About the Author

KERRY BARNES, born in 1964, grew up on a council estate in South East London. Pushed by her parents to become a doctor, she entered the world of science and became a microbiologist. After studying law and pharmaceuticals, her career turned to medicine.

Having dyslexia didn’t deter her from her passion for writing. She began writing when her daughter was born thirty years ago. Once her children had grown up she moved to the Kent coast and now writes full time.

Deceit
KERRY BARNES

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Kerry Barnes 2018

Kerry Barnes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © August 2018 ISBN: 9780008314606

Version: 2020-01-16

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Acknowledgements

Dear Reader

Keep Reading

About the Publisher

Carly and Perry, you make me so proud.

Prologue

With her eyes shut tight and the cover over her face, she held her breath and listened to the creaking, as the door to her bedroom slowly opened. She could smell his aftershave, that intoxicating smell that lingered after he would leave. A smell she had learned to detest. Each slow, deliberate footstep was like death itself creeping up on her. Small beads of sweat peppered her brow as she lay there, desperate for the nightmare to be over. Yet, as she felt the bed sink, she knew then it had only just begun. Another night of terror.

His slimy words and hot breath made her shudder, as he pulled back the covers and brushed his bristly chin against her cheek. She kept her eyes tightly closed and gripped the quilt in a vain attempt to prevent revealing her body that was barely covered by the thin nightdress she was wearing. She was conscious of her breasts. They had just started to develop, not big enough for a bra but not small enough for a vest. Still, she was aware that they were there, and so was he, as he ran his large calloused hands over her.

She winced and wanted to yell, but the fear of death was more frightening. He whispered those dark, cold words, ‘Scream and you will die. No one will believe you; no one cares, but me. I love you, my little darling. No one will love you as much as me. Now, let me show you how much I love you.’

She pushed her head deeper into the pillow, unable to look at his ruddy face and those narrow, brown, lifeless eyes. Over and over in her mind, she said, ‘Please go away, please go away.’

The wind banged the open window, and for a second, she was back in the room, and his heavy body, like a devouring octopus, lay across her. She fought to drift off to another place, deep into a storybook she’d once read, but the loud bang made her jump again.

As she tried to turn her tear-stained face to the side, she suddenly saw an eye, staring in through a partially opened door. She recognised those eyes, and begged and pleaded, with the terror on her face, for the person behind that door to rescue her. But that figure with its sorrowful look disappeared as quickly as it arrived and only intensified her fear. She was all alone, and she was powerless to prevent this and other sordid acts from continuing. Why? Because she was a child, and he was an adult … a monster.

Chapter 1

The cold wind ripped at her face and through her thick Ralph Lauren camel coat. Kara quickened her pace, cursing under her breath, ‘Damn the fucking car.’ She rarely swore in public, but this freezing cold morning, she felt like screaming obscenities. The bus stop was a short distance and rather than wait for the AA man, she headed off, determined not to be late for work.

Just as she reached the end of her close, she noticed a woman, the same one she’d seen staring at her in Tesco yesterday. Dressed in a long black coat and black gloves, the tall fair-haired lady grinned. Kara was about to say good morning when the woman curled her lip and smirked. Baffled by the odd interaction, Kara looked away. She put her head down and continued.

As she hurried along the main road that separated the private development from the council estate, she pulled her hat down below her ears to stop the wind biting and giving her an earache. The bus shot past her, and her heart sank. She felt like crying. First, the car wouldn’t start, and now she’d missed the bus. She contemplated going home and calling in sick, but she’d had two days off last week with that excuse and it wasn’t going down too well with her manager.

The only other option was to cut through the estate and catch another bus; they were more frequent from the other side. She had only ever done this twice before and both times had been a nightmare. On the first occasion, she was almost in the middle of a war between two families hurling bricks at each other, and on the second one, she was chased by a pit bull. Luckily, the owner managed to stop the dog in its tracks before it sunk its teeth into her. Even so, it frightened the life out of her.

She stopped at the kerb and faltered for a second before crossing the road. None of the winos would be out this early, the teenagers would still be asleep, and so she made a decision to go for it. Besides, she was frozen to the bone, and waiting another half an hour would really cause her to spin on her heels and return to the warmth of her home. She stepped off the pavement, making her way through the estate. It was so gloomy and dingy, she felt as though she had entered a Mad Max film.

Why the council couldn’t help these people by adding a play area or fixing the broken windows was beyond her. It saddened her to think that the poorer members of society were shoved into homes like these. It reminded her every day that they had nothing.

She passed the first block and was almost knocked down. A woman pushing a buggy wasn’t looking where she was going because she had her neck craning over her shoulder, shouting up at the top maisonette, which was three storeys high. Kara looked at the baby in the buggy and smiled.

‘You’re a right no-good, a fucking wrong ’un, Billy Big Balls. I swear on me muvver’s eyesight, you’ll not fucking see me or the baby again, ya dirty cunt!’ screamed the woman. Then, she turned to march on and glared at Kara, looking her up and down and making no bones about it. ‘What are you fucking gawping at? Ya fucking snob!’

Kara was stunned. Before she could answer, the woman pushed past her, still shouting foul-mouthed insults. Glancing down at her expensive coat, long real leather boots, and Louis Vuitton handbag, she felt self-conscious and out of place. Again, she felt near to tears because she wasn’t a snob.

She looked up at the man hanging over the balcony with a white vest and his arms covered in tattoos. ‘Julie, get back ’ere, ya fucking stupid bitch. I ain’t gone anywhere near ya fucking sister!’

‘Go and fucking hug a landmine, ya rotten dirty scrot.’

Kara looked away and carried on ahead. The main road was now in sight, as she hurried her way through the rubbish, dirt, and debris. Luckily, the bus arrived a minute or two later. The heat hit her, as she stepped on the bus and paid the driver. Instantly, the warm air made her nose run and her cheeks tingle. She got herself comfortable and waited for the driver to pull away.

But there was a hold-up. Kara looked out of the front window to see the mother with the buggy running down the road waving her hands to stop the vehicle. Kara smiled to herself. The woman had so much nerve to run down the middle of the road, swearing at the drivers of the two cars that hooted at her. The doors flew open and she hopped on, dragging the buggy behind her. ‘Cheers, mate. Cor, it’s fucking taters out there,’ she said, out of breath.

The bus driver obviously knew who she was. ‘Off back to ya muvver’s, Julie?’ he asked half-laughing.

Still struggling to find her purse, she replied, ‘Yeah, that fat cunt has been sniffing around our Sharon again. I’m off up there to give her a fucking thump. Er, Tom, I think I’ve left me purse at home.’

Kara felt in her pocket for change, ready to offer the woman’s fare, but the driver replied to the woman, ‘Just get on, Julie.’

Kara watched as the skinny woman, dressed in a tight tracksuit and a body warmer, tugged the buggy and plonked herself onto the side seat. On the back of the buggy was a big bag that she dived into; she retrieved a dummy, sucked it clean, and stuffed it in the baby’s mouth. Kara noticed the woman’s hands were shaking and discerned the sores around her mouth. Her hair, tightly pulled back in a scruffy bun against her pale skin, did her no favours whatsoever. Two huge loop earrings dangled from her ears and a stud had been inserted through her eyebrow.

The woman noticed her staring and glared back. ‘Do you know me or what? Ya keep staring, ya nosy prat!’

Kara looked away and stared out of the side window. Her intention wasn’t to be nosy; she actually felt sorry for the girl.

As they approached the next stop, another young woman was waiting; she was so much like Julie, they could have been sisters. As soon as she hopped on, she plonked herself next to Julie. ‘All right, Jue, where ya off to, then?’

Julie was searching through her tatty-looking fake Prada bag. ‘Me muvver’s, to see that skanky sister of mine. I found fat boy’s phone with text messages on it, and I swear, it’s her again. Well, she’s gonna get it this time.’

The other girl was chewing gum and smiling at the baby. ‘Jue, why don’t ya just leave him? I mean, if it ain’t ya sister, it’s some other slag.’

Julie sighed and looked at her friend. ‘Diane, where the fuck am I gonna go, eh? I can’t live at me ol’ gal’s. My flat is all I ’ave, and that fat cunt won’t get out. I wish he would get so pissed, he falls over the balcony and kills himself, or, I swear, one day, I’ll give him a helping hand.’

Kara couldn’t look at the girls; instead, she stared out of the window and listened to them talking about a world far removed from her own. She counted herself lucky that she had a job and money. Her life could have been so much worse. She had worked so hard though to get to where she was. Constantly studying – while everyone else her age was having fun enjoying parties, clubbing, and sports – had been a huge personal commitment but a necessary one to have the options in life she both wanted and needed.

Fortunately for her, the next stop was just ahead. So, as soon as the bus came to a halt and the doors flung open, she jumped the two steps and instantly threw up, luckily missing her coat. Where had the time gone? she wondered. She should have waited for the AA man.

Eventually, she was through a security gate and inside her lab, ready to get to work. Her lab was the biggest in the building and situated at the end of the corridor; opposite was the office that her manager occupied. She knocked and entered, as she always did, but was surprised to see two men dressed in dark suits in the middle of a conversation with Professor Roger Luken.

‘Ahh and here is Kara Bannon,’ said Roger, swinging on his swivel chair that had almost worn down to the sponge cushioning. His ruddy complexion was stark against his pure white mop of thick hair. He was a fit-looking man for fifty-eight, and yet, with his white lab coat and red spotted bow tie, he did appear to be every bit the mad professor.

Kara smiled nervously, not aware of who the visitors were.

‘Kara, this is Dr Chan and Professor Naughton. They flew in early this morning. They are here to discuss moving the research project over to Denmark. I have told them all about your work and they are eager to see the set-up.’

Nervously, she smiled again and her hands felt clammy. She wasn’t used to working alongside strangers or being unprepared. Roger knew what she was like: she was meticulous, well planned, and organised. Her boss must have known weeks ago. Under normal circumstances, he would have given her plenty of notice, but after the horrendous blunder she caused a few months ago, their relationship had changed. He wasn’t so accommodating or friendly. She missed the banter and how he used to treat her with care and father-like kindness.

‘Oh, I wasn’t expecting … er … I mean, I haven’t prepared.’

Roger waved his hand. ‘Oh, don’t be silly. They just want to see a dummy run. Besides, you will be leading the project in Denmark yourself.’

Kara raised her eyebrows and forgot herself. ‘What do you mean, Roger?’ Her eyes darted from the visitors back to the professor.

It was Dr Chan who spoke up first. He could see how uncomfortable she was. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, Kara.’ He put his hand out to shake hers. Flat and subdued, she returned the gesture.

‘We think the assay that you have designed will fit in very well with our research and we would be honoured if you would work with my team to ensure we have the system operating at its maximum potential. There are always teething issues, and so, it would save us time if you were to initiate the project.’

Kara tried to take it all in, but her sickness was back again, and the waves of nausea were washing over her and filling her with dread.

Roger firmly got up from his chair and turned to face the two men. ‘Would you excuse us, gentlemen?’ He guided Kara out of the room and into her lab. ‘What’s the matter with you? You look as if I have asked you to go to the gas chamber.’

Kara studied his concerned face and felt a twinge of guilt. She let out a weary sigh, as her eyes fell to the floor.

‘I’m sorry, Roger, I didn’t mean to appear so ungrateful. I just don’t like surprises. You know me, Miss Fussy Pants.’ She attempted to laugh it off.

For the first time, she saw the annoyance spread across his face. ‘Kara, if you turn this down, then I am afraid you won’t be able to continue with your research, including your own project.’

Those words were enough to wake her up and bring her back down to earth. ‘Of course, I’m happy to go to Denmark and help set the project up. I was just shocked, that’s all,’ she replied, with forced cheerfulness.

Roger gave her a cold stare. ‘Kara, you know how this works. You must be ready to work overseas at a minute’s notice. These projects are not for us to run. You know they are designed here and used at the company’s other sites. You are in a very privileged position. Many others would chew my right hand off to have the opportunities you’ve been given. Now, don’t mess it up.’ He shot her a warning glare that sent a shiver down her spine.

Kara was upset that he was teetering on being angry with her. She felt the burning vomit rising again, and without a word, she fled to the toilets and threw up. Ten minutes later, she returned to the lab to find Roger, with a pipette in his hand, already setting up the assay. He glanced over his shoulder with a look of disdain and she felt gutted to have disappointed him. The only thing she could do was put a smile on her face and take over.

‘Right, where have we got to?’ She squeezed past Roger and the two visiting researchers, before pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.

‘I have just coated the bottles with T12 cells. Are you happy to take over?’ He gave her a false smile.

Kara nodded and mouthed the word ‘Sorry’.

By lunchtime, she felt exhausted and was glad Dr Chan and Professor Naughton were ready to head back to the airport. She much preferred to work alone. It was even harder making polite conversation with two strangers. She loved her job but liked peace and quiet to concentrate. Part of her work involved designing routine tests to identify various strains of viruses that may have mutated. She used tissue culture, a layer of human cells, to coat the flat-bottomed bottle, and then she added the viral samples, before further contaminating the bottle with various bacteria.

The results were promising, as they demonstrated whether the virus had the capability to infect the specific bacteria or attack the human cells. This determined the level of mutation. As the most senior bacteriologist in the team, with the exception of course of Professor Luken, it was also her job to test random samples of vaccine batches. Holding a position of great responsibility, she was also allowed to do her own research, which was funded by the company. It was a project that would hold her in high esteem among the top scientists.

The tearoom at the other end of the corridor was quiet. Most of the staff had gone to the main canteen. Kara pulled sandwiches from her bag and examined the limp cheese and bread, which had been made soggy by the overripe tomatoes. She threw them back into the box and pulled out an apple. Kara was startled by her mobile phone, which vibrated in her back pocket. She’d forgotten she’d had it on silent. As she struggled to answer it before it rang off, she didn’t look at the number, assuming it was Justin, her boyfriend. ‘Hello?’ She tried to sound upbeat.

However, the voice that greeted her was anything but upbeat. In fact, it was chilling. ‘Kara, Kara, perfect Kara, how’s dearest Justin?’ A cold, sickly chuckle ended the call.

The apple fell out of her hand and rolled under the table, as Kara stared at the number. The voice was unrecognisable but the call had come from her mother’s phone.

Before she had a chance to call back, Roger popped his head around the door, and as soon as he saw her there alone, he came inside and sat opposite. ‘So, what’s going on, Kara? You have been offish for weeks now.’

Her face was blank. She seemed to be staring aimlessly.

‘Kara, are you listening to me?’ he growled.

His raised voice snapped her out of her daze. ‘Weeks?’ she mustered.

He ran a hand through his long wiry hair and nodded. ‘Yes, Kara, weeks. You have messed up three tests. Luckily, I realised and corrected your mistakes before the results went out. And I haven’t forgotten the serious cock-up with the pigbel drugs.’

She bowed her head in embarrassment. That really was a huge mistake and one she would never repeat.

‘It’s not like you. Usually, you are meticulous, and to be perfectly frank, you’re faultless, but you cannot afford to mess up. These are safety class four bugs and you are trained in this area because you are so good at your job. If this keeps happening, Kara, you will have to go back to quality control.’

‘I am really sorry. Look, I will go to Denmark and sort myself out. I’ve just been feeling unwell. It’s some dodgy virus I picked up from Papua New Guinea. When do I go?’

Roger stood up to leave. ‘Tomorrow night. The flights are booked. A car will pick you up at seven o’clock, and you will be away for two weeks or longer, if need be.’ His words were flat and not his usual endearing tone. Kara then heard him outside laughing with Sam James, the lab technician. Her heart sank. Roger usually laughed with her, but not today, and in fact not for a while now. She couldn’t really blame him. It was her own fault – she was the one being distant. However, her pride wouldn’t let her confide in him the reasons why she was not herself.

After making a cup of tea, she sat back on one of the mismatched chairs and sniffed away the tears that were ready to tumble down her face. The thought of going to Denmark for two weeks left her desolate. How could she sort things out with Justin, if she was away in another country?

But there was also something else bothering her – that weird phone call. The only other person who ever answered her mother’s phone was Lucille, the carer. But the caller’s voice, although somewhat similar, had such an unearthly tone to it.

Chapter 2

The journey home was mind-numbing. The bus was full, with only standing room, and Kara found herself hanging on to the pole for dear life. The bug was making her weak and the constant nauseous feeling was wearing her down. The bus arrived at her stop just in time before she collapsed and that was enough to force her to take a seat on the nearest wall.

The icy air from this morning had gone, yet the sky was still dark and gloomy, and it was only six o’clock. It just about summed up her own mood. After a few deep breaths, she headed home along the cherry-tree-lined road into her close. Mr Langley was retrieving his groceries from the boot of his car and only nodded out of politeness when she said ‘hello’. Still, the Langleys were nice enough, keeping themselves to themselves, like the others in the close.

As soon as she noticed only her car was in the drive and not Justin’s, she felt a sudden emptiness because he was working late at his car dealership business. Again.

They had met at her twenty-first birthday party lavishly laid on by her mother, Joan. Justin had turned up with Lucas Lane, her mother’s friend’s son, whom she’d known for years. She remembered feeling butterflies as soon as she laid eyes on him. His mousy waves with streaks of blond tumbled neatly around his ears, framing his carefully sculptured face. He was tall with a perfectly proportioned physique. She guessed he was into sports from his muscular broad shoulders, probably a rugby player, she mused, but then his face was flawless, without the cauliflower ears, which suggested maybe he was into football instead.

That summer it was hot, and his golden tan set off his light blue eyes. When the party was in full swing, all she remembered was him and his shy glances. Lottie, her friend from her boarding school days, nudged her arm. ‘Cor, he is real hot totty.’ She chuckled. Yet Kara didn’t need to be told – it was obvious – and she wasn’t the only one eyeing him up. There was an enchanting awkwardness about him; he was confident, laughing with the lads, but when his eyes diverted to her, he seemed almost coy.

Lucas Lane was eager to show him off; it was obvious he was a popular lad among his male friends. A couple of the other boys were patting his back and clinking glasses, whilst listening to him telling a story. They seemed to be hanging on his every word. She could only assume he was pretty outgoing and possibly adventurous with wild tales of trekking through the Himalayas. Her heart did a backflip when he approached her to wish her a happy birthday, and to her surprise, he even brought along a gift: a small teddy, with twenty-one embroidered on it. That teddy still sat on her bedside table.

Kara hurried inside, hung her coat up on the coatstand, and went straight to the kitchen. She would cook him a nice meal, his favourite – chilli con carne – and hopefully he would sit at the table and talk. That’s all she wanted – for him to talk to her. A few weeks ago, when she called Justin at work and said, ‘I have chilli on the stove,’ he’d replied, ‘Something hot in the kitchen and something hot on the stove, eh? I’ll be home in a jiffy.’

His deep husky voice, to her, just oozed sex, and she could listen to him all night; it was as good as any foreplay. Her eyes swam with tears. The onions weren’t even out of the fridge when the torrent of tears flowed like Angel Falls. She’d been on the verge of crying for weeks. Justin hadn’t actually done or said anything wrong; it was the distance that had come between them and it had happened almost overnight. She thought at first it was her, but then, as the days went on, he seemed miles away, quiet and aloof.

She asked him a few times if he was okay, but he snapped back at her, telling her to stop fussing. She told herself it would blow over and their relationship – perfect in her eyes – would get back to normal. Romantic meals for two, bubble baths together, and a shared bottle of wine in front of the open fire would all return. Yet, the days were now turning into weeks, and she felt her heart being ripped away from her.

Kara sighed and continued preparing the food. Once the chilli was simmering, she went upstairs to have a quick shower and redo her make-up; perhaps she had become a little dowdy and unattractive. The main bathroom was huge with a bath that would easily accommodate two people and a walk-in shower area much like a wet room. The full-length mirror screwed to the far end was surrounded by spotlights, so even a stray hair or a tiny spot could be seen.

Kara stepped out of her clothes, and for a second, she didn’t recognise herself. Perhaps she’d let herself go. Her clothes were certainly tighter; she would have to renew her gym membership and spruce herself up. Justin was fit and his body was rippled with muscles. Another tear fell. She took a step closer and peered at her face. Her blonde hair needed a trim or a restyle; it was just long and flat. The usual shine had disappeared, and she had to admit to herself, she didn’t look in the best shape at all. Her skin was not smooth and glowing; her face appeared pale and spiteful.

Perhaps that was it; maybe he wasn’t attracted to her like before. At only twenty-six years old, she should look fresh and vibrant. Maybe it was her secret tears and all the worry that were souring her face, or the virus bringing her down. The bed sheets had been dry for over a month now, and he hadn’t so much as touched her. She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. The shower was hot, and she had to turn it down a notch, submersing herself under the champagne-setting flow. Standing for a while, she allowed the water to tickle her back and massage her throbbing head.

She must get back to how she was before: toned, fresh, and attractive. Not that she fancied herself as anything special, but Justin did. He told her she was an even prettier version of Jennifer Aniston, and he wasn’t the only one: a few people had said she was a lookalike. He always complimented her; in fact, he treated her as if she were the only woman alive. The problem was he hadn’t lately, though.

Hearing the sound of the front door shutting loudly, her heart fluttered; he was home. She almost slipped over in the shower, trying to get out. She wanted to get dressed and apply a few layers of make-up, add her expensive perfume, and slip on her new floral print dress. He had bought it for her when they went to Harrods. She had to win him back. It was absurd that she was thinking she had lost him, but it was how she was beginning to feel, and if she dared even to think for a moment he was seeing someone else, she would feel sick. That notion was unbearable.

He didn’t call up to her with one of his captivating comments like, ‘Do you need a back scrubber?’ or ‘Do you need company in that bath?’ She shook, putting her mascara on, knowing this was the time she would demand to know what was going on. She planned the words over and over in her head. She even thought of lowering her pride by begging him to go back to the way things were, with a holiday, or perhaps spicing up their sex life.

He wasn’t in the kitchen, when she eventually wandered downstairs. He was in the snug, the smallest room where they went to read, where the bookshelves displayed an array of books from fiction to medical publications. In the corner was a desk and a computer to catch up on work at home. A three-piece suite softened the room and made it more homely than an office.

She peered in with a false smile on her face, when inside she was dying. ‘Well, hello, sexy.’ She tried to sound upbeat, but it was not reciprocated with his usual smile that lit up his face. He was staring down at his phone, and then he peered up with an expression she’d never seen before. It resembled a deep sorrow that dragged his eyes down.

She tilted her head to the side. ‘Please, Justin, tell me what’s wrong? I can’t bear this tension, this … I don’t even know what it is, but it’s hurting me. You have changed so much towards me. I mean, I hardly recognise you … Look, if I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. Put me out of this misery.’ Her eyes filled with salty tears and she let them hang there and build up, before they finally fell in streams. She made no sound but just stared, longing for him to run to her, throw his arms around her, and tell her he loved her.

He didn’t; instead, he looked away, and in a meek voice, he said, ‘I’m just tired and overworked. Please, stop fussing.’

She turned to walk away and hesitated, glancing one more time over her shoulder, to find him still staring at his phone. Her pain was tainted by so much frustration that she wanted to run back and shake him. Couldn’t he see how much it was killing her?

With a heavy heart, she dished up the chilli con carne and carried the two plates into the dining room. Her hands were shaking as she lit the candle. He joined her, sitting opposite, but really, he wasn’t himself. She watched him struggling to force the food down. Then, exasperation got the better of her. She slammed her knife and fork down on the solid oak table, making him jump. ‘Justin, I can’t take this anymore. What the hell’s going on? You won’t talk, and now you can’t even eat. This isn’t fair. Tell me now! What is wrong?’ she shrieked.

Justin pushed his plate forward, clasped his hands together, and leaned his elbows on the table. She searched his eyes for answers, all the while feeling overanxious and thwarted with pending grief. Her heart was racing and her breathing shallow, as if she were awaiting the death penalty. This wasn’t Justin, not her Justin, with the beaming white-teeth smiles and a face full of fun, spouting his jokes at every opportunity. The easy-going, sweet man who worked hard, loved hard, and cared for everyone, most of all her, seemed to be inwardly broken. She didn’t recognise his sober expression or the dull look in his otherwise vibrant ocean-coloured eyes that once danced like the waves.

‘I, er, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I can’t carry on deceiving you. Kara, I’m so sorry …’ he replied, choking on his words.

‘What, tell me what’s going on? Please, we can work things out. Nothing is ever that bad.’ Her voice was on the point of hysteria.

He shook his head and looked down in shame. ‘Oh Jesus, Kara, there’s no easy way to say it … I’m leaving you.’

The words took a few seconds to digest. She couldn’t believe he’d just said them. Now stunned, she stared, shaking her head. ‘No, no, Justin, please don’t tell me you’re leaving me! Why? Why?’ She pleaded with him for an answer.

He looked up, his face drenched in guilt. ‘Oh, Kara, you deserve the truth, but I know it will hurt you so much. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to tell you, but I can’t put it off any longer … I never meant to hurt you, I swear, and for the record, I do love you, I always have, more than anyone, but I have to end our relationship … I did something stupid …’

Kara guessed he had met someone else and couldn’t stand to hear those words, knowing it would destroy her. No one was more important in her life than Justin. He was her world, her rock, and her love. ‘Please, Justin, it doesn’t matter, don’t tell me. We can work it out. I’ll forgive you. Just don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.’ Her mouth felt like it was chewing a hundred cotton-wool balls and her legs were like mushy peas.

Justin’s bottom lip quivered, and then he placed his face in his hands. Kara was by his side with her arms around him. ‘It’s okay, we’ll be fine, we can work this out, I’ll forgive you. Just don’t say any more. We can put whatever it is behind us … Come on, don’t get upset. It’s okay, I promise.’ She’d never seen him cry before. It was guilt, she thought, but it didn’t matter. They would sort it out. She would forgive him for anything right now, as long as he didn’t leave her.

To her surprise, he pushed her away. ‘Stop it, Kara! Just stop it, will you! I can’t stay, I won’t stay, and you have to let me go!’

Stunned, Kara stepped back, and looked at the love of her life, with his wet red cheeks. It was strange. All she could say, in a whisper, was ‘Why?’

He grabbed the serviette from the table and wiped his face, before he took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got a woman pregnant, so I have no choice.’

Kara threw her hands to her mouth in horror. No, he can’t have. He wouldn’t do that. This was a nightmare … She would wake up and it would all be a bad dream.

‘Look, tell her to get an abortion, tell her … I don’t know, Justin, but please don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.’

Kara was dancing on his conscience and he couldn’t deal with it. ‘Shut up! Just shut up. I’m leaving and that’s it. Please stop, Kara. I’ve made my decision and it’s final.’

Kara ran back to him, throwing her arms around his neck. ‘Please don’t, Justin, I’m begging you!’ She could feel her heart being ripped to shreds, not in half so that she could fix it together, but in strands of lonely pieces that could never be whole again. Staring with begging eyes at the only man she’d ever loved, and for him to coldly look away, hurt like nothing on earth.

She slumped to the floor in agonising grief. In that single moment, her chest was crushed by heartache, knowing that this battle to hold on to their relationship would be fought alone. His cold eyes told her everything she needed to know – he didn’t want her anymore, he wanted someone else. She curled in a ball and rocked, too distraught even to make a crying sound. Unable to ease her pain for fear of giving her false hope, he left the room and headed upstairs to pack.

The avalanche of grief mixed with furious frustration turned her self-pity to a burning anger. She gasped as the cold realisation hit her: he didn’t even care enough to stay and work things out. Every nerve in her body was now on fire. She jumped up, screaming, as she snatched the plates and hurled them at the wall. The beautiful cream plaster mouldings were now covered in chilli, which was sliding down the Italian fresco wallpaper.

Her temper increased, and she ran up the stairs after him, shrieking, ‘How could you do this to me? How could you be so cold and heartless? You fucking two-timing bastard!’ Shocked by her own actions and even by the pitch in her voice, she threw her hands to her mouth and glared wide-eyed.

The suitcase was open, and he was carefully filling it with freshly ironed shirts and trousers. He wouldn’t even look at her; it was as if she were a ghost. In a fit of fury, she grabbed the case and tossed it on the floor. ‘How could you, how could you?’ she cried.

Without a word, he held both her arms, before she tore into anything else, and gently pushed her out of the room and closed the door behind her. She had never shown such heartbreaking emotion. Her pleading, distraught expression mixed with that vile anger in her voice had turned her into an unrecognisable stranger.

Kara knew then that no matter how much she screamed, cried, or even begged, he was still going to leave. And he did – half an hour later.

The emptiness was like hell on earth, left with just thoughts of him and another woman. The misguided notion that he was totally besotted with her, only to find out he was sleeping with someone else, was the ultimate in deceit. He had taken away her perfect world in one fell swoop. The house that was once alive with love and passion was now a cold shell filled with memories that had ripped her heart out.

Every time she looked at a photo, a piece of jewellery, the furniture, the clothes – everything that was in the house, in fact – it all reminded her of him. How was she going to cope? The gut-wrenching pain was worse than anything she’d ever experienced. What did she have now, but a big empty void and a bleak future?

Sitting in the dining room for hours in a daze, she finally heard a bird tweeting. As she pulled back the curtains, the sun almost blinded her. She hadn’t been to sleep at all. Every muscle ached, and her legs were numb from sitting. She clung on to the idea that maybe once he was away, he would realise what he was missing, and would return soon with a bag of apologies.

Too grieved to talk to anyone, she pulled the phone from the socket and struggled to the bedroom. As she opened the door and saw the small teddy on the bedside table, she retreated to a spare room and drew the curtains. Too exhausted to do anything but sleep, she lay on the bed and dragged the purple quilted throw over her legs. But as she closed her eyes to blot out the world, his face was there, with that sorrowful look.

Eventually, she drifted off and was tossing and turning, only to wake up with nightmares before drifting off again. At four o’clock in the afternoon, she sat bolt upright remembering the trip to Denmark. She would have to get her bags packed, but unexpectedly, her stomach was burning, ready to expel its contents. Crouched on the cold tiled floor and hanging on to the toilet, the vomit rose once more, and she almost choked. Her throat was alight with acid and her lips burned. All she brought up was bile because her stomach was empty.

After she washed her face and forced herself to clean her teeth, she wandered still in a daze back to the bedroom to get dressed. Her skin felt sensitive, and so she slipped into one of her soft lined tracksuits that hung sloppily off her shoulder. Justin liked her in her Sloppy Joes, as he called them; he said she could wear a black sack and still look gorgeous, but maybe it had all been a lie. She looked once more in the bathroom mirror and noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the red eyelids, and sallow skin. No wonder he ran to the arms of someone else. She looked a mess, and yet he didn’t; his boyish broad smile and the twinkle in his round eyes were just the same – ageless.

The dining table had been cleaned and the crap that was up the wall was all washed down. Her heart skipped a beat. He was back. Perhaps he’d made a mistake. Quickly, she ran to the kitchen, expecting to find him, but only to have her heart ripped away from her again. A slim woman, with dark hair scraped back into a ponytail, wearing no make-up and sporting a piercing through her nose, stood with her rubber gloves on ready to start on the cleaning.

It was Angie, her cleaner of three years, who, in all honesty, Kara knew nothing about, except she worked hard, was reliable and trustworthy, and lived on the estate. Justin had taken her on when he read an ad in the local newsagent’s window. Angie was eager to earn money on the side, just to have decent food in the cupboard. Her rent had gone up and she could barely cover the cost of living. If it wasn’t for her brother Rocky, bunging her a few quid each week, she would have starved to death, but the cash-in-hand cleaning job paid the heating bill and allowed her to get her nails done or to have a night out once a month with the girls.

‘Hey, are you okay, Kara? I saw you asleep in one of the spare rooms. I tried to be quiet … Had a row, did ya?’ she asked, totally lacking any sensitivity.

Kara wasn’t expecting to see Angie and was not in the mood to talk. She needed time and space to figure it all out for herself. ‘No, I’m not well. Sorry, Angie, would you excuse me, please?’

Angie nodded. ‘Yeah, sure.’ She waited for Kara to leave, before she mumbled under her breath, ‘Snotty bitch.’

Angie didn’t really care one way or the other. As far as she was concerned, Kara and Justin were a professional working couple too busy to clean up their own shit, so they paid her to do it. They also paid well, so that was that. As she saw it, Kara was just a geek with her nose constantly in a book, too aloof to sit and have a cup of tea and a chat with her.

She cleaned two houses in the close and the owners were all the same – too preoccupied with their own lives to stop and share a piece of cake or even notice her there. She could not wait to get back home on the estate where at least there was friendly banter.

Angie was still washing down the kitchen, when Kara returned, in need of a cold glass of water, fighting off another wave of sickness that had engulfed her. If she didn’t get her act together soon, she would miss the taxi.

‘Kara, tell me to mind me own business, but do you need a doctor? ’Cos, I swear, you look bleedin’ rough, girl.’

‘No, I’ve just caught a bug, that’s all,’ she replied, holding back tears.

Angie didn’t ask any more questions. She removed her rubber gloves and sighed. ‘All done, I’ll be back tomorrow, for me wages.’ Her fake smile faded, and she hurried out of the room, finally slamming the door behind her, making Kara jump.

Shaking with pain and fear, Kara opened a drawer and pulled out two twenty-pound notes and placed them on the side. She knew she wouldn’t be able to have a conversation with anyone without bursting into tears. When Angie returned, her money would be there, ready. She had to pull herself together somehow.

How could she go to Denmark in this state? She stared at the phone. She had to call in sick, but she could not bring herself to make the call straightaway. She was at the point where she couldn’t handle another argument. In fact, she couldn’t cope with anything, all her thoughts now consumed with grief over Justin leaving, and there was no way this wretched feeling of despair would leave her any time soon.

She pulled down the white case with the red cross and flipped open the lid; there, at the back, was a packet of cigarettes. She’d given up two years ago but now had an urge to smoke the lot followed by a bottle of brandy. Then she spotted the bottle of sleeping tablets. She grabbed it and nervously popped four pills into her hand. That would do it. Like a horse tranquilizer, that should knock her out. At least those tiny tablets would ensure some respite from the emotional pain.

She threw them to the back of her throat, filled a glass with iced water from the fridge, and gulped them down, gagging at the bitter taste. Almost instantaneously, she felt overcome with fatigue and staggered off to the bedroom. Her mind went back to her work and the trip. Five minutes’ rest and I will call Roger and let him know I can’t make it.

She had not realised he would have left the labs by now.

In the distance, she could hear the faint sound of a car hooting outside, but her vision was blurred, and her body wouldn’t move. She ignored it, sank back into a deeper slumber, and slept for what she thought was just eight hours.

By the time she’d woken up, it was early in the morning, but she had absolutely no idea of the actual time or even which day it was. She strolled into the bedroom and looked inside Justin’s wardrobe for a reality check. Sure enough, this was no nightmare – all his clothes were gone, with just a neat row of coat hangers, the only tangible reminder of his former presence.

She wandered from room to room, beside herself with heartache. Her mind just couldn’t focus. Eventually, she made a coffee, lit up a cigarette, and sat in front of the television set, hoping something would take her mind off everything. But as soon as the screen lit up, she saw the date and almost gasped in horror – she had lost three days and had no idea why. The sleeping tablets had left her heady, but really, she should have known the date.

‘Oh shit!’ she muttered, her mind on the trip to Denmark. Her hands were shaking, as she plugged the phone back into the socket. A cold shiver ran through her. Roger would be angry and humiliated. She’d let him down again and now she felt guilty. Without even thinking through how she would explain her absence from work, she called the office number. Roger answered within two rings. ‘Professor Luken.’

Kara stared into space, holding the phone to her ear. ‘It’s me, Kara.’ Her voice was a mere whisper.

There was silence, and she could sense his upbeat tone plummeting. ‘Oh, so you are alive, then? Well, Kara, I think it’s best that you contact Human Resources. This situation is completely out of my hands … unless, of course, you are in hospital and couldn’t get to a bloody phone.’

‘Er … no, I fell asleep. I mean, I was sick, I, um …’

‘Enough, Kara, I am too busy cleaning up your mess to talk. Call HR. I think they will need to see you. As far as I am concerned, you no longer work with me.’ The phone went dead. Kara continued to stare into the distance. It was an unwelcome, life-changing moment: her career was over, and she now had nothing. Her boyfriend and her job were the two most important things in her life. Now, each was flushed down the toilet.

The only solace she had was there in that medicine box. She swallowed hard, again to force the nauseous feeling away, and shuffled on unsteady feet to the kitchen. As she lifted the lid to the medicine box, she got a whiff of stale sweat. Normally, that would have had her tearing up the stairs to the shower, but not today. All she wanted was to be rid of the torturous thoughts weaving in and out of her subconscious.

She swallowed another four tablets and reached for the bottle of brandy that she kept for cooking. The taste was harsh and ripped at her already sore throat. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she gulped back mouthfuls, gasped for breath, and then filled her mouth with more amber nectar. A sudden warm feeling softened her tense muscles and she stared at the drugs in the box. If she took all of them, she would be over this pain for good.

She shook her head, remembering a time when she’d stared at a bottle of tablets but didn’t have the guts back then. She gulped more of the brandy, but as she was about to snap open the first pot of pills, she felt weak and overcome with tiredness. She made her way into the living room and flopped onto the four-seater leather sofa. Within seconds, she was out cold in body, yet her mind was awash with vivid nightmares of the past.

A noise in the distant recesses of her mind rendered her half-awake. For a moment, she was unsure where she was until she saw the huge inglenook fireplace and the antique trunk she and Justin used as a coffee table. Slowly, she pulled her aching body to an upright position and took large breaths of air. It was all coming back to her and her face crumpled in pain. After pushing the quilt from her legs, she frowned. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, but who had covered her over?

Like a fragile child, she got to her feet and gingerly made her way to the kitchen. The money was gone, and the medicine box was put away. Angie! It must have been Angie who covered her over. A deep sadness enveloped her because she knew then that she had to get herself together and deal with the mental anguish of being alone. The date on the kitchen clock was flashing, and yet Kara could not comprehend it. She’d lost six days. How the hell did that happen?

Snapping out of her daze, and in a rush to pull herself together, she made breakfast, and just as she finished the last mouthful, she heard what she assumed was the postman, as he shoved the mail through the letterbox. She looked down at the floor and saw a letter from Lucas Lane and Partners, Solicitor, their solicitor and long-term friend. With no stamp, she surmised it had been hand-delivered.

She fingered her way around the seal and then ripped the envelope open. She had to read the words twice in disbelief. Discounting all the legal jargon for the moment, the solicitor said she was to move out by the end of the week. What? She fell to her knees and screamed like a wild animal. ‘You bastard, you FUCKING BASTARD!’ Gagging in between sobs, Kara punched the door repeatedly. How could he be so cruel? This wasn’t her man; this was not him at all. He would never have thrown her out on her ear. She reread the letter, hoping she’d misread it, but the instruction was there in black and white.

Justin owned the house. It was his before they met, and now he was turfing her out to move in his girlfriend. How could he? This was their home, albeit in his name, but it was theirs. They’d shared and decorated it and made it their own.

Falling to her knees, she clenched her stomach, as if her insides were being pulled away from her. She gasped for air, as though her lungs wouldn’t work. Unexpectedly, she was fraught with an uncontrollable rage. Her otherwise disciplined persona was somehow switched off, as if the devil himself had taken control of her senses. Tidal waves of incensed fury pushed her to act so out of character, that she wasn’t fully aware of her actions. A sudden red mist descended and blinded her.

The sleeping tablets, the drink, and the feeling of utter betrayal pushed her to search the cupboards for something to destroy their love nest. If he wanted the house, then he could fucking have it. Yet, she was going to make dead sure he would never live in it again. She headed straight for the garage – his garage that housed every tool imaginable. There, by the garage doors, were the lawnmower and strimmer, which had stood unused because they employed a gardener, but Justin, being Justin, liked his man tools and toys.

By the side were two petrol cans, in case he ever needed to mow the lawn himself or fill up his car. In a fit of anger, she grabbed the cans and returned to the kitchen, intent on a mission. She would destroy their home – his home.

Her anger now reaching to a new level, she could only imagine Justin and some bimbo enjoying a house that she and Justin had painstakingly decorated and furnished. She splashed the petrol up the walls, over the sofas, up the stairs, and on the bed. Then, almost falling down the stairs breathless and seething, she ran into the kitchen, where she splashed the rest of the fuel over the worktops before throwing the can at the French doors, smashing the glass.

The sound made her rage heighten, as she pulled open a drawer, snatched the sharp carving knife, and began stabbing the highly polished cabinets, imagining it was his body she was desecrating. With one swift movement of her arm, she cleared the worktop of everything: the cups, the toaster, the kettle, and the antique vases belonging to his great-grandmother. They all crashed to the floor. Then, taking a deep breath, she reached for her lighter.

She backed away from the kitchen and towards the French doors. The broken glass on the floor pricked the heel of her foot and she winced in pain. Then, grabbing the newspaper that had been left on the kitchen table by the door, she set it alight.

Instantly, the flames grew at speed. Without a second thought, she threw the burning newspaper onto the kitchen worktop and retreated into the rear garden. Wearing only a thin tracksuit, the cold night air caused her to shiver. As she turned to walk away, an enormous explosion knocked her to the ground. The gas boiler had caught alight and had blown the side window clean away from its frame.

Kara lay on the cold damp grass, unable to move. The blast had also shot a heavy piece of the doorframe across the garden, striking her across the back. But all she could do was stare and watch as the brilliant-white detached house became steadily consumed with grey choking smoke. The growing flames flared up and out of the broken windows, licking the walls and turning them black. Everyone in the close could hear the loud bangs and whistles. As she lay there winded, a horrific high-pitched scream belted out from next door – it was not a woman’s scream.

It hit her all at once like a bat across the head. Her eyes widened at the destruction in front of her, and voices in her head were pummelling her with fury for her irresponsible actions.

‘Oh my God! Have I done this?’

Mr Langley was cradling his wife on the drive. Her head was bleeding profusely, and she lay there unconscious. The blast from the side window had shot shards of glass and debris just as Jenny Langley was taking the shopping from the boot of her car, resulting in her being hit hard around the head.

The neighbours ran from their homes to see Justin’s house billowing smoke from the flames. One man called the fire brigade and another called an ambulance. Hearing Mr Langley’s screams, they ran to his aid. Mr Johnson, a retired police officer, helped carry Jenny Langley away from the burning building and onto the grass where he rolled his jacket and laid it under her head. Mr Langley was in a blind panic. All he could do was hold his wife and offer up a prayer that she wouldn’t die.

‘Is anyone in there?’ asked Mr Johnson.

Mr Langley was too traumatised to answer. The rest of the neighbours couldn’t or wouldn’t help. They gathered in the close, watching the once beautiful house being destroyed and seeing yet more devastation as the windows blew out from the blasts.

Slowly, but surely, Kara got to her feet and tried to register the devastation she’d caused. Reality hit her; she had just burned down Justin’s house.

She heard the fire engine in the distance and knew then that she was in shit up to her neck. It was too late to turn back now though – actions have consequences.

Chapter 3

Kara looked around the room. It was soulless, with just the one table, four chairs, and a recording machine for company. She cupped her hands around the hot tea, hoping it would control the shakes. Was it the cold or shock? She didn’t care, either way; all she felt was a deep head-banging numbness.

The chief superintendent marched into the room, with files under her arm, and sat pertly on the chair. Stony-faced and with eyes that were open but glazed over, Kara slowly peered up to see the middle-aged woman, with cold, spiteful eyes and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, probably from too many cigarettes. With lank, lifeless, and short hair, with a few stands of grey, the policewoman was hardly a looker in the feminine stakes.

Cynthia Lipton, the chief superintendent at Bromley Police Station had been called on to interview the woman because the victim, Jenny Langley, was in the hospital on a life-support machine, and if she died, which was probable, then the person now in custody was looking at an accidental manslaughter charge with arson, which would carry a hefty sentence.

She sharply placed the folder on the table and clicked her pen. Then, having given the young woman the once-over, she concluded fairly quickly from her pale-as-the-moon complexion that Kara Bannon was in shock. This was going to be either like pulling teeth or watching paint dry. She introduced herself and quickly ran through the formalities.

She nodded to the young smartly dressed duty solicitor. ‘Well, are we ready to take a statement?’ she snapped.

Paul Reeves was fresh out of law school and ready to take over at his father’s law firm. Lipton knew he was green around the ears and assumed he would be overly eager to get stuck in. However, she was taken aback when he replied, ‘She wants to give a statement and is not interested in being represented, so I’ll sit in, but to be frank, she’s all yours.’

It wasn’t like him. Lipton frowned. Usually, he was a pain in the arse, meticulous at putting her sort in their place.

‘So, for the recording, please tell me your name, age, and occupation.’

Kara reeled off: ‘Kara Bannon. Twenty-six. Epidemiologist.’

Lipton glanced at Reeves with a questioning expression.

‘It means she studies diseases, how they originate, and how they affect the population,’ responded Reeves, smugly. He loved it when he got one over the police.

Kara remained focused on a tiny spider crawling up the wall just above Lipton’s head. ‘Actually, I am a tropical epidemiologist. I study rare diseases of a class four nature that appear in Third World countries.’

Her well-spoken accent and precise tones stirred unease in Lipton because Kara appeared to be in a trance, yet she was able to answer clearly and precisely. ‘Okay, Miss Bannon, tell me what happened.’

‘I took two cans of petrol from the garage, doused the whole house, and then I set it alight.’

Now, Lipton had to ascertain whether or not Miss Bannon did it alone and whether it was an act of revenge.

‘Miss Bannon, was anyone with you? Were you made to do this? I need to know why you did it?’

Lowering her gaze, she replied, ‘No one told me to do it. I had to burn the house down. I couldn’t let Justin and his new girlfriend move in. It was my home too.’

That was it. Lipton had a reason to charge the young woman with criminal damage, an arson attack, and a possible death by recklessness. She called in the custody sergeant who formerly charged Kara. Still in a stupor, she asked innocently, ‘Is Justin here yet to take me home?’

As the detective looked down at Kara, she realised then that the woman was unaware of the seriousness of what she’d done. Lipton’s mouth formed a smile, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. She wasn’t going to question her anymore; she had all she needed to charge and have the defendant remain in custody. As far as the chief superintendent was concerned, she had done her job – it was yet another notch on her arresting record.

* * *

The sergeant took Kara to a cell and placed a thick red blanket around her shoulders. Robert Wise, the custody sergeant, a big middle-aged man, with a salt-and-pepper-coloured moustache and grey hair, felt sorry for the woman. She wasn’t the normal scallywag who came and went. She had class and was polite. He organised another hot tea and a sandwich and brought them to her. ‘You will appear in court first thing tomorrow morning.’

With grief clouding her face, she took the drink and machine-wrapped sandwich.

Kara wondered if there was anyone out there who even cared that she was locked in a police cell. She had no family except Justin and his mother. Her own mother lived abroad now, and their only real communication was the odd phone call. ‘Is it all right for me to go home now?’

Wise gave her a regretful sigh. ‘No, Miss Bannon, I’m afraid you will be held until the court appearance tomorrow, and there, they will decide if they will let you out on bail, but I wouldn’t bank on it. This is a very serious charge over your head … Look, eat that, and try to get some rest.’

As the heavy metal door banged shut and she heard the rattle of keys, the silent cold truth slapped her in the face. This was it now. She was all alone. Not only had she lost her job, she also had to accept her relationship with Justin was over, and now her liberty was at an end. Everything had been destroyed in a single, petulant, and hostile act of revenge. She could not even begin to imagine what her future looked like.

Her hands trembled so much that she dropped the plastic cup, spilling some of the hot tea on her legs. The liquid quickly made its way through her thin tracksuit and burned her shins. She winced and curled herself into a foetal position, holding her knees close to her chest. She tried to sleep, as it was the only way to relieve herself of her haunting thoughts.

* * *

The next day, the door was opened, and the sergeant studied the frail-looking woman curled up like a baby. His heart went out to her. His own daughter wasn’t much older than this young lady. ‘Miss Bannon, do you need the ladies’ room? Are you hungry?’

Kara uncurled herself, temporarily released from the solitude and heavy weight of her sadness. With red-rimmed eyes hosting pools of deep sorrow, she shook her head.

They wasted no time in bundling her into the police van and hurrying her off to the courts. As soon as she arrived, she was sick, and this time there was no warning. Luckily, she missed her clothes but made a mess on the floor. The officer handcuffed to her was almost sick himself and tutted loudly, demonstrating how disgusted he was.

She was then led into the witness box, but she was barely able to comprehend what the judge was saying. The courtroom itself was daunting enough, let alone being there with no one she knew. Urged on by the duty solicitor to answer the questions, she obliged, and within minutes, she was taken away back to the holding room.

It all happened so fast that Kara was not really aware of her surroundings. The only person she hoped to see was Justin – but he wasn’t there. After spending the whole day in the holding cell, she was finally hustled into a sweatbox, as prisoners and prison staff called it, and was off to meet her new home for the foreseeable future.

* * *

Justin sat at the small dining table. Staring down at the spaghetti bolognese his girlfriend had made, he struggled to let the fork pass his lips. He was shocked to the core and his mind was a stifled mix of emotions.

‘Justin, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay. The house was insured, right?’

Her voice was a little higher-pitched than Kara’s, and at times it was quite shrill. He glanced up and smiled awkwardly. ‘Yes, but …’

‘Oh, come on, Justin, once we get the insurance money, we can have the house rebuilt in no time and just how we want it. It will be perfect for our new baby.’

‘It’s not the house … it’s Kara I’m concerned about.’

Lucy’s eyes, carefully defined by heavy make-up, narrowed. Her lips tightened and pursed, but she reluctantly remained controlled. ‘Darling, people break up all the time, but they don’t go burning down a house and practically killing the neighbour. That poor woman will be lucky if she is able to ever walk or talk again … I mean, who does that? Jeez, I think you were lucky to get out when you did, because, sweetheart, sooner or later, her madness would have surfaced, and God knows what may have happened to you.’

Justin made a sad attempt at a smile, but underneath, he was racked with guilt. ‘I feel bad for her.’

Lucy flared her nostrils this time, unable to contain herself. ‘Look, listen to me: you need to put your energy into thinking about our baby, instead of worrying about some nutjob!’

Justin was in over his head. Lucy wasn’t anything like Kara and he had no idea why he’d shagged her. In fact, he couldn’t remember it at all. Two months ago, he was out with a group of friends from the workshop, Dave’s stag do. They did drink far too many shots and he recalled Lucy chatting him up, and if he was honest, he enjoyed the attention. Kara had been away for two months in Papua New Guinea on one of her expeditions, and he was lonely.

Then, he remembered nothing except calling for a cab the very next morning from Lucy’s flat. He’d felt guilty at the time but still decided not to come clean; after all, Kara would never know. How could she? They never went to that particular pub together.

When Kara returned home for a week, he spent every waking hour with her. He even took time off from work himself because he knew she would shortly return to Papua New Guinea for another month. He missed her so much when she was away. The house seemed so empty; he would wander from room to room, lost in his thoughts, his mind on Kara. It wasn’t as if when she was at home they talked all the time; often, she would just be there studying, but the fact that she was at arm’s length and he could plant a kiss just above her glasses or share a bath and even hold her tightly in bed was enough for him to feel contented.

However, this Papua New Guinea trip seemed to go on forever, and the week they had shared together, she wasn’t quite herself; at the time, he’d put it down to jet lag and overwork. Yet, she had seemed oddly cold, even snappy, as if she was under a lot of pressure from work. He didn’t push her, deciding it would be better if he left her alone.

The boredom, mixed with missing her, foolishly led him to soak up the attention from Lucy. He spent more time in the pub and in her company, and the incentive to do so was there. She was very flirtatious and the compliments she paid him boosted his ego, although he couldn’t blame Kara for any loss of self-esteem he felt. Far from it, yet Lucy was making him feel very special indeed, and as a man, he lapped it up, until once more Justin found himself drunk and in Lucy’s company.

Again, he couldn’t remember anything until he woke up in her bed the next morning. When Kara was home for good, he pushed the incidents out of his head. Kara’s mood swings and tetchiness continued and once again he assumed it was work. After a short while, Kara returned to her usual self and things were back to normal but then the unthinkable happened – fast. Lucy called him one night in floods of tears. Shocked that she even had his number, he managed to calm her down and agreed to meet up in the park across from where he worked. That was when she dropped the bombshell that hit him like a concrete post.

Justin was brought up never to shirk his responsibilities. It was bred into him, being raised by a mother and no father in sight. He could still hear his mother’s words: ‘You made your bed, now you must lie in it.’ But it wasn’t just his mother who had that opinion – he did too. All his life he had wished for a father and vowed if he had a child he would never abandon it.

Lucy removed his untouched plate and toddled off like a moving Barbie doll towards the kitchen. Justin followed her with his eyes and sighed deeply. It was all too fast and like a mad dream; sitting in the dining area with Lucy playing happy families was surreal. She was acting as if they had been together for years, and yet he was torn. On the one hand, he loved Kara, but on the other, he was faced with the cold reality that Lucy was having his baby.

He knew why he had liked Lucy initially: because although she was very different in personality, she was similar in appearance to Kara. It was not the overdone make-up or her hair, or the neat thin nose, but those amber eyes. He fell in love with Kara because of those hypnotic flecks and swirls like tiger stone. She was aloof at times with her head in a book and her oversized glasses perched on the end of her nose. But he loved the way she was so natural, with her blonde hair pulled up in a scruffy bun, and he was attracted by the way she could look highly desirable, even in just a loose tracksuit. Her beauty was innate, and if she did get dressed up in a tight sexy dress with a sprinkling of make-up, then she looked stunning and turned heads.

What he loved the most about her was that she never knew how beautiful she actually was. Despite her intelligence, she had a sweet naivety about her.

He watched as Lucy, in her high heels and skintight catsuit, came walking back with a confidence that emanated self-importance. She waved a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Here you go, sweetie, I bought us a special pressie.’

‘Lucy, firstly, I’m not in the mood. My house has just burned to the ground and Kara is in some prison somewhere. That’s probably down to us. Secondly, since you are pregnant, you cannot drink.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, darling. I thought it might take your mind off all the drama.’

Justin rolled his eyes and left the room. He was drained and needed to sleep and hoped things would be clearer in the morning. He stared for a while at the plain white sheets and the grey walls – there was nothing warm or inviting here – and then he looked at his bags. They were still packed, apart from the bare essentials. Maybe he was too hesitant to really put his feet under Lucy’s table. He had no choice now, though. His home, their home, was totally destroyed. He just needed to be alone to think things over.

As he lay with his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling, he thought about Kara and wondered how she would ever cope in prison. She wasn’t made for any such place. She was his delicate princess, his soul mate, and he’d let her down very badly. That said, she wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth – far from it. Not that Kara spoke much of her past.

Her mother, who wasn’t rich by any means, brought her up in a cottage down in Kent; however, she managed to pay for Kara to go to a posh boarding school. Kara hadn’t been exposed to the real world. He gritted his teeth, when he thought of how she would never survive if anyone hit her. She hadn’t had a physical fight in her life, and he’d never seen her be rude to anyone. She didn’t like confrontation. True, she’d certainly put up a fight to keep him when he’d delivered his bombshell, but the fact was he’d committed the act and he didn’t blame her for defending her own corner, even though her intense anger was a shock and that expression on her face haunted him.

* * *

The first thing that hit Kara was the smell; it could be best described as sweat mixed with a school canteen odour. With the overpainted metal doors and polished concrete floor enhancing the harshness, Kara longed for her warm bed and to be wrapped in a blanket, safe and secure. She realised then that peace and tranquillity, words that had been so important to her, were now just words.

Every noise now had an almost frightening meaning to it. Every unexplained bang was making her jump, the rattling chains were setting her teeth on edge, and the periodic sound from the entry buzzer left her ears vibrating. The speed at which she was pushed from one section to another, expecting to take everything in, was alarming. She wasn’t slow either, yet the list of dos and don’ts, times and places, all seemed to merge into one big blur.

The interview, the prison officers, and the stark coldness of it all was a world so far removed from her own that Kara could never imagine getting used to it. She was led through locked door after locked door, with her arms out holding prison issues, a plastic cup, and basic toiletries. The clothes they gave her to wear after the horrid strip search were too big, yet she wasn’t in a position to complain. The fierce glare on the officers’ faces was enough to imply she was fucked if she argued. Her head was spinning, feverish with fear.

Eventually, she was escorted down a long corridor with heavy doors on either side and was stopped at a door partially open. ‘In ya go, Bannon!’ ordered Anna Larson, the burly female officer. Kara shuddered at the small space and tiny cold-looking bed. ‘Meet Colette Connor.’

The inmate, who was lying on the opposite bed propped up by pillows, deliberately sized Kara up. ‘Aw, for fuck’s sake, no one told me I was gonna ’ave a cellmate!’

Colette Connor was a heavyset woman with a fat face. Her menacing sneer was enough to shit the life out of Kara. Instantly, she stepped back, treading on the officer’s toes and was roughly prodded on the shoulder. ‘Move, Bannon! And you, Connor, can shut it. She’s in with you, so be fucking nice and no nonsense.’

A faint smile lurked in the corners of the officer’s broad mouth. Her narrowed eyes and her cropped hair emphasised the spiteful appearance. She chuckled, as she slammed the door shut.

Kara was still trembling when she placed the prison issues on the bed. The reality of her predicament was creeping into her bones, inch by inch. This was no university campus set-up where everyone could share a joke, relax, and have fun. This was a whole different ballgame. She gingerly sat down and tried to give the inmate a warm smile. It wasn’t reciprocated. Instead, she received a stony glare that gave Kara the shits.

‘Oh, my name’s Kara Bannon. It’s nice to meet you.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she realised how ridiculous they sounded. And to make matters worse, Colette repeated them in an over-the-top posh voice, trying to intimidate her.

‘So, Posh, what ya in for, then?’ asked Colette, with her cocky head tilted to the side.

‘Well, I, er … arson, I think, and oh, yes, reckless bodily harm or something. I’m not quite sure.’

Colette, or Cole as Kara soon found she was commonly known, looked Kara up and down. ‘Who did ya hurt?’

‘My neighbour.’

‘Why? Did she fuck ya ol’ man?’

Colette was getting excited. She was bored, and this young woman might have something interesting to make the daily grind of prison life actually bearable for once. Colette loved aggro. It was in her DNA. Not only did she want to hear all the gory details, she needed to size up this Kara bitch. For all she knew, she could be a raving nutter, sharing her cell.

‘I don’t know. I, er … I mean, I can’t remember exactly what happened.’

Colette frowned and thought it best to back off. If this posh bird couldn’t remember what she’d done, then she didn’t want to be the one who suffered from a red-mist moment at the hands of a fucking psycho.

‘Right, Posh, lights are out in twenty minutes, so you’d better sort ya shit out and no fucking snoring. I ’ate noise, when I’m trying ta sleep. The last bird cried all night, and I swear to God, I gave her something to cry about, so no blubbering, right?’

Kara took a few deep breaths as if she was trying to stop herself from being sick. ‘I don’t snore, and I won’t cry, but I might be sick. I have a virus I picked up from abroad.’

Colette noticed the girl’s face looked almost grey. She pointed to the toilet tucked in the corner. ‘Use that, and I swear, if ya fucking puke anywhere near me, I’ll make sure you fucking eat my next shit.’

Kara’s lower lip trembled. The tension was so hostile and downright scary. Suddenly, the light went out and she had to feel her way around the cell. Running her hands along the bed and to the small partitioned wall, she finally found the place she wanted. Kneeling beside the chrome toilet, she hoped beyond hope that she wouldn’t be sick anywhere near her cellmate.

For over an hour, Kara gripped the basin, with nothing but the tremendous feeling of guilt for company. She just couldn’t get Mrs Langley off her mind; it was eating away at her. Silently, she prayed for the poor woman’s full recovery. The nausea was relentless, so she sat on the hard floor with her chin resting on the stinking toilet bowl until she felt her head nod as she began to drift off to sleep.

The sickly feeling at last receded, so she crept onto her hard bed and entered the world of darkness. In no time at all, a loud sound pulled her from her nightmares. Doors were opening, and the small room lit up. Colette was rolling a cigarette, her fat tongue sliding along the sides of the rolling paper before she stuck it together. She didn’t look at Kara but just jumped up and left, with the cigarette in her mouth.

Kara sat upright, trying to get her bearings; everything was still surreal. The night before when she was in reception, the officers were reeling off so much information, she couldn’t take it all in. It was something about breakfast, showers, jobs, and times.

A few minutes later, in the doorway, a tall woman with wild black hair, grinning from ear-to-ear, was showing a neat row of gold teeth. Kara couldn’t work out if she was black or white. Her features were African, but her skin was milky, and her eyes were green. Kara was uncomfortable because the woman’s gaze was anything but welcoming.

‘Cole tells me ya burned ya house down, fucked up the neighbour, ’cos she fucked ya ol’ man.’ She had her hands on the doorframe and was gently swinging in and out of the cell.

A bead of sweat trickled down Kara’s back and her face flushed. She recognised that feeling. The sickness was coming up, and this time she couldn’t hold it. Ignoring the tall woman, she leaped from the bed and hurled her stomach contents down the toilet. As she pulled away, she noticed how disgusting the toilet actually was and then remembered she’d been leaning on it for some time during the night. With that thought in mind, she heaved again. There was nothing left to bring up.

With wobbly legs, she tried to stand up and had to grip the wall. As she turned, she saw the small sink and leaned heavily, bowing her head and catching her breath. She turned on the taps and ran her hot face under the flowing water, whilst slurping mouthfuls of the cold liquid. She spat twice and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Falling back onto her bed, she glanced up at the woman in the doorway. The ordeal had no doubt made her own eyes bloodshot and evil-looking.

Kara took a deep breath. ‘What did you say?’ she tried to sound friendly, but her voice was hoarse and her expression demonic. The woman stopped swaying on the doorframe and stepped back, as if unsure what to make of Kara.

At that moment, the inmate was shoved away from the entrance to the cell and in her place stood a square-shouldered, tall, and heavily built screw, as they called them. Kara should have been relieved. Weren’t they the good guys?

‘Bannon, you’re supposed to be back at reception!’ the screw growled, her voice deep and husky. ‘Get up and follow me.’ Kara naively expected the officer to be less harsh and less manly. It was the big tits that gave her sex away. Dressed in the prison sweats, Kara dragged herself up, still shaking, and stepped forward. The screw huffed, ‘Jesus, woman, what’s the fucking matter with ya? Get a wriggle on. I ain’t got all day!’

Kara gulped back a breath, hoping she could get enough oxygen to her brain to stay upright and walk on. Outside the cell, she noticed prisoners bustling from one place to another, all on some kind of mission. She tried to keep her head down, too afraid of making eye contact with anyone. This was so far detached from anything else she’d ever experienced, that it was hard to stomach. Even her first day at boarding school wasn’t this intimidating. The banging and clanking of keys and doors was a stark call of reality to the situation.

As the officer marched ahead, Kara noticed the inmates looked away. The officer was the one who called the shots – that was a given. As they approached the end of the landing, an inmate, who was standing in the doorway of her cell, swiftly stepped out and unexpectedly pinched Kara’s arse and whistled. A fear crushed her, and she could feel the tears welling up.

No, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. How would she ever survive? She wasn’t gay, she wasn’t streetwise, and she certainly wasn’t hard. She felt the tear trickle down her face and quickly she wiped it away. The screw unlocked the end door and pushed her through, locking it behind her. They marched down the stairs and along another hallway, until, finally, they were in the reception area. Kara was too afraid to look at anyone, until she heard a man’s voice. ‘Kara Bannon?’

Slowly, she glanced up and nodded.

There, a tall, dark-haired, and smartly dressed man in his mid-forties, who reminded her of a younger Hugh Bonneville, smiled compassionately, giving Kara a feeling of hope. Please tell me I am going home?

‘You need to fill out this form. They forgot yesterday.’ He spun a piece of paper around on the desk and handed her a pen. The female officer stood by her side like a concrete statue. Kara looked at the form. It had two questions: name and next of kin. She scribbled her name, and on the line below, she wrote ‘no one’.

The male officer took the form from her, and then he raised his eyebrow. ‘You have no next of kin?’

Kara shook her head.

‘What, no parents, partner, brother, sister, or even aunts?’

Kara shook her head again. ‘No one,’ she whispered.

‘Okay, now it was a mad rush yesterday. It always is on the weekends. Have you been told the process, like how it works?’

Before Kara could answer, the screw jumped in. ‘Yep, Gov, she was given the full low-down—’ She was cut short.

‘Sandra, was I talking to you? Go back to the wing. I want to talk to Bannon alone.’

Sandra gave him a spiteful sneer and stomped away. Once the door was slammed shut, the man looked Kara up and down. She gathered he must be the governor or assistant governor. ‘A lot to take in, isn’t it?’

Kara raised her head and smiled nervously. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, you see. It’s all new to me.’

‘Yes, I can see that … Look, Kara, I won’t pretend it’s a bed of roses in here because it isn’t. I suggest you keep your head down, don’t listen to the other inmates, and sign up for a job right away. Of course, you don’t have to because you’re only on remand, but it might be better if you do. You have fifteen pounds a week for the canteen, which means money to buy stamps, treats, tobacco, and phonecards. Your breakfast will be left in the cell and the lunchtime and dinnertime meals will be in the canteen.’ He chewed the inside of his mouth. ‘You can order books from the library.’ He probably guessed she liked reading, just by the way she spoke. ‘What was your job on the outside?’

Kara swallowed hard. Her job was her life, except for Justin, and both were gone now. ‘Epidemiologist,’ she replied.

‘Okay, Kara, well, mopping floors will be a drastic change.’ He was clearly trying to make a joke, but Kara was still in shock and riven with uncertainty.

She stared at his deep blue eyes and noticed they had a kind sentiment about them. ‘I don’t know how I should address you or anyone for that matter.’

‘My name is George, but you must call me Gov. You can’t really go wrong with calling all the staff Gov. The other girls do,’ he replied.

George had worked his way up through the system for twenty years and took no shit from anyone – the inmates or his fellow officers. He had only worked at Larkview Prison for a year, having been taken on by the number one governor. She wanted the prison cleaned up, and he was the man for the job.

In his time, he had seen hundreds of inmates come and go and some return time and time again, yet he had never come across an inmate like Kara Bannon. It was the sadness in her remarkable amber eyes that set her apart. She was sweet and naturally attractive. Her hair was fair and her skin flawless. He inwardly sighed. She wouldn’t look so fresh after a stint in here. The bright lively waves of hair that shone would no doubt grow dull and lifeless, and her dewy glow would diminish, along with her soul.

‘Right, I’ll organise a job for you in a few days’ time, but for now, you can get to know how things work on the wing. You can go to the canteen. That’s where you buy your essentials, if you need anything.’

Kara shook her head. ‘I don’t usually smoke or eat sweets and I have nobody to write to or call.’ She didn’t seem to be saying it for the sympathy vote. George felt for the girl because deep down, he knew she would get eaten alive. Her posh voice, her naive manner, and her good looks would do her no favours. He smiled and nodded towards the door. ‘Okay, I shall escort you back.’

* * *

On the surface, he seemed soft and kind, and yet Kara, with one exception, had never trusted anyone. She never had and for good reason. All except Justin; she had trusted him and look where that had ended up.

As they walked back to the wing, he went over the procedures again. This time, Kara took it all on board – she had to, if she was to survive in this hellhole. She would have been put on the new inmates’ course, a short introduction that gave them a run-down on how the prison operated, what to expect, and what they expected from her. However, the prison was very short-staffed and so the two-day course was wrapped up in two hours.

Back inside her cell, she noticed the box that was supposed to contain her breakfast. It was empty. That Cole woman had stolen it. Kara’s stomach was now rumbling, and she thought back to the last time she had eaten anything. She couldn’t remember, it was so long ago. She would have to keep up her strength. Colette was sitting smugly with her eyebrow raised as if to say, ‘Yeah, go on, Kara, say something.’

Kara hesitated, but then she made a stupid mistake. It was her biggest blunder and a real learning curve for her, accusing Colette of stealing her food. ‘That was my breakfast, I do believe.’ Her tone was soft, but there was an undercurrent of sarcasm. She never meant it to come out that way, but it did, and it was too late to take it back. Colette was off her bed in an instant. She spun around, and with a clenched fist, she punched Kara clean in the mouth. The thud was hard and knocked Kara against the wall. She tasted the blood and winced, just as another punch hit her. This time, she felt her head smack against cold concrete. It was as if the wind was knocked out of her. Colette stepped back with a cruel, beady look in her eye and dared Kara to fight back.

Colette’s fighting skills were gained from many a ruck inside. She had a reputation, and with her fast and furious blows, she would have an opponent on the deck in the blink of an eye. Some brave or stupid souls returned the violence, but the clued-up ones begged her to stop.

However, Kara was still in total shock. She had never been hit before and it wasn’t as she had anticipated. Her cheek hurt like a dull cramp and she was left with a sore tingling. But it was the unknown that was the problem. It was the prospect of further aggression that was frightening her and also not knowing the possible damage that would be inflicted on her.

Her fear when she entered the prison was the brutality, isolation, and inhumanity, along with deprivation. After she wiped the blood away with the back of her hand, she stared at Colette with a dull expression that didn’t match her thoughts. She was stunned and should have been terrified. Yet, for some odd reason, this initiation into prison life really wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. Deep inside her mind, she’d gained an ability to detach herself. Besides, the pain of losing everything was worse and perhaps the smack in the mouth was a wake-up call to snap her out of the daze she’d been living in.

Colette was watching the younger woman’s still countenance, gauging Kara’s next move. But there was no move: Kara just continued to gape at Colette with no life in her eyes. It was a poignant moment, which Colette, for all her bravado, was at a loss to explain. Normally, if she gave a bird a good hard lump, they would either try to defend themselves, or, more likely, they would crumble on the floor in a ball, begging for her to stop. Either way, it was a win-win.

She was a bully in every sense of the word. Her accounts of GBH and ABH were as long as her arm and ended up with her serving four years. Prison didn’t bother her in the least. In fact, she found it a doddle: three meals a day, a bed, and not having to think for herself – what was there not to like? She loved to be a plastic gangster, talking tough and exaggerating her crimes.

The truth was she lived with her elderly mother, fact; she was ugly and stupid, both incontrovertible facts; and she had nothing going for her. The only respect she got was from her ability to knock out grown men. Inside that hard-ass armoury, there was a sad, lonely woman longing to be loved by a man, to have a family, and to be cherished. Her father had run off when she was two and her mother was a shy, weak little woman who had no control over Colette at all. She was a victim of circumstances, and unfortunately, she knew it, which was why she was merciless inside the nick.

Kara’s eyes were bloodshot again and it gave her an almost fiendish look. She continued to stare, as if not really knowing what to do. Colette slumped her shoulders and sat heavily on the bed. She slid her hand under the mattress and retrieved a Snickers bar, her favourite treat from the canteen. ‘’Ere, if ya are so fucking hungry, ’ave this.’

Kara still didn’t move. She was intent on keeping her eye on Colette, in case she tried to bash her once again. She wiped her bloodied mouth for the third time and could feel the swelling of her bottom lip. It didn’t hurt at all. It was strange because she knew it probably looked bad. She ran her hand over her cheekbone to feel the lump protruding under her eye and again was astounded that the swelling was numb.

Colette watched her checking her wounds and waited for the backlash, but there was none. Kara sat herself down and shook her head. ‘I don’t eat chocolate. But, thank you, anyway.’ Her response was typically articulated, her Oxford accent clearly pronouncing each and every word.

Colette wasn’t sure if Kara was being sarcastic or that was just her normal way of speaking. ‘You don’t fucking accuse people of nicking ya gear ’cos you will get fucking hurt, right?’

Kara replied in a flat tone, ‘But it isn’t right. I was extremely hungry. I haven’t eaten for days.’

Colette wasn’t used to anyone speaking to her like that except for her schoolteachers, many years ago. Unbelievably, she felt like a child again.

Standing up and closing the cell door, she replied, ‘Listen, Posh, I ain’t got any beef with ya, and I s’pose it’s easier if we gel, ’cos I’m gonna ’ave ta put up wiv ya. So ’ere are the rules. Change the way ya speak, or you are gonna get a fucking good hiding. The birds in ’ere don’t take too kindly to you looking down ya hooter at ’em, and ya best learn to be on high alert, watch ya back, keep outta people’s business and …’

She paused and looked Kara over. ‘And, if ya do get in any trouble, you be sure ya come and find me. ’Cos, I have a reputation, see. Not many will fuck wiv me. I’m one ’ard bitch.’ She was showing off and wanted to be feared. For some reason, this waif of a woman was intimidating her. Perhaps it was her educated voice – Colette guessed she hadn’t gone to her local state school – or the woman’s weird expression when she was given a good thumping. Either way, she could be a force to be reckoned with, and Colette wasn’t taking any chances.

Kara gave Colette a gentle smile. Her fat lip and the lump on her cheek made Colette unexpectedly feel a twinge of guilt. The girl was very pretty, and she’d just messed up her face, and for what? It had just been to prove a point, end of. It was wrong on every level, and she knew it.

‘Thank you, Cole. I’ll try to speak like you, if it helps.’

Now, Colette felt even more guilty. Kara wasn’t like the others, that was for sure. She was sweet and innocent.

The door swung open, and in stepped the inmate who Kara had seen earlier, before the screw pushed her away. ‘All right, Cole, so what’s happening?’

The mystery woman looked Kara over, as if intrigued to know more about her. Earlier, Kara had felt a little uncomfortable to be alone with her.

Colette shuffled along the bed so her buddy could join them.

‘Her name’s Posh. She’s all right, Dora.’

Dora’s face changed and she gave a dirty grin. ‘Oh, yeah, it’s like that, is it?’ She winked at Kara, who, of course, had no idea what she meant.

Colette gave Dora a hard nudge. ‘Fuck off, Dora, it ain’t like that – she ain’t my type. You, of all people, should know that.’

Dora lowered her eyes and blushed.

Kara’s mind was whirring. Was Colette a lesbian and Dora her girlfriend? The image of an inmate coming on to her was worse than being violently attacked. Or perhaps it was much the same thing. She shuddered. She watched Dora run her hands down Colette’s leg and wondered if long-term prisoners who weren’t gay turned to each other for comfort. Assuming they wanted some privacy, Kara jumped to her feet and asked, ‘Where’s the library?’

Colette turned her head to the side. ‘What’s the matter wiv ya? Ain’t our company good enough for ya?’

In normal circumstances, Kara would have chosen her words more carefully, but this situation was hardly normal. And she wasn’t sure what saying the right thing would do for her credibility. There was no room here for decorum or polite niceties. No, she was going to have to play their game, and where she could, she would stay away from conflict. ‘Cole, I’m going to leave you two to have some private time. I think if we are sharing a cell, it’s only right that I let you have your space. It’s obvious what you two intend to do.’ She looked down at Dora’s hand.

Colette really laughed at that, and then she winked. ‘You can join in, if ya fancy a bit?’ She stood up and ran a finger along Kara’s uninjured cheek.

With her stomach now in knots, Kara instantly grabbed Colette’s wrist. ‘You can hit me, Cole, but don’t touch me.’ Surprised that those words had left her mouth, she swallowed hard and winced, awaiting the backlash. However, Colette didn’t see the fear behind those words. All she saw was a flash of fury, which took her by surprise.

‘So, I ain’t ya type, then, Posh? Not good enough for ya, eh?’ Her voice was climbing several levels, and Kara felt drained by being on edge all the time. She had to think quickly; backing Colette into a corner would not be clever. ‘Look, Cole, it’s apparent that Dora’ – she pointed to the angry-looking woman still sitting on the bed – ‘is your type, and you have a thing going. I wouldn’t like someone to take what’s mine, and my neighbour did just that, so do you understand where I’m coming from?’

Colette’s eyes flicked from left to right, trying to take in the message. It took a couple of seconds for her to process the intent behind Kara’s question before she dropped her guard and sat back down. Colette was not totally stupid, not by a long stretch. She realised that Kara had given her a way out, a face-saver. ‘I get ya, Posh, I get ya. You are the faithful type. So, did ya do the neighbour ’cos she was muscling in on ya ol’ man, then?’

Kara wondered if she could adopt an alter ego. She realised she would have to continue with the lie just to give herself some creds, if she was to survive. Telling lies wasn’t her thing, and yet being in the slammer certainly wasn’t either. ‘Yes, Cole, I burned the house down and tried to kill the bitch.’ She tried to sound cold and hard, but in her mind, she knew she probably sounded pathetic. Truthfully, even saying those words made her feel ill. Mrs Langley was a sweet woman who never deserved what happened, and worse, Kara was using the incident to save her own skin by coming across as hard and uncaring. Who the hell was she turning into? This wasn’t who she was.

However, Colette was uneasy because Kara wasn’t jumping about swearing and re-enacting the crime; there was a coldness to the woman’s tone and manner. Through long experience of prison and life, she wondered if Kara was really a nutter behind that angelic façade.

‘Was ya ol’ man a bit of a dish, then, was he?’ asked Dora, raising her eyebrows and licking her lips.

Gritting her teeth, Kara wanted to cry again. Of course, he was a dish; he was everything she ever wanted in a man, but he’d abandoned her, ripped her heart out, and left her in prison to rot.

‘He was a class-one bastard!’ she snapped.

‘All fucking men are bastards; it’s in their make-up. ’Orrible wankers, they are. Always after ya fanny or wanting their shitty pants washed. They’re no good to us women, let me tell ya. Me ol’ man ruined me muvver, then he fucked off, leaving her without a pot to piss in and me to bring up. I know how to treat men, though, just as they treat us. I use them for a free ride on their cock, get ’em to buy me a few bits and pieces, and then fuck ’em off.’ She looked Kara up and down and sighed. ‘I guess you ain’t learned the rules yet, ’ave ya? I suppose he sucked you in, got what he wanted, and then he spat ya out, moving on to the next unsuspecting bitch?’

Kara wanted to say, ‘No, it wasn’t like that at all. He loved me and never used me,’ but then, in this new environment, she would look a right idiot. ‘Oh, I knew the rules. It’s just a shame that my neighbour didn’t,’ she replied, with a smirk, even believing her own slander now. Nevertheless, it was easier than admitting the truth. It was her way of escaping the reality of the situation.

At once, the tension seemed to ease, and Dora, now looking more relaxed, giggled. ‘No flies on you, gal.’

Colette joined in and smiled. ‘I bet the bitch knows now, though, eh? With a face like Freddy Krueger, she won’t be messing with no woman’s man again. Who would want her now?’ She slapped her thigh and laughed even louder.

Kara was feeling nauseous. That poor woman. What if she really was scarred … and worse, what if she was dead? Kara resignedly sat on the bed, her legs weak and wobbly, and yet Dora and Colette took it as if she was joining in with them and having a laugh at the neighbour’s expense.

The inmates’ levity was cut short by the appearance of a large woman, with jet-black hair half up and half down and a deep jagged scar across her forehead, standing in the doorway. Kara smiled but was sneered at. The woman was in her late thirties, good-looking and yet hard-faced. She had on the prison issues, a green tracksuit, but her sleeves were rolled up showing her tattoos. ‘Cole, I want some gear!’

Kara watched the dynamics. Dora had her head down, and Colette jumped to her feet, flustered. ‘Er, Vic, I ’ave only got a bit of puff.’

Victoria Meadows, commonly known as Big Vic, was obviously someone with clout. She exuded confidence and her demeanour said, ‘Don’t fuck with me’. She was scratching her neck, and as Kara’s eyes followed her hand, she could see the raised swirls of red inflamed skin.

‘I need something now, Cole. You’d better call on everyone on the wing, or I’ll be smashing a few heads in.’ Her beady dark eyes glared at Colette, who was clearly shitting herself.

‘What do ya need, then, Vic?’

‘I need anything that’s gonna stop this fucking itching, something to knock me out, and I don’t care what it is, meth, brown stuff, or puff!’

Kara bravely stood up and stepped towards the woman.

Vic stepped back with her forehead creased. ‘What are you fucking looking at?’

‘The rash on your neck,’ replied Kara, totally unfazed by the woman’s harshness.

‘Go fuck yaself.’ She turned to face Colette. ‘Who’s this fucking numpty?’

Colette was still uneasy. ‘Er … that’s Posh. She’s in with me. Tried to kill the neighbour who was sniffing around her ol’ man. She burned the fucking house down.’

‘You got any gear, Posh, or are you just another waste of space?’

‘I don’t have any gear, but I can tell you what’s wrong with you.’

In a flash, Vic snatched Kara by the hair, bending her back. ‘You can tell me about meself, yeah? Ya cheeky fucking whore. I run this wing, so you’d better know ya fucking place, or I’ll show ya!’

Kara then realised what she’d said had been taken the wrong way. ‘No, I mean your neck. I know why it’s inflamed.’

Vic dropped her like a hot brick and glared at Colette and Dora. ‘Get out!’ she hollered. Instantly, the two women darted out of the cell. Vic then closed the door behind them and glared at Kara. ‘Oh yeah, some kinda doc, are ya?’

Kara looked at Vic unblinkingly and nodded. ‘Yes, sort of.’

As Vic sat down on the bed, Kara noticed the woman’s demeanour soften. ‘So ya know what this is?’ She lifted her baggy green tracksuit top revealing swirls of raised red circles covering her chest.

Leaning forward, Kara ran her finger over the inflammation. ‘Does that irritate you?’

Vic was like a patient in a surgery. ‘Yeah.’ Slowly, she rolled her top back down.

‘What did the doctor give you for it?’

‘That ol’ cunt said it was a heat rash. Four weeks I’ve had this, and it’s getting worse. The blind ol’ fucker, I could smash him round the ’ead. So, what is it?’

‘It’s a fungal skin infection.’

‘What!’ screeched Vic. ‘You better be joking! You mean, I have a fucking fungus growing on me skin?’

Kara knew it would make anyone feel ill, imagining a fungus growing over their body. ‘Yes, but don’t worry, it’s easily cured. I promise you, all you need is an antifungal cream. You know, like athlete’s foot or thrush?’

With wide eyes, Vic slowly nodded. ‘Yeah? So, that’s all I need, just that cream?’

With a compassionate smile, Kara replied, ‘Yes, that’s all you need, and within a couple of days, it will be gone. Try not to scratch it and keep it cool for now.’

‘Right, I’m going back to tell that idiot fucking doctor. I swear if he don’t give me that cream, I’ll smash the living shit out of him.’ She jumped up and went to walk away, but then she turned back. ‘Er, listen, this is between me and you, yeah?’

Kara nodded. ‘Of course. Oh, by the way, my name is Kara. Cole just calls me Posh.’

‘Yeah, well, you are posh. Everyone calls me Vic or Big Vic … Er … if ya need anything, give me a nod, yeah? But you’d better be right. I don’t take too kindly to being mugged off.’

With a warm smile, Kara nodded again. She had got the picture loud and clear. It was going to be a testing time. She had to prove her worth and use everything she had, if she was going to survive. She lowered her eyes and sighed. If she believed in God, she would pray that she hadn’t got the diagnosis wrong. Then the muscles in her jaw relaxed. If she had got it right, then perhaps she would have a friend on her side.

At that moment, Colette and Dora hurried back in. ‘So, what did she say?’ asked Colette, looking flushed.

‘Nothing much. It was personal, really.’

With a deep laugh, Colette went on, ‘Personal, there’s no such thing in ’ere. Anyway, no matter, whatever you said, ya got her off my back.’

Perhaps she was making headway at last for a peaceful life.

Chapter 4

The sun was just starting to rise. While Lucy was in the shower, full of the joys of spring, Justin sat on the end of the bed, with his hands cupping his tired face. It had been a long night, a stressful one, and he felt like shit. He’d rolled on his side just to avoid any affectionate contact and had found himself almost hanging off the bed most of the night. He took a deep breath. What the hell am I doing? I don’t even know her. It’s all madness.

Lucy obviously hadn’t taken the hint, as she casually walked into the bedroom from the bathroom completely naked. He’d looked up and thought about Kara. She was never so provocative, more sweet and shy. He was always the one doing the running, making the first move, but he liked it that way, not having it handed to him on a plate. Something about Lucy’s body made him blink. He thought perhaps his longing for Kara had messed with his mind because Lucy’s figure with her neatly shaped breasts and slim thighs was almost identical. He looked away.

‘Justin, please don’t tell me you don’t find me attractive, not after you were all over me before.’

Even her higher-pitched voice was irritating him; so much so, that he stood up from the bed and reached down to pick up his bag. ‘Lucy, I know that I slept with you and we’re having a baby, but it doesn’t feel right that I should live here as if we’ve been dating for years. We don’t know each other all that well, and so to play the happy family game right away doesn’t sit comfortably with me. Surely, you understand?’ He looked at her with his face half turned away, but it was definitely not easy, with her standing there naked. ‘I think for now I’ll stay elsewhere until I can figure this out. I don’t intend to shirk my responsibilities, but I need time. You do realise that, don’t you?’

Lucy felt like a schoolgirl. The way he pronounced his words – with no trace of an accent or slang – he bordered on being posh. She wasn’t used to it, and she felt a little intimidated. She wouldn’t be put off, though; his looks and money more than compensated for his more genteel and less manly ways.

‘Don’t be like that. Look, Justin, if you want to sleep in the spare room, then do that. Christ, all those things you said to me, I guess you never meant them, eh?’

‘What things?’ he snapped.

‘That you really liked me a lot, how you wished you were with me, and how things would be so different. Well, Justin, you have me now and a baby on the way. For fuck’s sake, she burned our … sorry, I mean your bloody house down and nearly killed the neighbour. Seriously, you aren’t telling me you’re having second thoughts, are you?’ She began to snivel and left the room.

It was bizarre. One minute, he was in his perfect world with Kara, where they shared his lovely home and enjoyed a comfortable lifestyle, with a deep sense of closeness between them, and now he was facing a life with Kara in jail and Lucy swanning around like she’d been with him for years. What the hell was he doing? Was being a father so important that he was blinded by the notion? He thought back to his childhood, and yes, he longed to have his father in his life, but could he really sacrifice Kara for this unborn child and Lucy? Who the hell was she, anyway? He knew absolutely nothing about her.

Still gripping his bag, he sighed. Perhaps he’d gone too far. ‘Lucy!’ he called out. She didn’t answer, so he wandered to the bathroom to find her sitting on the edge of the bath sobbing. She looked vulnerable and very different from a few minutes ago. With a towel wrapped around her, she whispered, ‘I’m so sorry, Justin, I guess you’re right. This is all too soon. I never knew I could get pregnant. The doctors said I couldn’t. I would never have put you in this situation, but you did say how much you liked me, and when you came back here for the second time, I assumed I wasn’t just a one-night stand. But it’s okay. I understand. You never really did like me.’

She wiped the tears away and pulled the towel tighter around herself. ‘You’re a good man, Justin, and I will admit I fell in love with you the first time I met you, and so having your baby is not a heartache for me. I just hope he or she grows up to be just like you. But, I promise you, I’ll be a good mum, so never worry about that. I’m just sorry you don’t feel the same way about me. I’m not Kara, and well, I couldn’t possibly be. I grew up in a foster home, a few actually, so I’m a bit wilder, I suppose. I can’t take her place, and so it’s best that you go and forget you ever met me.’

With a heavy sigh, Justin placed the bag on the floor. ‘It’s not you, Lucy – you’re probably a lovely person. It’s just so soon. We don’t even know each other, and I wish you wouldn’t act like we have done so for years. I feel suffocated.’

‘I only wanted it to be nice for you. I didn’t want you to feel awkward. Perhaps I wanted too much.’ Her voice was softer and gentle, and it tugged on his heartstrings. It wasn’t Lucy’s fault. After all, the only person who had caused all this mess was him. He needed to man up. Only he could put it right. He had played away from home and got this woman pregnant. He couldn’t bring himself to mess up two women’s lives.

‘Why she had to burn the house down, I don’t know. She could have stayed there. I suppose, she really hated me for what I did.’

Lucy looked away. ‘Babe, she did something terrible. The neighbour is in hospital, fighting for her life. That could have been you. Kara isn’t the person you think she is.’

Justin chewed the inside of his mouth, going over Lucy’s words in his mind. Perhaps she was right. Maybe Kara did have a vindictive side to her. ‘Okay, I’ll stay in the spare room, and we’ll see if we can work this out. I’m not ready for a full-blown relationship, so give me some time, eh?’

With an obliged, compassionate smile, Lucy nodded. ‘I understand, love, and I’ll back off, although it will be hard, because I do love you, Justin.’ She paused, as if wondering if she sounded convincing.

Those words kept repeating themselves in his mind. Still numb and racked with guilt and grief, he made his way into the spare room. It was little more than a box room, with just a single bed, one pine wardrobe, and a bedside table. The window looked out over the row of houses opposite, and as he stared, he shuddered.

This was worlds apart. His house was in a close and the property opposite was so far away, that he never felt hemmed in. Lucy’s flat was in what was once a large house with three floors. The property was now split into two flats. The basement flat that was accessible from the side door to the building was on one level, whereas Lucy’s flat had an upstairs as well as a downstairs floor. There were two separate entrances, but the back garden was only available to the basement flat. At least it was kept very neat and tidy by the old lady who lived there.

* * *

Lucy smiled to herself. She had to keep him there, close to her, and work on him. Acting as if they had been together for years wasn’t working, so she would have to change tactics. But she noted how he responded to her when she appeared needy. She would have to put on a first-class act, although she shouldn’t denigrate her acting skills. They’d made her what she was today. They had been honed to a fine art, and she knew she was good at disguising her true inner self.

She believed she’d been dealt the shitty hand, being left with her father, while her mother upped sticks and got on with her life, leaving her behind to live with a bastard of a man. She didn’t care what anyone said. Even the shrink, Julien Spinks, with his stupid ideas that she had an unhealthy vivid imagination. What did he know, anyway? As far as she was concerned, her father was a short-tempered, evil bastard.

The tears she’d put on for Justin, though, were fake. As she recalled it, all her life, no matter how much she cried, she was told to stop snivelling, don’t be a baby, and grow the fuck up. Her recollection from the age of six was that she’d had to cook, clean, and pander to her father’s needs or suffer a violent backhander. The freezing cold bath or the metal cabinet were two of his favourite forms of retribution, although no one believed her. She vaguely recalled being locked away overnight, unable to sit down because the space was too small, and standing in the dark, desperately hoping that he would let her out soon, feeling the cold walls and hearing the rustling of rats outside and the scurrying of spiders.

Then, there was her father’s face when he opened the cabinet, and her blinking furiously with the bright light and the silhouette of his big frame and thick neck. ‘Have ya learned ya lesson, then? Now, will you stop telling lies?’ he would bellow.

Lucy remembered a woman from the social services, called Rhonda, a big black woman, smiling sweetly at her father and then tutting at her, shaking her head, and with those condescending words, saying, ‘Now, now, Lucy, this has to stop. You have to attend your weekly appointments with Dr Spinks and take your tablets every morning.’ But they had her all wrong – even Dr Philippa Shelby, her GP, the condescending bitch, with her curt words and sharp tongue, telling her that without the medication, she would be sent to a home.

She hated Rhonda and Dr Shelby nearly as much as Spinks, and she also detested her teacher, Mrs Lyons, who always insisted she sat at the back of the class and refused to believe a word she said. Still, what did they know? They never had to take the vile gag-inducing pills. They were probably all being bribed by her father, Les, anyway, to pretend she needed psychological help. She put up with the shit until she was old enough to change it all.

Naturally, as a teenager, she found men were extremely attracted to her. Not only could she turn a head or two, but she had the guile and the confidence to wrap any man around her little finger. She’d already had practice when it came to sex, as she believed her father had sold her to his friend. For most young teenagers, it would have been a terrifying, traumatising experience, but for her, it wasn’t. Now, at thirty-one years of age, she looked back and concluded at that time it was rape. Of course, it was. And yet her rapist didn’t pin her down or hurt her.

Carl was his name. A man in his twenties, he was smart and handsome. From the weekly gatherings, which Les called their poker night, she soon realised that Carl was a villain. Carl would eye her up and pay her the most flattering compliments, which she wasn’t used to, but which gave her butterflies from all the attention. He was much younger than her father, and he had a sleekness about him and soft eyes that could make him everyone’s friend when he needed to put on the charm.

After she poured their drinks, she hid in the shadows, but all the time she did so, she listened to their conversations of money scams and prostitution and her eyes lit up. She was well on her way to becoming a minor player in the life before most boys her age actually knew where to find the hidden jewel of the female anatomy.

So as the years went by, her knowledge of the criminal underworld gave her the self-assuredness to think about getting into it herself. After all, it was easy money. And besides, who would stop her? Her own father could hardly look down on her for it, and he didn’t care about her anyway.

Then, one evening, when she was fifteen, she endured a particularly bad weekend, although her memory of the events was not clear in her mind. After she’d been out with her friends to a party, she put the key in the door only to be dragged the rest of the way into the house by her hair. Her father’s thick sausage-like fingers gripped her arms and shook her so hard she bumped her head on the back wall. He was screaming. As foam and spittle left his mouth, his eyes were red and violently angry, and his voice held an ear-piercing screech to it. In his rage, he threw her to the stairs and demanded she stay in her room, or she would be locked in that metal cabinet.

The recollection was vague, but the next morning, he gave her some pathetic lecture about her being drunk and rolling in at all hours, not knowing where she’d been or who she’d been with. How he was sick of her going so late and he was going to get someone to give her a good talking-to, who may knock some sense into her. Never mind what he said, she was convinced that the marks on her face were caused by him manhandling her. Okay, she’d had a little to drink, but she couldn’t have given herself the bruises.

Shortly after her perceived assault, the men had another meeting at her home. She had been getting ready for another night out, secretly downing a few shots of neat vodka before she applied more make-up to hide the bruises. The sound of the men downstairs seemed more appealing than the invitation to a house party put on by a few of her mates.

Carl noticed the marks on her face, and he immediately curled his finger for her to come closer to inspect the bruises. As she approached him, she noticed the compassionate smile that spread across his face.

‘You need to be careful, Lucy. Don’t you go ruining that beautiful face of yours,’ he uttered, quietly. Amazed at that time by his concern for her, she’d put it down to the fact that he’d been drinking, and yet, she felt goose bumps all over her arms and her face went bright red with embarrassment. He must have noticed how coy she was, and he played on it, running the back of his hand down her cheek. She didn’t move.

His eyes then darted to Les and then down at the cards in his hand. With a low sarcastic tone, he said menacingly, ‘You owe me now, Les. I don’t think you can trump three aces, can you?’ His eyes darted to the pot of money on the table.

Lucy looked at her father who appeared to be nervously chewing his bottom lip as he focused on the cards in his hand. He suddenly shot her a look and shook his head in disgust. She hated that expression.

‘Right, I think I will call it in. Come on then, pay up, Les – ya can’t beat my hand.’ Not looking at Les, he ran his hand down her face again.

Once again, Lucy looked at her father who lowered his eyes, studied his own cards, and then nodded with a heavy sigh. She never really knew if it was shame, guilt, or humiliation. Did he look down because he had sold his daughter, or was it because he’d reached the depths of fear of the repercussions if he had said no? Either way, as far as Lucy was concerned, it didn’t matter. She didn’t care. In her head, she guessed what he meant when he said, ‘pay up’.

The meeting over, the men left, one by one. Les took Carl into the kitchen and then re-emerged, giving her another one of his critical looks. ‘Carl wants to talk to you.’

With that, Carl nodded for Les to leave the room.

‘Come and sit by me, beautiful.’ He winked. Those words were like wandering into a Disney world, a magical place. She did as he said, and as he stroked her hair, she felt alive, with his warm breath on her neck and his gentle words of affection. Her ears buzzed, and her heart rate quickened. Whether or not it was the alcohol in her system or the closeness of a real man, she didn’t care: it felt good either way. That longing look of his sucked her in, and as he leaned in to her, she detected the subtle sweet-and-sour aroma of his aftershave.

She closed her eyes, as his words reverberated somewhere in the distance. Her hands covered his, easing them inside her school blouse. Immediately, he pulled away, but not before his eyes narrowed, sending a cold shiver up her spine. She hated that look of disappointment; it was the same one her father constantly wore. She wanted, longed even, for the attention, and could have cursed, just when things were getting interesting.

Get a grip, Lucy, she told herself. This is big school not play school and those soothing fingers and wanting eyes were sending furious signals to her brain. Leaning in to him, she arched her back, encouraging him to caress her. He held back as she urged him to touch her. All she could hear were words of adoration; those kind, sweet words were like music to her ears, words that flooded her mind with candy and lifted her spirits to a new height. It didn’t matter what he was saying; his voice was somehow hypnotic and addictive, like a drug.

If this was Les’s way of “paying up”, then she was going to ensure it was well and truly paid, and her father could live with the guilt for the rest of his miserable existence. It was then that she realised she could have this effect on men. She would become a player by using her looks and sexual powers to control them. But not just any men. They would need to be charismatic, wealthy, and stunningly good-looking, just like Carl. She wouldn’t settle for less.

He left that evening with a warm smile and an incredibly seductive wink. She remembered giggling and him saying, ‘Goodnight, my little darling, sleep well.’ And she did – for the first time ever, she slept like a baby.

By the morning, she felt alive, although, for a moment, she wondered if it had all been a dream. Les staggered into the kitchen, still reeking of booze. She had her back to him and snatched the toast as it popped from the toaster. In her head, she was singing a tune, but not aloud; he would hate any noise in the morning, usually suffering from a hangover. She placed the buttered toast on a plate and slid it under her father’s nose. This time, she didn’t feel so petrified of him. That morning was probably the first time ever he’d said, ‘thank you’. She then placed the coffee by his plate.

She didn’t have to look at his chunky, puffy face to know he was tormented with guilt; she could hear it in his breathing, by the way he quietly sat down, and by the tone in his voice when he asked if the talking-to from Carl had helped her in any way. She rolled her eyes and smirked. ‘Some pep talk, eh? My fucking arse. You know what he did to me? Call yaself a father. You should be ashamed of yaself!’

She glared at her father’s expression of resignation, rolling her eyes once more when he asked if she had taken her tablets again. Finally, she stomped off, after he accused her of such mad and disgusting lies. They weren’t mad, and she wasn’t going to stand there and allow him to fill her head with bullshit.

A week later, the firm gathered again for their poker night, but Les ushered her to her bedroom. ‘Stay up there and don’t make a fucking sound,’ he demanded, before he opened the front door to let the men in. Lucy listened at the top of the stairs and then she heard Carl. She could visualise his smouldering eyes, his command for attention, and then the soft glance he would give her, but she was upstairs, hidden away. She wanted him and pondered how she could let him know she was there.

She added another layer of mascara and lined her lips with red lipstick, swigged another mouthful of neat vodka, and waited for her chance. The problem was, if she made a sound, her father would beat her or send her to the metal cabinet. Then, she heard her Prince Charming. ‘You fucked up again, Les,’ came the sarcastic laugh from below. There was a long pause, as she strained to hear.

‘No matter, Les, I suspect you are holding an ace up your sleeve or calling my bluff. How’s Lucy, and where is she this evening?’

Her heart skipped a beat. She wanted to yell down the stairs, ‘I’m here! Come and get me, take me away. I will do anything, but just get me out of this fucking house away from my monster of a father.’ But she said nothing and waited whilst imagining her father sitting there counting the ten-pound notes that Carl was carefully slapping in front of him, all to have a piece of her. She took another swig from her bottle of Smirnoff.

‘She’s upstairs,’ her father uttered, defeated.

Lucy remembered the grin on Carl’s face, as he stood there in the doorway to her bedroom. The butterflies were back, along with the fast beating of her heart, and she was ready for him. Looking back at that time, she shivered. Her father had sold her again.

Before Lucy’s mind returned to the present, a chilling thought entered her head. Where was her diary? She couldn’t leave that lying about for Justin or anyone else to find. It contained her innermost personal thoughts and feelings. Years ago, Dr Spinks had suggested that she made a diary to help her control her somewhat aggressive tendencies and fanciful recollections. It had been the only good advice she felt he’d ever given her. She knew her head was still in a mess. But she truly believed that until her present plans came to fruition, she would not become the person she had always wanted to be … she needed to be … for her own sanity.

Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present. Leaving the bathroom, she hurried to the bedroom, where she quickly got herself dressed in a soft woollen dress. She liked to feel wrapped in cotton wool, but the long black dress would have to suffice. She would allow Justin his space and work on him slowly but surely. She had come this far now; she wasn’t going to give up on such a good catch so easily – not without a damn good fight, anyway.

Chapter 5

The exercise yard was a bleak place with the high barbed wire walls and the officers keeping a keen eye. Groups of women stood smoking and talking. Kara was alone and had no idea where she would fit in. A few necks craned her way, and she could feel the tension as the other women whispered and laughed. Her blood was rampaging through her veins like spears of ice, and she could feel her heart beating wildly.

Then, she saw Vic and didn’t know whether to go over or keep away. She was surrounded by a crowd of hard-looking women, with tattoos, meaty arms and scars, cold smirks, and toothless smiles. There was no one like herself. The black inmates huddled together, a few Chinese formed their own group, and then there was Big Vic. She was like a showpiece, with a following all looking up to her.

Kara was completely out of her depth. She looked who she was: a well-off person who would have been at home perhaps in one of the enclosures at Epsom Racecourse, but here, standing on Larkview Prison’s exercise yard, she was ill at ease. What was even worse was the rest of the inmates knew it. But try as she might to find someone like herself, she couldn’t.

But, then, who was she? All she’d ever been was Justin’s girlfriend. She didn’t have friends, too busy with her head stuck in a book. Now, she was still a nobody, but she was a nobody who was caught in a car’s headlights, ready to become roadkill. Vic looked her way, and for a second, Kara was gripped with fear. Had the cream worked? God help her, if it hadn’t. Vic flicked her head for Kara to join her. Reluctantly, she ambled over and smiled nervously, searching her face for any small indication that she was about to get her head kicked in.

‘This is Posh. She’s a doctor, a friend of mine.’

As if all her fears collapsed at once, Kara could breathe. She acknowledged the others, with a shy nod.

The short heavyset skinhead, with massive jowls, laughed. ‘Ya mate? Yeah, Vic, she don’t look like your kinda pal.’

A deliberate glare from Vic to the skinhead changed the atmosphere immediately and everyone stood around feeling tense. ‘Listen, if I say she’s me mate, then she’s me fucking mate. Now, if ya wanna argue the point, Teri, me and you are gonna fall out big-time.’

Teri, the skinhead, stepped back, realising she’d engaged her mouth instead of her brain. ‘Ahh, nah, nah, Vic, I was just saying she looks, well, ya know, soppy, like.’

With a deep, raspy laugh, Vic heavily patted Teri’s shoulder. ‘Posh, ’ere, is far from soppy. She will burn ya in ya fucking bed, if ya even look at her the wrong way, and if she don’t, Teri, I fucking will. Got it?’

Teri’s eyes widened, as she peered over at Kara. But Kara knew what Vic was doing. She was protecting her, by giving her a reputation that she didn’t really deserve. She’d never had a fight in her life.

‘Er, sorry, Posh, I mean, not that you look soppy, ya just look kinda cute, if ya know what I mean.’

Another wrong move. Vic’s hand gripped Teri’s shoulder, pushing her down. ‘And she ain’t into women either, so touch her, or even wink her way, and I will seriously fuck you up.’ She eyed the others in the group: it was a warning to everyone.

Vic walked away with her arm around Kara. ‘It worked, kiddo. That silly ol’ cunt of a doctor put his glasses on and had a closer look, and then he gave me the cream, just like you said.’ The older woman looked at the downtrodden expression on Kara’s face and sighed. ‘I know, love, it’s hard, trust me. I’ve spent most of me life inside. Ya don’t belong ’ere, and that’s a fact.’

She stopped talking and turned to face Kara. ‘I must be going soft in me old age, but ya did me a favour. I owe you one, not that I ever owe any fucker anything, like, but you, I do. Any nonsense from the bitches in ’ere, you tell me, all right?’

Kara was nodding like her head would fall off. ‘Thank you, Vic, you’re right. I’m so out of my comfort zone, I’m scared to death, to be honest. Those women look as though they could eat me for breakfast.’ She looked back at the coven of inmates whispering in their little circle.

Vic laughed out loud. ‘That lot are a bunch of fucking pussies, but ganged together – ’cos they can’t fight one-on-one – they are nasty. You stick with me and you’ll be all right … Aw, before I forget, ol’ Deni is sick. She ain’t left her cell. In agony, she is, the poor cow. The doc reckons she’s got a migraine, but I’ve never seen her cry in pain before, so take a look for us, will ya?’

‘Deni?’

‘Yeah, everyone calls her Deni. Her real name is Denise Rose Denton – famous, her crime, ya know.’

Kara swallowed hard. She wasn’t a GP and had only received three years’ training in medicine before she became an epidemiologist, but how could she say no? ‘Yes, of course, I’ll take a look.’ Her upbeat tone, she thought, should instil confidence, if not in herself, at least in Vic. She closely followed her new best friend, hoping that she wouldn’t get stopped by one of the officers because she had absolutely no idea of the rules. She was still in shock and struggling to take it all in, although she needed to learn fast.

However, Vic seemed to know the ropes. She wondered what she was inside for. It must have been pretty bad, if she’d spent most of her life locked up. Her thoughts returned to her own predicament and what her life had mapped out for her. She wouldn’t hold her breath, that was for sure.

Just as they were about to enter B Wing, an officer, Vic’s personal officer, came up behind her. She was a tall long-legged woman, with a red short-back-and-sides style, thin features, and eyes that turned down at the corners. ‘Meadows! A woman called Julie Meadows has arrived from court this morning on remand. She says she’s your sister. I’ll put her in with you, yeah?’

Kara stepped back. This was none of her business. The officer looked her up and down. ‘What are you doing here? This ain’t your wing, is it?’

Kara put her head down, not knowing what to say or do. The tall woman looked spiteful and ready to lay down the law.

‘Look, Gov, she’s on B Wing to see Deni, her aunt. All right with it, are ya?’ dared Vic, giving the officer a hard stare.

‘Her aunt? Oh, yes, and me mother’s a monkey’s uncle,’ snorted the officer.

With a quick laugh, Vic replied, ‘Well, with a face like yours, it don’t surprise me, and no, Julie ain’t sharing with me. For Christ’s sake, what has she gone and done now?’

The officer shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not sure, GBH, ABH, maybe. Well, anyway, I’ll tell her she’s on her own, on C Wing. Right, you take this inmate over to see Denton. Her aunt, my arse. Don’t like your sister, I take it?’

Vic slowly looked the officer up and down. ‘Barbara, listen to me. I like to be on me own in me own cell. It don’t mean, I don’t like me sister, so don’t go spreading dirt, all right?’

Barbara gave Vic a sneering look and stomped away.

‘Fucking no-good shit-stirring screw – I hate her. She’s the only screw we have to call by her first name. She hates her last name, it’s Pratt, but she is a prat an’ all. Ya wanna stay away from her. She loves a good ruck and stirs the shit spoon just to get the girls wound up. I swear to God, if I came across her in the street, I would cut her fucking pointed hooter clean off.’

For the first time, Kara found herself laughing, which spurred Vic on to make her laugh even more. ‘She walks around like she’s got a carrot shoved up her arse and talks like she’s chewing a fucking lemon.’

The interaction between Barbara and Vic intrigued Kara. She assumed that she would get into serious trouble if she so much as answered any of the officers back. ‘I can’t believe you got away with saying that stuff to an officer.’

‘Ahh, see, this is where you have a lot to learn. Firstly, I keep some kind of order on this wing, and they know it. Barb is one ’orrible screw, and even her own kind don’t like her. I won’t take any shit because they fucking know that throwing me in solitary does fuck-all other than leave the girls on the wing restless. The truth is, kiddo, I came from a big family, piss-poor, had me baby took from me, got beat near to death by me ol’ man, learned to fight to stay alive, and then I ended up in ’ere on an attempted murder charge. So, what do I have to lose? There ain’t much the prison can throw at me that I can’t handle.’

She sucked her back teeth and then winked. ‘But I ain’t no bully, and see, the likes of you, I know, don’t belong ’ere, so I’ll watch out for ya.’

The change in Vic when she was away from the others was remarkable. She had a softer side and a sense of humour, and she was obviously a good judge of character too.

Kara felt at ease. ‘Vic, I’m grateful you know, well, just to have some support. It must be nice having a sister. I was an only child, you see.’

‘A sister? More like bleedin’ three sisters and two brothers. Me mum was Catholic. Either that or she liked a good bunk-up. Yeah, Julie is a feisty bitch. She’s a few years younger than me. Got a baby. But she’s a bit handy with her fists and has a mouth on her. She reminds me a bit of meself, a few years back. I just wish she would keep a lid on her temper. I don’t want her in here on the same charges as well.’

They continued past the heavy painted doors and up the metal staircase to another row of cells. It was much like her own wing – dull, grey, and depressing. They stopped outside a cell six along from the staircase. Kara expected Vic to knock or something, but instead, she barged straight in. The room was the same size as hers, and yet there were pictures on the walls, a few books neatly lined up along the shelf, and a few knick-knacks – family photos, a pottery cat, and some lipsticks. The clothes were neatly folded on the opposite bed, and the sink and toilet looked immaculate, very different from Colette’s cell. It even smelled better.

Kara’s eyes settled on the older lady who was lying flat on her back with her hands over her face. She was roughly sixty years old, plump around the middle, and her ankles were swollen. Her toenails were yellow and in need of a serious pedicure.

Vic sat on the edge of the bed and slowly the older woman removed her hands. ‘Gawd, girl, how long you been sitting there? I was just dozing off. This bleeding headache, and my eyes, they’re killing me, Vic.’

As Vic looked up at Kara, her hard features softened, as if she was tending to a sick mother. ‘Can ya have a look, Posh?’

Deni tried to sit herself up but wobbled and needed aid from Vic. ‘Oh, my living. Is this what it’s like to get fucking old? Ain’t nuffin graceful about that, eh?’ She blinked, and her eyes streamed. That was when Kara noticed the tiny blisters. As she peered down to get a closer look, Vic got out of the way.

‘Posh wants to have a look.’

Finally, sitting up straight, Deni looked worn out. Her wiry grey hair was flat at the back from lying down. ‘I ain’t mutton, Vic, I can ’ear ya.’

As Kara sat down gently on the bed, she moved Deni’s hair away from her left eye and then she searched her head, like a monkey defleaing her baby.

‘’Ere, what ya doing?’

‘Is it your left eye that hurts and is the pain stabbing, shooting, or burning, by any chance?’

‘It’s like red-hot needles digging in me. I swear to God, I think I’m dying. I can’t sleep, I can’t open me eyes. It’s something bad, I just know it is. I ain’t never felt anything like it.’

Vic was wide-eyed and looking at Kara for an answer. ‘Is it serious, Posh?’

‘Well, it is in as much that if she doesn’t get treatment soon, she could damage the eye. I think I know what it is, though. It’s unusual to get it on the face, but it does happen. It’s shingles.’ She moved Deni’s hair away from her temple. ‘Look, see those blisters? That’s the herpes blisters and the pain is herpetic neuralgia. It’s extremely painful and is certainly not a migraine.’

‘That fucking quack needs shooting. Right, I’ll call the senior officer and get Deni back over to the hospital wing. A fucking migraine, my arse,’ spat Vic.

A gentle smile crossed Deni’s lips. ‘I knew it weren’t no bleeding headache. Thanks, my gal. Now, what shall I tell the doc?’

‘Tell him that you have shingles of the face and you want suitable treatment, including the cream to put on right away. You may need to see an eye specialist to ensure you don’t lose the sight in that eye.’

Gripping Deni by the arm, Vic helped her off the bed. ‘Come on, Deni, let’s get you to the senior officer and get ya sorted, eh?’

As hard as Vic was underneath, Kara knew her new friend had a heart of gold.

Deni held on to Vic, whispering, ‘What would I do without ya, Vic, aye?’

‘Get yaself in fucking trouble, Deni.’

There and then, the damp depressing mood lifted. Kara knew there was hope. In among the hard, the tough, and the frightened, there was a sense of morals. There was a pecking order for those who wanted to fight for the top spot; some were natural leaders and others just liked to be the followers, the hangers-on. She was now gaining friends or allies, but, either way, she wasn’t alone or so terrified.

Kara returned to the exercise yard, and instead of lingering stares, she received a few nods, and surprisingly, some inmates even smiled her way. Teri, however, sneered but didn’t do much else. Kara, with her new-found confidence, glared back, which was enough to force Teri into lowering her gaze. Perhaps she had believed Vic when she said she would burn her in her bed.

Inside, Kara was laughing to herself. Exercise was over, and they returned to their wings, some to their allotted jobs. Kara, of course, was on remand and didn’t have a job right away. Just as she followed the last of the inmates back inside, Barbara, the tall officer, pulled her back. ‘Bannon, I have moved you to another cell.’

‘Oh, why is that?’ Her voice aired confidence.

Barbara looked her over. ‘We have turned over yours and found illegal substances, and I’m assuming they ain’t yours. Connor is down the block and you are in with Julie Meadows.’

‘The block?’ asked Kara with her head tilted to the side.

‘Solitary confinement, for now. We don’t like drugs in this prison. Oh, just so you know, she said they were yours. She tried to rat you out, she did.’

Taking a deep breath, Kara responded, ‘So how do you know they aren’t mine?’

‘Because you’ve only been here two days and you haven’t had a visit. You were also searched on arrival. We ain’t stupid, love!’

‘And Cole would have known that, so why would she even attempt to blame me? It makes no sense.’ Kara had sussed her out. Colette may be mouthy and hard-faced, but she wasn’t a grass. Vic was right: her personal officer was a real shit-stirrer.

Barbara shuffled uneasily. She wasn’t used to listening to a smarty-pants or being spoken to in such a manner. Normally, the prisoners were bolshie, brash, and foul-mouthed, but they didn’t have the intelligence to tie someone like her up in knots and make her look thick.

‘I dunno, but get a move on. Your transit box is in ya new cell and so is Julie Meadows,’ she jeered.

Her tone was ugly, like her face, and Kara sensed that the officer was trying to have the last laugh. Kara wondered who Julie Meadows was, apart from being Vic’s sister. Her heart sank, and she just hoped that Julie wasn’t about to throw her weight around as well. Begrudgingly, she followed Barbara along the corridor and past her previous cell, which was now completely bare, and on to the last cell on the left.

‘This is it, Bannon, your new home.’ She chuckled.

Gritting her teeth, Kara entered. She was mortified when she saw the woman sitting on the bed with a face like thunder. There was Julie. If it wasn’t for the fact that the young woman’s jaw was clenched so tightly and those eyes, which were narrowed to a furrowed frown, the girl would be very pretty. She was slim enough and had an attractive figure. But Kara could tell that despite being in her thirties, Julie had already lived a harder life than most women her age.

She still had that same ugly tone as she had the day Kara met her on the estate when she’d screamed, ‘What are you fucking gawping at? Ya fucking snob!’ Kara had been scared of the woman then, and now, the mouthy madam was going to be sharing a cell with her.

‘Oi, I said I want to bunk in wiv me sister!’ she hollered at the officer, totally dismissing Kara.

‘Tough, Meadows. Ya sister don’t want ya, don’t like ya, so you’re on ya own. Get on with it.’

Before Julie had a chance to say another word, Barbara shot off.

‘What are you fucking looking at?’ spat Julie, in a temper.

Kara stared for a few more seconds. It was obvious that Julie didn’t recognise her, but then she was in prison issues, wearing a bruised nose and a fat lip.

It was a case of putting on a very brave front, so Kara replied, ‘Don’t take it out on me. And for the record, your sister, Vic, never said she didn’t like you at all. I was there. That screw is a shit-stirrer.’ She was even getting used to the lingo.

‘Know her, do ya?’

Kara nodded. ‘Yes, she’s a decent woman, your sister.’

‘Yeah, well, not decent enough to have me bunk in wiv her.’ Her pitch softened.

‘Look, I’m not so bad, honestly. I’ll keep myself to myself.’

‘So what ya in for?’

This was it. As soon as Kara told her, she would know who she was. But there was no point in lying. The word would go around soon enough. ‘I burned my house down and almost killed the neighbour.’ She was plagued with guilt every time those words left her mouth.

Julie put her hand to her mouth and cocked her head to the side. ‘Fuck me, I know you. You live up the road from me. I’ve seen ya walking about, on the bus, and …’

Kara overfilled her lungs with air. ‘Yes, you did.’

A sudden laugh almost made Kara jump. ‘Well, ya fell flat on ya fucking arse ending up in ’ere. That’ll teach ya for being such a snobby bitch.’

Kara sat tentatively on the bed opposite with her head down in shame. ‘Is that what I looked like to you, a snob?’

Julie nibbled her lip. ‘You are stuck-up, walking around with ya nose in the air, in all ya fucking designer clothes, not even saying hello to anyone. And me sister Angie cleans for ya. She said you and ya ol’ man think ya shit don’t stink.’

There was a long pause before Kara looked up and sighed. ‘I suppose to you and Angie, I did look like that, but you’ve formed the wrong impression of me, you know. I wasn’t stuck-up, I was scared.’

‘Of what?’ Julie sounded narky.

‘Of you and the people on the estate. You all seemed to shout at each other, and I saw a few nasty rows where people threw bricks at each other. I wasn’t looking down my nose at all, and as for Angie, I was never horrible to her, I just kept out of her way, usually with my head in a book. I was always busy studying. So, she thought I was stuck-up as well, then?’

Julie was taken aback; she thought perhaps she’d got the woman all wrong. ‘Yeah, well, I dunno about that. I remember the way you were looking at me on the bus, like I was dog turd.’

Kara waved her hands. ‘No, no, you’re mistaken. I wasn’t looking at you like that. It’s hard to explain … You are worlds apart from me. I was being nosy. Yes, I admit it, but I was thinking how hard you had it, jumping on the bus with no money. I wasn’t being a snob, I felt for you, that’s all. Oh, and I was looking at your beautiful baby, thinking how sweet she was.’

‘Um, well, we ain’t all got a good job and a posh house, ya know.’

‘I know, and by the way, neither have I now. I fucking burned it down. My boyfriend has gone off with another woman, I got fired from my job, and now I’m in prison for how long, I don’t even know.’ She laughed. ‘So, Julie Meadows, I’m in your shoes now, and I’m still bloody scared.’

Julie sat back, raised her eyebrows, and smiled. ‘Guess you are, then. So, what’s ya name? Karen or something, ain’t it?’

‘No, it’s Kara, but I seem to have been given the nickname Posh.’

Julie’s face turned from a harsh, tight-lipped expression to a young fresher-looking appearance. ‘Stands to reason. Posh, eh?’

‘May I ask what you’re in for?’

‘I stabbed me sister, the lying, cheating cunt. I knew she was ’aving it away with me ol’ man, the lazy fat bastard, he is.’ Kara gathered this was the fourth sister she hadn’t met, rather than Angie.

Kara noticed Julie’s eyes fill up, but she instantly sniffed back the tears.

‘But he was my lazy fat bastard, not hers. Me own frigging sister, what a fucking skank. I should have stabbed her in the face instead of her leg. Then, she might think twice about going after my ol’ man again. S’pose it don’t matter now. I’m in ’ere and they are out there, probably fucking as we speak.’

‘I doubt that, if you stabbed her in the leg.’ Kara smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

With an unexpected childish giggle, Julie went on, ‘Yeah, I should have knifed her in the fanny. That would have well and truly fucked her up, eh?’

After an hour or so, Kara found her tongue and they spoke for England. Julie’s foul language had muted, and in some ways, Kara’s words had rubbed off on her. She had nothing to prove – no axes to grind, just relaxed conversation. And Kara found she was using some of Julie’s terminology and had ventured into throwing in the odd swear word. Their discussion around cheating husbands was halted when Vic arrived. ‘Fucking cosy, this, eh?’ she commented.

‘All right, Sis?’ responded Julie.

Kara had half expected them to hug, but they just eyed each other over and gave approving nods.

‘So, ya silly bitch, what ya gone an’ done now?’

Lowering her gaze, Julie said, ‘I stabbed our Sharon in the leg.’

‘You what?’ Vic’s voice was bold and gruff. Kara then knew why people feared her; just her tone alone was frightening enough.

‘All right, all right, keep ya fucking hair on. I ain’t killed her, the no-good muggy cunt!’

‘What the fuck did you do that for? She’s ya sister. We stick together, remember, or ’ave ya gone mental in ya old age?’

‘She’s ’aving it away with Billy, my Billy.’

Vic shifted Kara over and sat down on the bed. She was a good foot taller than Julie, but there was an obvious family resemblance; their almost olive skin, high cheekbones, and black hair, were similar, but it was their eyes that narrowed and cast doom; that was their striking trait.

‘Aw, don’t tell me you are still with that fat fucker? Ain’t you learned ya lesson by now? He’s shagging half the estate … Gawd knows what they see in him, ’cos it ain’t his good looks and sophisticated ways. Jue, he is a nasty no-good pain in the arse, and you need to woman up and kick his lard-arse to the kerb. As for rucking with our Sharon, I’m ashamed of ya.’

Julie took a deep breath. ‘You wouldn’t understand, but it’s not that she was shagging Billy. It’s not like a jealous thing. I’m just sick of her taking the piss outta me.’

A chuckle left Vic’s lips. ‘You sure about that? Only, didn’t you punch that kid at the end of your road, all ’cos Billy whistled at her?’

‘Oh, whatever, anyway, it ain’t the point. Sharon pushed me too far, laughing in me face like that, telling me she was better in the sack and said she would do it again. She laughed at me baby an’ all, saying she looked like a French bulldog.’

Kara watched and listened; somewhere in there was a moral code.

‘She called the baby names, did she? Well, then, she deserved it. Poor little Harper. She’s a dear sweet thing. Fancy her own aunt calling her a French bulldog. What a cunt.’

Kara’s hunch was spot-on and she was learning fast. There was the moral code. Calling the baby names was a no-no in their way of life, and although Julie’s actions seemed over the top, almost laughable in a gruesome way, in fact, Kara could see why Julie and Vic were on the same page. The Meadows were a big family and probably tighter than a fat guy in spandex. Fighting among themselves might be tolerated under exceptional circumstances but calling the baby a bulldog had crossed a line.

Sensing she was in the way, Kara got to her feet and was quickly pulled back down. ‘It’s all right, mate, you can stay. It’s your cell, so don’t mind me.’

Very pointedly, Julie studied Kara and then her sister. ‘Mates then, eh?’

‘Yep, Jue, so you treat her nice. She knows how ta fix ya up, so she will know how to bring ya down. Lotions, potions, and poisons.’

With a curled lip and a raised eyebrow, Julie looked the epitome of confused.

‘Gawd, Jue, Posh is a doctor, right? She knows how to make ya better, so she will know how ta kill ya.’

Kara’s eyes widened at Vic’s conclusion.

‘Anyway, she sorted me out, so she is fine in my book. And ol’ Deni, the poor cow, I’ve just left her in the hospital wing. Mind you, I gave the nurse a fucking warning. I said she has shingles and not a bleedin’ headache. You should have seen the look on her face, as if I had just told her she had the plague.’ She pulled a roll-up from her scruffy bun and lit the end, puffing furiously. ‘So, where’s the baby? Muvver surely ain’t fit enough, the bleedin’ piss ’ead.’

‘Our Angie’s got Harper. Mind you,’ she said, with a penetrating stare at Kara, ‘she ain’t got her job no more.’

‘Oh yeah? She didn’t tea leaf anything, did she? She was on a right good earner. She reckons the woman gave her a monthly bonus to spoil herself an’ all,’ Vic said, with a quizzical frown.

Julie was still looking at Kara, a grin forming across her face. ‘No, her employer burned the flaming house down. Didn’t ya, Posh?’

Vic spun around with her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, fuck me, it was you! Jesus, ya really did go to town. My Angie said ya didn’t leave a brick standing, not a blade of grass in the front garden. She reckons you used a bomb … I need to change your name to Bomber Bannon.’ She laughed at her own joke and pushed Kara almost off the bed. ‘Cor, small world, eh? So, Bomber, you’re a sly horse. I thought it was an accident. I didn’t know you were serious. Fucking bombed the house! Well, you have respect from me … But why, though?’

For a moment, Kara felt comfort. Two women, a world apart from hers, were treating her now as one of their own. ‘My boyfriend went off with someone else and then asked me to get out of the house, our home that we had shared for years, so I thought, if he wants to move the bitch in, then he can sleep with her on a pile of ashes.’ Just as she spoke her innermost thoughts, she realised she was just like them. The only difference was that she portrayed more finesse, but it all boiled down to the same thing at the end of the day.

‘This neighbour, then. Was she shagging this fella of yours?’ asked Julie.

With an inward groan, Kara replied, ‘No, that’s just a story that grew legs and ran. I didn’t know my neighbour was in the driveway, and the truth is, I didn’t know the boiler was going to explode. It all happened so fast. I doused the house and lit the match and headed for the back garden. That’s all I remember, really, apart from ending up in here.’

There was silence. You could have heard a pin drop. Julie and Vic looked at this attractive and slim woman in front of them and just stared, totally dumbfounded by the precise and unemotional words leaving Posh’s mouth. It was left to Vic to speak up. ‘So, you’re a bit of a reckless fucker on the quiet, then?’

A soft chortle left Kara’s mouth. ‘Well, I guess I must be.’

‘Right, I’m off to the canteen. I need to get a few bits. Jue, show Posh the ropes, will ya? She’s walking around like a tit in a trance.’ With that, Vic jumped from the bed and was gone.

‘You already know the ropes, I take it?’

With a big huff, Julie replied, ‘Yeah, well, me ol’ man, the wanker, don’t work, ya see, and I needed a few bits for the babe, and I got caught choring ’em. They gave me three months. I already had a suspended, for nicking out of Waitrose. Some snooty cashier caught me, but it was the thump on her nose that got me inside. Anyway, I ain’t never done anything too serious like burning down a big posh house.’

For the first time, Kara realised that inmates like Julie saw her crime as more serious than stealing and violence, and yet she hadn’t given it a second thought, assuming that hitting someone was far worse. Perhaps Julie was right, and the judge would come down hard on her. She’d been racked with guilt since the incident and would take whatever the judge decided to throw at her if the neighbour was seriously injured. She would deserve to suffer and yet she was also terrified of being locked away for years.

‘What’s up, Posh? You don’t ’alf look white.’

‘Just the thought of that innocent woman dying and it’s all my fault. I will never get out of here. I don’t deserve to either.’

‘So, what’s ya brief say? I mean, is she outta hospital yet?’

She guessed Julie meant her lawyer. ‘Er, no, I don’t have a brief, or family, or a boyfriend anymore, so I haven’t a clue.’

‘You best speak to your personal officer and get a brief, sharpish. You will need all the bleedin’ help you can get. I’ll give ya the name of mine, if ya like. I’m seeing him on a legal visit tomorrow. Shall I put a word in? He does legal aid.’

Kara nodded, feeling totally deflated. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, that’s so kind of you.’

‘No worries. I’m going down to the canteen. I need some sany towels. I came on early. All the bloody stress, I guess.’

A sudden thought almost knocked Kara sideways. She hadn’t even considered her period. She was late, the sickness over the last few days having put everything else to the back of her mind. And what with worrying about herself and Justin and now being incarcerated in this absolute shit-hole, it was no wonder that her once logical and formidable brain was out of kilter.

She did a mental recap of when she’d last had a period and an uneasy feeling gripped her stomach. It had been her last trip to Papua New Guinea where she’d thought she had contracted the lingering gastro bug that had been infecting the villagers. She could quite easily have thrown up the pill then. She calculated back the dates and sat there numb; she was possibly two or three months pregnant. How the hell could she have not known? She was medically trained. She’d put it down to sickness and stress, and she hadn’t thought a baby was on the menu yet – not this side of thirty anyway.

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