Betrayal
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Synopsis
Betrayal is the twenty-third novel from Sunday Times No.1 bestseller, Martina Cole, author of DANGEROUS LADY, THE TAKE, GET EVEN and many more. The 'undisputed queen of crime writing' (Guardian) and the biggest selling female crime writer in the UK, Martina's unique, powerful storytelling will appeal to fans of Karin Slaughter and Patricia Cornwell.
Survival. It's all down to who you trust.
Aiden O'Hara has been head of the family since he was kid, and he's going to keep it that way.
Jade Dixon is the one who watches his back. Mother of his son. The one who makes him invincible.
But Jade's been in the game a lot longer than Aiden. She knows no one's indestructible.
And when you're at the top, that's when you've got to watch the hardest.
Especially the ones closest to you . . .
Release date: October 20, 2016
Publisher: Headline
Print pages: 480
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Betrayal
Martina Cole
Contents
Title Page
About the Book
About Martina Cole
Praise
Copyright Page
Also by Martina Cole
Dedication
Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Book Two
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Book Three
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Book Four
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One Hundred and One
Chapter One Hundred and Two
Chapter One Hundred and Three
Chapter One Hundred and Four
Chapter One Hundred and Five
Chapter One Hundred and Six
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Book Five
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen
Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen
Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen
Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Did you know this about Martina Cole?
Discover your next Martina Cole
Reeva O’Hara’s voice was loud and harsh as it always was when she had what she considered to be an audience. Even at 8.15 a.m. in her local Co-op, Reeva never failed to entertain. Her saving grace was she could be very funny when the fancy took her.
‘So I said, “Go and find your fucking fathers and get some sweet money off them!”’ She screeched with laughter at her own wit and a few of the other mothers in the busy shop joined in.
Reeva’s ever-present cigarette was dangling from her red-stained lips and her distended belly told anyone who cared to look that she was nearly on her time.
Jack Walters, the manager of the Co-op, liked Reeva. She wasn’t a bad girl really – she had just been badly used in her time by the many men she seemed to attract. She attracted him. She was a good-looking young woman with a warm and generous personality and clearly a healthy attitude towards sex – unlike his wife, Doris, who thought it should take place in the pitch dark and as fast as humanly possible. Jack kept that gem of wisdom to himself though; Doris was as narrow-minded as she was skinny. It was like shagging a skeleton.
Doris Walters was looking at Reeva with barely disguised contempt. Reeva was everything she thought was wrong with the modern world.
‘Can I help you, Reeva?’ Doris’s voice said it all and no one was in any doubt that Reeva understood the tone completely.
Reeva smiled a big encompassing smile that completely transformed her face and said loudly, ‘Whatever happened to service with a smile? You’ve got a boatrace on you that could stop a fucking clock!’ Reeva leaned forwards as if they were alone before she bellowed, ‘Caught him with his cock out again, have you?’
Jack Walters closed his eyes in distress as the shop erupted into gales of good-natured laughter.
‘Don’t worry, Doris, it happens to the best of us, mate!’ someone shouted from the queue behind.
Doris looked at the young woman who she loathed with all her being. Hearing the laughter around her, she turned and walked into the back of the shop, as Reeva screamed out once more, ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I!’
She turned to Jack Walters and said kindly, mimicking his wife’s voice, ‘One will have ten No. 10, my good man!’
The laughter started up again. Jack served her silently, but everyone could see that he was trying hard not to laugh with her.
That was Reeva O’Hara; she was like Marmite – you either loved or hated her.
Eugene O’Hara, at seven, was already big for his age. His skin was deep black, his eyes were blue and he wore his hair long. He was a quiet lad, but not shy as such.
His teacher, a tall, heavily built woman from Trinidad called Mrs Bonasara, loved him − and she knew that he would have his own crosses to bear as he grew older.
Eugene always sat with Caroline Alba, a tiny, elf-like child with wide, blue eyes and long, blond hair. They were rarely apart but they made for strange bedfellows – not least because Caroline’s father was a dyed-in-the-wool skinhead and racist.
Mrs Bonasara could see the two of them talking to Peter Jones, a tall lad who was already overweight, with the makings of a fine bully. From his prominent eyes to his small, mean mouth he looked exactly like what he was – and his teacher had a feeling he would fulfil this early promise by becoming a vicious and uncompromising man if he wasn’t curbed soon. None of the other children liked him, and that appeared to suit him down to the ground. Peter was a born loner.
Mrs Bonasara sighed with sadness. If only parents really took an interest in their children now and again, how much hurt and sadness could be avoided. She could see Peter saying things to little Caroline and she quietly made her way round the classroom so she could hear what was being said – whatever it was was obviously distressing the poor child. She sighed heavily once more when she heard a whispered, ‘Nigger lover’. No doubt one of Peter’s family’s favourite expressions, seeing as he used it at every available opportunity, but before she could open her mouth to reprimand the lad, Eugene O’Hara, who had also heard the quip, was already launching himself at the much bigger boy.
The noise was loud and frightening to the majority of the children in the classroom. Mrs Bonasara had to use all her considerable strength to part the two boys and it did not surprise her that the one she really had to keep hold of was Eugene O’Hara. She could see the shock and fear on Peter Jones’s face and, against her principles, she felt a small feeling of satisfaction at seeing the bully for once the frightened party.
Mrs Bonasara was holding Eugene against her with great difficulty, so she was relieved beyond measure when Father Hagen burst into the room and took over from her.
Father Hagen was a huge Irishman with a penchant for Irish whiskey and the Bible – in that order. The fact that he was a dedicated teacher saved him from being outed on a regular basis – that and because the children liked him. Without his black clothes and his white collar, he could have passed for a boxer – or a tramp, depending on who was looking at him. But he had a natural affinity with children and he could often get the best out of them.
Mrs Bonasara explained the problem and Peter Jones looked up fearfully at the huge priest who, with a well-timed scowl, could put the fear of Christ up even the older boys.
Father Hagen looked at young Eugene O’Hara and felt a deep sadness. This child had more than his share of burdens and he was a good kid, intelligent and nice natured – it would have taken a lot to make him lose his temper. Although, as with all the O’Hara boys, it was a sight to see when he erupted.
He marched the two offenders from the classroom, aware that it was deathly quiet now. He could feel both boys trembling as he pulled them unceremoniously along to the headmistress’s room. One was shaking from anger and the other from fear. And, just like Mrs Bonasara, he thought it would do Peter Jones good to get a taste of his own medicine.
Reeva was over her upset about Eugene; she was a realist and thought it was best to leave it – it would sort itself out naturally.
She was cooking them a big tea – she liked to cook and her children were always given a decent meal in the evening. Tonight she had made them a family favourite: shepherd’s pie with cheesy mash on top and fresh cabbage. The smell was appetising, and she had no doubt they would all want second helpings.
After they had washed their hands and faces, she surveyed her sons as they sat quietly at the table waiting for her to serve them their meal. She felt a sudden rush of love for them – they were so alike yet so different.
The baby kicked and she absent-mindedly rubbed at her belly for a few seconds before she dished up. She watched her Eugene, who was really a sensitive soul, eating his food slowly and quietly. He broke her heart sometimes. Unlike her Patsy – who’d inherited his handsome Jamaican father’s looks – her Eugene, bless his heart, looked more African than the Nigerian bastard who had left one morning with her purse and her heart. She had really loved him for some reason, but then she had loved each of their respective fathers in her own way. She had a great capacity for love or – perhaps more to the point – sex.
But she feared that out of all her kids, Eugene would be the one to suffer the most because he wasn’t just dark, he was black as night and as handsome as the fucker who had swept her off her feet one winter’s night in the Beehive in Brixton. He had looked like an African prince, and tried to bullshit her he was one. He was studying medicine and they had enjoyed that winter together. Then he had disappeared, leaving her with her two kids, another on the way and without a penny to cross herself with. That had been what really hurt her.
She shrugged and pulled herself together; she had learned early on in her life that regrets were pointless. They just depressed you and, whatever else she might have regretted, her boys were never included. They were her life’s blood and without them she would go mad. As she ate her own food, she looked happily at the pile of ironing she had done that day and, as the smell of the apple pie she had made wafted out of the oven, she smiled in contentment. Whatever else she might want in her life, the mainstay of her existence was in this kitchen with her.
She finished her food and rolled herself a joint; she allowed herself a little puff in the evening – it mellowed her out and relaxed her. And after today she needed it.
Two hours later, the boys were bathed and in their pyjamas, and the kitchen was once more as clean and neat as a new pin.
She put the youngest two to bed and allowed Aiden and Patsy to stay up to watch TV with her for a while, snuggled up on the sofa. That was when her waters broke – and she knew that the latest addition to her family was finally on its way.
She sat up quickly and told Aiden to first get himself next door and let Mrs Obana know that she was on her time, and then run around to his nan’s and tell her the same thing. He rushed to do her bidding.
Then, telling Patsy to go up and keep an eye on his younger brothers, she hauled herself up off the sofa and went into the kitchen. She knew that Vera Obana loved her cup of tea, and she smiled as she popped the kettle on.
Vera, a tall, thin woman, with fine, blond hair, was married to a guy from Guyana and they made a lovely couple. Vera had been a midwife by trade, and she was always called in whenever Reeva was on her time. Reeva prided herself on having given birth to all her boys at home with the minimum of fuss.
While she boiled the kettle, she rolled herself another joint; she would need it once the pains really started. Reeva didn’t like hospitals − they scared her and she felt that a healthy young woman like herself shouldn’t need to go there unless it was absolutely imperative.
Up until now, giving birth had been like shelling peas so she wasn’t too perturbed about the coming labour; in fact, she welcomed it. She was dying to have this baby. She hated the last few weeks – they dragged and she always felt tired and fat. She loved babies. They were helpless and they depended on you for everything – it was the only time she ever felt wanted in her life. Each of her children had made her feel important, made her feel she had some kind of purpose. And they made her feel complete – as if she had finally got something right in the chaos that was her life.
She liked Vera and the way she kept so cool and calm. She would always chat to her in a friendly way about nothing and then, before she knew it, the child would be lying on her belly, and that would be that.
Twenty minutes later, her mum had arrived and was taking charge over the household. Reeva finally relaxed. Annie O’Hara’s voice was soothing and, as Reeva lay in her large double bed, on a pile of newspapers, she allowed herself a little smile.
‘I’ll slap the fuck out of you lot if I hear one more word!’
Yes, her mum was here, and she could hear her sons laughing at their grandmother as she scolded them. The trouble with Annie was her bark was always much worse than her bite and the boys knew that, just as Reeva had always known it.
Vera laughed gently and said quietly, ‘She’s loud, but they know she’s all talk.’
It was after one in the morning and Aiden was worried. There was an air of tension in the house that he had never experienced before, and that frightened him more than he cared to admit. Even his nan had gone quiet and that was a first in itself.
Vera had phoned for an ambulance, and that meant something was going wrong. He swallowed with difficulty.
He had popped his head around the door and seen his mum lying there white as a sheet, with her eyes closed with exhaustion. He had also seen the blood everywhere that Vera was trying so desperately to stop.
There was a situation here all right and he was getting more and more frightened by the minute. It occurred to him that if anything happened to his mother they were on their own – he knew his nan could not cope with all of them. She had trouble finding her way to Bingo; she would never manage four boisterous lads. For the first time in his life he was experiencing real terror. He didn’t like the feeling one bit. He wanted to cry, but he knew he couldn’t, otherwise it would alert his little brothers to the seriousness of the situation. He had to be strong for all of them.
When the ambulance finally arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief and, despite the protests from the adults, he insisted on going to the hospital with his mum. He was scared to leave her side, in case something happened when he wasn’t there. He sat in the ambulance with her, holding her hand and willing her to regain consciousness. She looked so white and so vulnerable lying there with that huge belly and the black rings under her eyes, he had to swallow down the tears once more.
Suddenly all hell let loose, and he was pushed out of the way roughly as the ambulance men rushed to perform CPR. He found himself praying as he watched his mother finally open her eyes and look into his. She smiled at him, and he threw himself at her, holding on to her tightly, the tears flowing now and the fear subsiding in his chest.
Ten minutes later, his little sister came into the world in all her brutal glory and he watched, fascinated, as she was cleaned up and placed in his mother’s arms. His mum was crying with happiness. That was the secret strength of women – even at his young age he knew a man, no matter how hard he might be, could not give birth and then smile like nothing had happened.
His mum motioned for him to come over to her and he sat beside her, looking in awe at the new baby she had produced amidst so much drama.
The ambulance man ruffled his hair and said kindly, ‘Little sister for you, mate. You make sure you look after her – you’re the big brother, don’t forget.’ Then he said to Reeva jovially, ‘Picked her time, all right! Thought we lost you there for a minute!’
Reeva smiled tiredly as she answered him, ‘Take a bit more than having a baby to finish me off! Tough as old boots, me.’
‘Bleeding has subsided anyway, but my guess is you will need a blood transfusion before they let you go home. You’ll need a few stitches as well. But, all in all, I think you had a result.’
Reeva looked down at her new daughter and said gently, ‘Oh, Aiden, my son, might have known it was a girl, eh? All that fucking drama!’
‘Takes after you, Mum!’
Even the ambulance men laughed at that quip.
‘Do you want to choose a name, son?’
He nodded, suddenly shy. Then, looking down at the wrinkled red face of his new sister, he said seriously, ‘She looks like Sister Agnes at school! All screwed up and miserable.’
Reeva laughed gaily and said, ‘Agnes is it then! Agnes Marianne O’Hara. That’s got a ring to it, I reckon.’
She placed his sister into his arms, laid back and closed her eyes; this was the first time she had experienced problems while giving birth and she had to admit it had scared her. She made up her mind there and then that this little lady would be her last one. She had five kids and she was still only twenty-six years old – even she knew when enough was enough. No matter what her neighbours might think about her, she wasn’t as silly as they believed.
She watched as her eldest son nursed his new sister and she felt content. Whatever happened in her life from now on, she had her kids and that was all she really cared about at the end of the day. They were the real constant in her life, and she was sensible enough to know that they were the only people who would ever really love her.
And Reeva needed love so very much.
‘For fuck’s sake, Mum! He is a piece of shit!’
Reeva sighed dramatically as she listened to her eldest son rant about her latest lover. He was such a fucking prude in so many ways.
‘But, Aiden, he is my piece of shit and I love him.’
And that she did. She loved him very much. She just couldn’t see herself from her son’s point of view, see how the situation looked to the outside world, and especially to her children.
‘He treats you like a cunt, Mum.’
Her son might be telling the truth, but Reeva could not give up her new man. Tony Brown was everything she had ever wanted. He was big and black and he was handsome, and he told her he loved her − something she needed to hear. He fucked her properly and that was everything to her. She was a very sensual woman who mistook sex for love − she always had. Reeva was the fuck of the century but, other than that, she meant nothing to her paramours. They knew it even if she didn’t.
Her eldest son had sussed that out many years before and he knew exactly what was on the cards for her. He had lived it all his young life.
It was three o’clock in the morning and Tony Brown was trying to kick their front door in. It was the kind of drama Reeva revelled in, determined to cause a big upset because the man she thought she loved was not giving her what she wanted. Aiden had been here with her time and time again.
They both heard the splintering of the wooden architrave as the door was finally kicked into the small hallway. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Aiden walked out into the hallway to try and head Tony off at the pass, though he didn’t hold out much hope.
‘Do you know what she’s fucking gone and done, Ade? The fucking vicious whore!’
Aiden stood stoically in the irate man’s path to try and deflect his anger. Reeva was half-drunk and, on top of the Valium she popped like sweets, she could not see for the life of her how inappropriate this entire scene was. The only thing on her mind was that she wanted Tony but he didn’t want her any more. In Reeva’s world that meant you fought back with any ammunition you had: in this case going around to Tony’s home and spilling the beans to his wife of ten years.
Aiden stood his ground and Tony Brown, drunk and stoned as he was, realised that, whatever Reeva might have done, her kids should not be witnessing this scene. He looked at the children standing on the stairs, especially the little girl, her eyes wide like flying saucers in her head. She was visibly trembling. Feeling the anger leave him, he said to Aiden quietly, ‘I’m sorry about this, Aiden, mate. But your mother caused me untold fucking aggravation today . . .’
Aiden had it in his heart to try and understand the man’s reaction. When his mother was hurt, she lashed out. And when she lashed out she went for it, big time, no half measures for her.
Agnes ran to her mother and grabbed at her legs, clearly frightened by the tension in the house. Reeva picked her up and then said loudly, ‘Go on then. Fuck off back to your ugly wife and kids! You were a useless shag, anyway. My Eugene’s got a bigger one than you . . .’
Aiden closed his eyes in distress as he knew that a man like Tony Brown was not going to take that lying down. The whole street was aware of the altercation and was listening to what was commonly called the ‘O’Hara Cabaret’. This was not a one-off − this was how all Reeva’s relationships ended. That’s if the man in question didn’t just disappear into the night, of course. The more cowardly ones tended to do that when Reeva got too hot to handle.
‘Coming from someone who’s had more men than she can fucking count, it’s a wonder you can feel anything down there. It’s like the Blackwall Tunnel!’
Aiden sensed this was on the verge of deteriorating once more into a slanging match so he walked purposefully towards Tony Brown and nudged him over to the broken doorway.
Tony looked down at the boy and felt shame envelop him. Aiden was a good kid and he didn’t deserve the shit Reeva seemed to revel in. He held his hands out in a gesture of supplication and said sadly, ‘I’ll get the door sorted in the morning, OK?’
Aiden smiled ruefully. ‘Appreciate it, Tony. Now, you get yourself off. This lot have got school tomorrow.’
Tony made his walk of shame past the neighbours, who were all trying to get a glimpse of the action, and cursed himself for his escapade. But that woman could make a saint swear! Now he had to go home and face his wife – and try and repair the damage as best he could.
Reeva watched him go, holding her daughter tightly to her and crying into the girl’s thick hair. The action made Agnes start to whimper. After attempting to put the front door back as best he could, Aiden took his sister and, giving her to Patsy, he walked his mum into the kitchen. Then, settling her on a chair, he lit her a cigarette and poured her out a large vodka and Coke.
Reeva watched her son as he ministered to her and she felt the tears come faster. This was the only man she had ever been able to depend on − her Aiden. Her boys were all so good to her. Patsy, bless him, had put the others back to bed and now there was a semblance of normality in the household once more.
Lighting himself a cigarette, Aiden put the kettle on to make tea. ‘This has got to stop, you know, Mum. You frightened Agnes tonight and, as big a bastard as Tony Brown is, you shouldn’t have grassed him up to his old woman.’
Reeva wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and said sadly, ‘Why does this always happen to me, Ade?’
He was pouring out the tea as she spoke and he felt a constriction around his heart at the utter despair in her voice. She knew the answer to that question as well as he did, but he answered her anyway. Bringing the teas to the table he sat down beside her and, grabbing her hand in his, he said truthfully, ‘You always go for the wrong ones, Mum. You meet them and they move in within days. Then the fighting starts. You should have a rest from blokes for a while and wait for one who is right for you.’
Reeva smiled through her tears at her earnest son who was genuinely trying to give her advice. There were only fourteen years between the two of them, and that was never more evident than when they sat chatting like this. He was always trying to pick up the pieces of her life.
‘I tell you something, Mum. When I get married it will be to the right person, I know that much.’
Reeva smiled to herself. Even at fifteen he sounded so wise. Much wiser than her.
Hearing Agnes begin to cry her head off, Aiden picked up his tea, kissed his mum on the cheek and hugged her for a few seconds. ‘I’ll bring her in with me and Patsy tonight, tell her a story.’ As he walked into the hallway he said over his shoulder, ‘And don’t you go out anywhere, OK? Get yourself off to bed and forget about that bastard.’
Reeva didn’t bother to answer him.
Frank James liked Aiden O’Hara. In fact, he liked all the O’Hara children, even though they were the bane of his life. He even liked the mother, Reeva, although he despaired at her lifestyle. But Aiden was a clever lad and he deserved the opportunity to go on to better things in life.
As he approached the O’Hara household, Frank was not even remotely surprised to see a workman reattaching the front door and repairing the architrave around it. It wasn’t the first time. He walked into the house, calling out Reeva’s name, and he heard a scrambling in the bedroom – and whispering. In the kitchen, young Agnes was in a lobster-pot playpen watching him with huge solemn eyes. She was another beautiful child; Reeva did have exceptionally handsome children, he’d give her that.
Reeva came down the stairs in a short dressing gown that showed a lot of her long, slender legs, the ever-present cigarette in her hand.
‘Oh, Mr James! I wasn’t expecting you.’
She was smiling happily at him as she put the kettle on. Frank was quite happy to enjoy the view. She was a very good-looking woman and he appreciated beauty. He noticed that, other than the destroyed doorway, the rest of the house was, as usual, spotlessly clean.
‘I just thought I would pop around about Aiden.’ He sat down at the kitchen table before saying calmly, ‘As we’ve discussed before, he’s a very intelligent boy and I really think he could do well in higher education. University is certainly on the cards if he applies himself.’
Reeva puffed up with pride at the man’s words and she smiled at him in a friendly manner.
‘He is clever all right, Mr James. Must have inherited the brains from his old man because I’m as thick as shit, as you know.’
Frank closed his eyes. The one thing he would never get used to was the casual use of bad language by the children and the parents.
‘But you know my boy – all my boys, in fact. They will go their own roads. I mean, I encourage them. But that’s all I can do really.’
He took the proffered mug of tea and thanked her, unable to keep his eyes from her breasts that were still surprisingly firm considering she had given birth to five children. His own wife’s had mysteriously disappeared after their one and only daughter – not that there had been much there to start with.
Reeva sat down and crossed her legs in a very dignified manner and Frank felt hot under the collar. She really was a disconcerting woman. She smelled faintly of sex. Sex and freedom − that was the only way he could describe it. She was a sensual being, it was in her DNA. It was who Reeva was. He had noticed that even when she had been at school, and he smiled wryly as he remembered how much trouble she seemed to attract.
‘I was wondering, Reeva, if I might talk to him alone and go through some options with him? I would hate for him to fall through the cracks.’ He sighed. ‘Aiden’s fifteen now and he is already becoming hard to handle. He needs to be taken in hand soon. Otherwise it will be too late.’
Reeva could see that the man was deadly earnest and that he had her son’s welfare at heart. But she was nothing if not a realist. If her Aiden didn’t want to work then no one or nothing would make him.
‘Oi, Reeva! The door’s finished.’
Reeva stood up and left the kitchen. Frank heard a door open and saw a man clump down the stairs wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, and pay the workman cash in hand. He felt especially embarrassed when Tony Brown walked into the kitchen as if he owned the place and poured himself a cup of tea.
Reeva lit another cigarette as she came back in and made the introduction
Title Page
About the Book
About Martina Cole
Praise
Copyright Page
Also by Martina Cole
Dedication
Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Book Two
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Book Three
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Book Four
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One Hundred and One
Chapter One Hundred and Two
Chapter One Hundred and Three
Chapter One Hundred and Four
Chapter One Hundred and Five
Chapter One Hundred and Six
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Book Five
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen
Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen
Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen
Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Did you know this about Martina Cole?
Discover your next Martina Cole
Reeva O’Hara’s voice was loud and harsh as it always was when she had what she considered to be an audience. Even at 8.15 a.m. in her local Co-op, Reeva never failed to entertain. Her saving grace was she could be very funny when the fancy took her.
‘So I said, “Go and find your fucking fathers and get some sweet money off them!”’ She screeched with laughter at her own wit and a few of the other mothers in the busy shop joined in.
Reeva’s ever-present cigarette was dangling from her red-stained lips and her distended belly told anyone who cared to look that she was nearly on her time.
Jack Walters, the manager of the Co-op, liked Reeva. She wasn’t a bad girl really – she had just been badly used in her time by the many men she seemed to attract. She attracted him. She was a good-looking young woman with a warm and generous personality and clearly a healthy attitude towards sex – unlike his wife, Doris, who thought it should take place in the pitch dark and as fast as humanly possible. Jack kept that gem of wisdom to himself though; Doris was as narrow-minded as she was skinny. It was like shagging a skeleton.
Doris Walters was looking at Reeva with barely disguised contempt. Reeva was everything she thought was wrong with the modern world.
‘Can I help you, Reeva?’ Doris’s voice said it all and no one was in any doubt that Reeva understood the tone completely.
Reeva smiled a big encompassing smile that completely transformed her face and said loudly, ‘Whatever happened to service with a smile? You’ve got a boatrace on you that could stop a fucking clock!’ Reeva leaned forwards as if they were alone before she bellowed, ‘Caught him with his cock out again, have you?’
Jack Walters closed his eyes in distress as the shop erupted into gales of good-natured laughter.
‘Don’t worry, Doris, it happens to the best of us, mate!’ someone shouted from the queue behind.
Doris looked at the young woman who she loathed with all her being. Hearing the laughter around her, she turned and walked into the back of the shop, as Reeva screamed out once more, ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then, shall I!’
She turned to Jack Walters and said kindly, mimicking his wife’s voice, ‘One will have ten No. 10, my good man!’
The laughter started up again. Jack served her silently, but everyone could see that he was trying hard not to laugh with her.
That was Reeva O’Hara; she was like Marmite – you either loved or hated her.
Eugene O’Hara, at seven, was already big for his age. His skin was deep black, his eyes were blue and he wore his hair long. He was a quiet lad, but not shy as such.
His teacher, a tall, heavily built woman from Trinidad called Mrs Bonasara, loved him − and she knew that he would have his own crosses to bear as he grew older.
Eugene always sat with Caroline Alba, a tiny, elf-like child with wide, blue eyes and long, blond hair. They were rarely apart but they made for strange bedfellows – not least because Caroline’s father was a dyed-in-the-wool skinhead and racist.
Mrs Bonasara could see the two of them talking to Peter Jones, a tall lad who was already overweight, with the makings of a fine bully. From his prominent eyes to his small, mean mouth he looked exactly like what he was – and his teacher had a feeling he would fulfil this early promise by becoming a vicious and uncompromising man if he wasn’t curbed soon. None of the other children liked him, and that appeared to suit him down to the ground. Peter was a born loner.
Mrs Bonasara sighed with sadness. If only parents really took an interest in their children now and again, how much hurt and sadness could be avoided. She could see Peter saying things to little Caroline and she quietly made her way round the classroom so she could hear what was being said – whatever it was was obviously distressing the poor child. She sighed heavily once more when she heard a whispered, ‘Nigger lover’. No doubt one of Peter’s family’s favourite expressions, seeing as he used it at every available opportunity, but before she could open her mouth to reprimand the lad, Eugene O’Hara, who had also heard the quip, was already launching himself at the much bigger boy.
The noise was loud and frightening to the majority of the children in the classroom. Mrs Bonasara had to use all her considerable strength to part the two boys and it did not surprise her that the one she really had to keep hold of was Eugene O’Hara. She could see the shock and fear on Peter Jones’s face and, against her principles, she felt a small feeling of satisfaction at seeing the bully for once the frightened party.
Mrs Bonasara was holding Eugene against her with great difficulty, so she was relieved beyond measure when Father Hagen burst into the room and took over from her.
Father Hagen was a huge Irishman with a penchant for Irish whiskey and the Bible – in that order. The fact that he was a dedicated teacher saved him from being outed on a regular basis – that and because the children liked him. Without his black clothes and his white collar, he could have passed for a boxer – or a tramp, depending on who was looking at him. But he had a natural affinity with children and he could often get the best out of them.
Mrs Bonasara explained the problem and Peter Jones looked up fearfully at the huge priest who, with a well-timed scowl, could put the fear of Christ up even the older boys.
Father Hagen looked at young Eugene O’Hara and felt a deep sadness. This child had more than his share of burdens and he was a good kid, intelligent and nice natured – it would have taken a lot to make him lose his temper. Although, as with all the O’Hara boys, it was a sight to see when he erupted.
He marched the two offenders from the classroom, aware that it was deathly quiet now. He could feel both boys trembling as he pulled them unceremoniously along to the headmistress’s room. One was shaking from anger and the other from fear. And, just like Mrs Bonasara, he thought it would do Peter Jones good to get a taste of his own medicine.
Reeva was over her upset about Eugene; she was a realist and thought it was best to leave it – it would sort itself out naturally.
She was cooking them a big tea – she liked to cook and her children were always given a decent meal in the evening. Tonight she had made them a family favourite: shepherd’s pie with cheesy mash on top and fresh cabbage. The smell was appetising, and she had no doubt they would all want second helpings.
After they had washed their hands and faces, she surveyed her sons as they sat quietly at the table waiting for her to serve them their meal. She felt a sudden rush of love for them – they were so alike yet so different.
The baby kicked and she absent-mindedly rubbed at her belly for a few seconds before she dished up. She watched her Eugene, who was really a sensitive soul, eating his food slowly and quietly. He broke her heart sometimes. Unlike her Patsy – who’d inherited his handsome Jamaican father’s looks – her Eugene, bless his heart, looked more African than the Nigerian bastard who had left one morning with her purse and her heart. She had really loved him for some reason, but then she had loved each of their respective fathers in her own way. She had a great capacity for love or – perhaps more to the point – sex.
But she feared that out of all her kids, Eugene would be the one to suffer the most because he wasn’t just dark, he was black as night and as handsome as the fucker who had swept her off her feet one winter’s night in the Beehive in Brixton. He had looked like an African prince, and tried to bullshit her he was one. He was studying medicine and they had enjoyed that winter together. Then he had disappeared, leaving her with her two kids, another on the way and without a penny to cross herself with. That had been what really hurt her.
She shrugged and pulled herself together; she had learned early on in her life that regrets were pointless. They just depressed you and, whatever else she might have regretted, her boys were never included. They were her life’s blood and without them she would go mad. As she ate her own food, she looked happily at the pile of ironing she had done that day and, as the smell of the apple pie she had made wafted out of the oven, she smiled in contentment. Whatever else she might want in her life, the mainstay of her existence was in this kitchen with her.
She finished her food and rolled herself a joint; she allowed herself a little puff in the evening – it mellowed her out and relaxed her. And after today she needed it.
Two hours later, the boys were bathed and in their pyjamas, and the kitchen was once more as clean and neat as a new pin.
She put the youngest two to bed and allowed Aiden and Patsy to stay up to watch TV with her for a while, snuggled up on the sofa. That was when her waters broke – and she knew that the latest addition to her family was finally on its way.
She sat up quickly and told Aiden to first get himself next door and let Mrs Obana know that she was on her time, and then run around to his nan’s and tell her the same thing. He rushed to do her bidding.
Then, telling Patsy to go up and keep an eye on his younger brothers, she hauled herself up off the sofa and went into the kitchen. She knew that Vera Obana loved her cup of tea, and she smiled as she popped the kettle on.
Vera, a tall, thin woman, with fine, blond hair, was married to a guy from Guyana and they made a lovely couple. Vera had been a midwife by trade, and she was always called in whenever Reeva was on her time. Reeva prided herself on having given birth to all her boys at home with the minimum of fuss.
While she boiled the kettle, she rolled herself another joint; she would need it once the pains really started. Reeva didn’t like hospitals − they scared her and she felt that a healthy young woman like herself shouldn’t need to go there unless it was absolutely imperative.
Up until now, giving birth had been like shelling peas so she wasn’t too perturbed about the coming labour; in fact, she welcomed it. She was dying to have this baby. She hated the last few weeks – they dragged and she always felt tired and fat. She loved babies. They were helpless and they depended on you for everything – it was the only time she ever felt wanted in her life. Each of her children had made her feel important, made her feel she had some kind of purpose. And they made her feel complete – as if she had finally got something right in the chaos that was her life.
She liked Vera and the way she kept so cool and calm. She would always chat to her in a friendly way about nothing and then, before she knew it, the child would be lying on her belly, and that would be that.
Twenty minutes later, her mum had arrived and was taking charge over the household. Reeva finally relaxed. Annie O’Hara’s voice was soothing and, as Reeva lay in her large double bed, on a pile of newspapers, she allowed herself a little smile.
‘I’ll slap the fuck out of you lot if I hear one more word!’
Yes, her mum was here, and she could hear her sons laughing at their grandmother as she scolded them. The trouble with Annie was her bark was always much worse than her bite and the boys knew that, just as Reeva had always known it.
Vera laughed gently and said quietly, ‘She’s loud, but they know she’s all talk.’
It was after one in the morning and Aiden was worried. There was an air of tension in the house that he had never experienced before, and that frightened him more than he cared to admit. Even his nan had gone quiet and that was a first in itself.
Vera had phoned for an ambulance, and that meant something was going wrong. He swallowed with difficulty.
He had popped his head around the door and seen his mum lying there white as a sheet, with her eyes closed with exhaustion. He had also seen the blood everywhere that Vera was trying so desperately to stop.
There was a situation here all right and he was getting more and more frightened by the minute. It occurred to him that if anything happened to his mother they were on their own – he knew his nan could not cope with all of them. She had trouble finding her way to Bingo; she would never manage four boisterous lads. For the first time in his life he was experiencing real terror. He didn’t like the feeling one bit. He wanted to cry, but he knew he couldn’t, otherwise it would alert his little brothers to the seriousness of the situation. He had to be strong for all of them.
When the ambulance finally arrived, he breathed a sigh of relief and, despite the protests from the adults, he insisted on going to the hospital with his mum. He was scared to leave her side, in case something happened when he wasn’t there. He sat in the ambulance with her, holding her hand and willing her to regain consciousness. She looked so white and so vulnerable lying there with that huge belly and the black rings under her eyes, he had to swallow down the tears once more.
Suddenly all hell let loose, and he was pushed out of the way roughly as the ambulance men rushed to perform CPR. He found himself praying as he watched his mother finally open her eyes and look into his. She smiled at him, and he threw himself at her, holding on to her tightly, the tears flowing now and the fear subsiding in his chest.
Ten minutes later, his little sister came into the world in all her brutal glory and he watched, fascinated, as she was cleaned up and placed in his mother’s arms. His mum was crying with happiness. That was the secret strength of women – even at his young age he knew a man, no matter how hard he might be, could not give birth and then smile like nothing had happened.
His mum motioned for him to come over to her and he sat beside her, looking in awe at the new baby she had produced amidst so much drama.
The ambulance man ruffled his hair and said kindly, ‘Little sister for you, mate. You make sure you look after her – you’re the big brother, don’t forget.’ Then he said to Reeva jovially, ‘Picked her time, all right! Thought we lost you there for a minute!’
Reeva smiled tiredly as she answered him, ‘Take a bit more than having a baby to finish me off! Tough as old boots, me.’
‘Bleeding has subsided anyway, but my guess is you will need a blood transfusion before they let you go home. You’ll need a few stitches as well. But, all in all, I think you had a result.’
Reeva looked down at her new daughter and said gently, ‘Oh, Aiden, my son, might have known it was a girl, eh? All that fucking drama!’
‘Takes after you, Mum!’
Even the ambulance men laughed at that quip.
‘Do you want to choose a name, son?’
He nodded, suddenly shy. Then, looking down at the wrinkled red face of his new sister, he said seriously, ‘She looks like Sister Agnes at school! All screwed up and miserable.’
Reeva laughed gaily and said, ‘Agnes is it then! Agnes Marianne O’Hara. That’s got a ring to it, I reckon.’
She placed his sister into his arms, laid back and closed her eyes; this was the first time she had experienced problems while giving birth and she had to admit it had scared her. She made up her mind there and then that this little lady would be her last one. She had five kids and she was still only twenty-six years old – even she knew when enough was enough. No matter what her neighbours might think about her, she wasn’t as silly as they believed.
She watched as her eldest son nursed his new sister and she felt content. Whatever happened in her life from now on, she had her kids and that was all she really cared about at the end of the day. They were the real constant in her life, and she was sensible enough to know that they were the only people who would ever really love her.
And Reeva needed love so very much.
‘For fuck’s sake, Mum! He is a piece of shit!’
Reeva sighed dramatically as she listened to her eldest son rant about her latest lover. He was such a fucking prude in so many ways.
‘But, Aiden, he is my piece of shit and I love him.’
And that she did. She loved him very much. She just couldn’t see herself from her son’s point of view, see how the situation looked to the outside world, and especially to her children.
‘He treats you like a cunt, Mum.’
Her son might be telling the truth, but Reeva could not give up her new man. Tony Brown was everything she had ever wanted. He was big and black and he was handsome, and he told her he loved her − something she needed to hear. He fucked her properly and that was everything to her. She was a very sensual woman who mistook sex for love − she always had. Reeva was the fuck of the century but, other than that, she meant nothing to her paramours. They knew it even if she didn’t.
Her eldest son had sussed that out many years before and he knew exactly what was on the cards for her. He had lived it all his young life.
It was three o’clock in the morning and Tony Brown was trying to kick their front door in. It was the kind of drama Reeva revelled in, determined to cause a big upset because the man she thought she loved was not giving her what she wanted. Aiden had been here with her time and time again.
They both heard the splintering of the wooden architrave as the door was finally kicked into the small hallway. Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Aiden walked out into the hallway to try and head Tony off at the pass, though he didn’t hold out much hope.
‘Do you know what she’s fucking gone and done, Ade? The fucking vicious whore!’
Aiden stood stoically in the irate man’s path to try and deflect his anger. Reeva was half-drunk and, on top of the Valium she popped like sweets, she could not see for the life of her how inappropriate this entire scene was. The only thing on her mind was that she wanted Tony but he didn’t want her any more. In Reeva’s world that meant you fought back with any ammunition you had: in this case going around to Tony’s home and spilling the beans to his wife of ten years.
Aiden stood his ground and Tony Brown, drunk and stoned as he was, realised that, whatever Reeva might have done, her kids should not be witnessing this scene. He looked at the children standing on the stairs, especially the little girl, her eyes wide like flying saucers in her head. She was visibly trembling. Feeling the anger leave him, he said to Aiden quietly, ‘I’m sorry about this, Aiden, mate. But your mother caused me untold fucking aggravation today . . .’
Aiden had it in his heart to try and understand the man’s reaction. When his mother was hurt, she lashed out. And when she lashed out she went for it, big time, no half measures for her.
Agnes ran to her mother and grabbed at her legs, clearly frightened by the tension in the house. Reeva picked her up and then said loudly, ‘Go on then. Fuck off back to your ugly wife and kids! You were a useless shag, anyway. My Eugene’s got a bigger one than you . . .’
Aiden closed his eyes in distress as he knew that a man like Tony Brown was not going to take that lying down. The whole street was aware of the altercation and was listening to what was commonly called the ‘O’Hara Cabaret’. This was not a one-off − this was how all Reeva’s relationships ended. That’s if the man in question didn’t just disappear into the night, of course. The more cowardly ones tended to do that when Reeva got too hot to handle.
‘Coming from someone who’s had more men than she can fucking count, it’s a wonder you can feel anything down there. It’s like the Blackwall Tunnel!’
Aiden sensed this was on the verge of deteriorating once more into a slanging match so he walked purposefully towards Tony Brown and nudged him over to the broken doorway.
Tony looked down at the boy and felt shame envelop him. Aiden was a good kid and he didn’t deserve the shit Reeva seemed to revel in. He held his hands out in a gesture of supplication and said sadly, ‘I’ll get the door sorted in the morning, OK?’
Aiden smiled ruefully. ‘Appreciate it, Tony. Now, you get yourself off. This lot have got school tomorrow.’
Tony made his walk of shame past the neighbours, who were all trying to get a glimpse of the action, and cursed himself for his escapade. But that woman could make a saint swear! Now he had to go home and face his wife – and try and repair the damage as best he could.
Reeva watched him go, holding her daughter tightly to her and crying into the girl’s thick hair. The action made Agnes start to whimper. After attempting to put the front door back as best he could, Aiden took his sister and, giving her to Patsy, he walked his mum into the kitchen. Then, settling her on a chair, he lit her a cigarette and poured her out a large vodka and Coke.
Reeva watched her son as he ministered to her and she felt the tears come faster. This was the only man she had ever been able to depend on − her Aiden. Her boys were all so good to her. Patsy, bless him, had put the others back to bed and now there was a semblance of normality in the household once more.
Lighting himself a cigarette, Aiden put the kettle on to make tea. ‘This has got to stop, you know, Mum. You frightened Agnes tonight and, as big a bastard as Tony Brown is, you shouldn’t have grassed him up to his old woman.’
Reeva wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and said sadly, ‘Why does this always happen to me, Ade?’
He was pouring out the tea as she spoke and he felt a constriction around his heart at the utter despair in her voice. She knew the answer to that question as well as he did, but he answered her anyway. Bringing the teas to the table he sat down beside her and, grabbing her hand in his, he said truthfully, ‘You always go for the wrong ones, Mum. You meet them and they move in within days. Then the fighting starts. You should have a rest from blokes for a while and wait for one who is right for you.’
Reeva smiled through her tears at her earnest son who was genuinely trying to give her advice. There were only fourteen years between the two of them, and that was never more evident than when they sat chatting like this. He was always trying to pick up the pieces of her life.
‘I tell you something, Mum. When I get married it will be to the right person, I know that much.’
Reeva smiled to herself. Even at fifteen he sounded so wise. Much wiser than her.
Hearing Agnes begin to cry her head off, Aiden picked up his tea, kissed his mum on the cheek and hugged her for a few seconds. ‘I’ll bring her in with me and Patsy tonight, tell her a story.’ As he walked into the hallway he said over his shoulder, ‘And don’t you go out anywhere, OK? Get yourself off to bed and forget about that bastard.’
Reeva didn’t bother to answer him.
Frank James liked Aiden O’Hara. In fact, he liked all the O’Hara children, even though they were the bane of his life. He even liked the mother, Reeva, although he despaired at her lifestyle. But Aiden was a clever lad and he deserved the opportunity to go on to better things in life.
As he approached the O’Hara household, Frank was not even remotely surprised to see a workman reattaching the front door and repairing the architrave around it. It wasn’t the first time. He walked into the house, calling out Reeva’s name, and he heard a scrambling in the bedroom – and whispering. In the kitchen, young Agnes was in a lobster-pot playpen watching him with huge solemn eyes. She was another beautiful child; Reeva did have exceptionally handsome children, he’d give her that.
Reeva came down the stairs in a short dressing gown that showed a lot of her long, slender legs, the ever-present cigarette in her hand.
‘Oh, Mr James! I wasn’t expecting you.’
She was smiling happily at him as she put the kettle on. Frank was quite happy to enjoy the view. She was a very good-looking woman and he appreciated beauty. He noticed that, other than the destroyed doorway, the rest of the house was, as usual, spotlessly clean.
‘I just thought I would pop around about Aiden.’ He sat down at the kitchen table before saying calmly, ‘As we’ve discussed before, he’s a very intelligent boy and I really think he could do well in higher education. University is certainly on the cards if he applies himself.’
Reeva puffed up with pride at the man’s words and she smiled at him in a friendly manner.
‘He is clever all right, Mr James. Must have inherited the brains from his old man because I’m as thick as shit, as you know.’
Frank closed his eyes. The one thing he would never get used to was the casual use of bad language by the children and the parents.
‘But you know my boy – all my boys, in fact. They will go their own roads. I mean, I encourage them. But that’s all I can do really.’
He took the proffered mug of tea and thanked her, unable to keep his eyes from her breasts that were still surprisingly firm considering she had given birth to five children. His own wife’s had mysteriously disappeared after their one and only daughter – not that there had been much there to start with.
Reeva sat down and crossed her legs in a very dignified manner and Frank felt hot under the collar. She really was a disconcerting woman. She smelled faintly of sex. Sex and freedom − that was the only way he could describe it. She was a sensual being, it was in her DNA. It was who Reeva was. He had noticed that even when she had been at school, and he smiled wryly as he remembered how much trouble she seemed to attract.
‘I was wondering, Reeva, if I might talk to him alone and go through some options with him? I would hate for him to fall through the cracks.’ He sighed. ‘Aiden’s fifteen now and he is already becoming hard to handle. He needs to be taken in hand soon. Otherwise it will be too late.’
Reeva could see that the man was deadly earnest and that he had her son’s welfare at heart. But she was nothing if not a realist. If her Aiden didn’t want to work then no one or nothing would make him.
‘Oi, Reeva! The door’s finished.’
Reeva stood up and left the kitchen. Frank heard a door open and saw a man clump down the stairs wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, and pay the workman cash in hand. He felt especially embarrassed when Tony Brown walked into the kitchen as if he owned the place and poured himself a cup of tea.
Reeva lit another cigarette as she came back in and made the introduction
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