Martina Cole - The Faithless

Martina Cole

Copyright 2011 Martina Cole

The right of Martina Cole to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

eISBN: 9780755375561

HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

An Hachette UK Company

338 Euston Road

London NW1 3BH

www.headline.co.uk

www.hachette.co.uk

Dangerous Lady

The Ladykiller

Goodnight Lady

The Jump

The Runaway

Two Women

Broken

Faceless

Mauras Game

The Know

The Graft

The Take

Close

Faces

The Business

Hard Girls

The Family

The Faithless

For my Freddie Fling Flang.

Love you, darling

Dolly R...

xx

Aint It Grand To Be Bloomin Well Dead

Leslie Sarony

Song title

2009

You are not going to make me listen to this shit, Gabriella. You are wrong, very wrong. Use your bloody head, girl! I loved that little boy with all my heart... and, as for your brother... I dont believe a word of it they must have the wrong person.

But Gabby could see the fear in her mothers eyes, and she knew that it was true. Every word of it.

I met your old mate, Jeannie, today. Thats how I know everything she told me all about the house in Ilford. She could see her mothers head working, trying to figure out exactly what she was saying, could almost hear her brain whirring as she tried to lie her way out of what they both knew was the truth.

What the hell have you been taking this time, eh? What the fuck are you on, Gabriella, to make you come out with this shit?

Gabby found shed picked up a large bronze statue of a cat. As she held it in her scarred hands she felt the weight of it. Her mother kept talking. The world according to Cynthia Tailor who, along with God Himself, was almost omnipotent in the lives of her family, who ruled everyone around her with a rod of iron. She could see her mothers mouth moving constantly, but she couldnt hear what she was saying any more; all she was conscious of was a rushing noise in her ears. Then she struck her.

She lifted the bronze statue back over her head and hit her mother across the face with it, using all the force she could muster, and enjoying the feeling of total retaliation. She was determined now, determined to shut her mother up once and for all.

Cynthia fell sideways on to the white leather sofa. The spray of blood that came from her mothers face was like a crimson mist. Gabby hit her again and again, each blow easing the knot inside her, each blow seeming to calm the erratic beating of her heart.

She looked down at the bloodied form and, for the first time in years, she felt almost at peace. Her mothers face was unrecognisable, a deep red gash that was pumping out blood at an alarming rate.

Gabby looked at the woman she had hated nearly all her life. Then she sat down on the ladder-backed chair her mother was convinced was an antique, put her face into her bloodied hands and cried.

Long is the way

And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light

Paradise Lost (1667)

John Milton, 160874

For the love of money is the root of all evil

1 Timothy 6:10

1984

Come on, Jimmy, have another one. Im celebrating.

Jimmy Tailor grinned; he had an easy-going nature that some people took advantage of. He was a big man, big in all ways over six feet and well built. Before his marriage he had been a body builder, and he still held traces of his former physique.

Nah, better get home, Cynthias waiting for me.

It was Friday night and all his pals were going to have a few more pints before meeting their wives and girlfriends later on in a wine bar in the West End. He would have loved to have joined them, but he knew that Cynthia wouldnt come.

Fucking hell, Jimmy, youre married, mate, not joined at the hip.

This from his best friend Davey Brown. Davey thought Jimmy was a mug and that he should put his foot down with Cynthia, but Davey didnt understand her. No one did it seemed, except him. He smiled, but it was a tight smile. Were saving, what with little Gabriella and all.

Course, mate, you get yourself off. Davey seemed immediately sorry for his jibe.

Jimmy left the pub a few minutes later, reluctant to go if he was honest, but even more reluctant to stay where he was. He walked along the road, feeling the cold hit him, making his face sting and, pulling up the collar of his overcoat, he made his way slowly home.

Cynthia Tailor was pleased with herself. Her house looked lovely and festive just how a home should look at Christmas time, from the scented pine tree, decorated in what she felt was a tasteful manner no tinsel and no coloured lights to the neatly wrapped presents underneath it. It couldnt be further away from the house she grew up in, with the dirt, the smell of frying bacon, and the garish, cheap hanging garlands. She shuddered inwardly as she thought of her mothers house. She had escaped from that life and there was no way she was ever going back.

Cynthias sitting room was painted a pale cream, and the carpet was a thick Axminster. It had cost the national debt, but looked wonderful against the walls and the luxurious chocolate-brown velvet curtains at the windows. She knew her home was beautiful, and she never tired of cleaning it, or enhancing it. This was the first step on the ladder for them; they would go on from here, make their money on this place, and get bigger and better houses each time. She sighed with contentment at the thought.

James was a decent man, boring in some ways, but she knew that with his accountancy job in the city they would always be all right for money. And he was expecting some big news about a promotion any day now. Cynthia had come from a council estate in Hackney, and she had been determined from a young age that she wouldnt be staying there for longer than she had to. Now here she was, with a lovely semi in Ilford, and the chance to go onwards and upwards.

She walked out into her kitchen, and checked on the casserole she had bubbling on her new halogen hob. The kitchen was like something from a magazine, all white doors and stainless steel sinks. It was Hygena, and she knew it was far too good for the house, but she saw it as an investment. James had balked at the price but she had won him over. He always saw the sense of her arguments in the end; after all, she was the one stuck here all day, and she was entitled to have what she wanted around her at least that was what she thought, anyway. And she had her ways to make sure he knew who was the boss under