‘What the fuck have you ever done for me, eh, except ponce me few quid and slag off me mother? The mother you now want me to go and visit because you are shit scared she’ll find out how you’ve slagged her off in the past. Now piss off home, Carole, before I really lose me rag.’

  Carole’s arm shot out and she caught Tiffany a stinging blow to the face; her half-sovereign ring split the girl’s eyebrow in seconds. Shock brought tears to Tiffany’s eyes. She put her hand up to her face and saw the blood.

  ‘What you done to me? I have to work tonight!’

  Carole’s face was a mask of shame.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tiff. Christ, I am so sorry. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

  As Tiffany pushed a wet dishcloth to her eyes the baby started crying. Carole rushed to her and picked her up. The little girl’s body was shaking.

  They heard a key in the lock and Carole felt her heart sink down to her boots. Patrick took one look at the two women and his child then his fist shot out and caught Carole full in the face. Her nose crunched under the blow and Anastasia screamed in terror.

  How Carole stayed on her feet was a miracle, but the feel of the child in her arms gave her added strength.

  ‘Stop it, Pat! It was my fault, I started it,’ Tiffany insisted.

  She dragged the screaming child from Carole’s arms.

  ‘How you going to fucking work with an eye like that, eh? I had a private for you tonight and now it’s all fucked up, ain’t it?’

  He was bellowing in anger and Anastasia was even more terrified.

  ‘Get out, you fat whore, and don’t you let me see you round here ever again.’

  Pat’s eyes were manic with anger and drugs. Carole staggered from the room with blood pouring down her face.

  Patrick took Anastasia from her mother none too gently and put her into her cot then he shut the door on the distressed child and walked back into the kitchen. He slapped Tiffany across the face hard and her crying stopped.

  ‘I don’t fucking believe this. I come home and what do I find, eh? You fighting, and not even fucking winning at that.’