‘Mother . . .’

‘Don’t you “Mother” me!’ Vera was wringing her hands. ‘Don’t think you can get around me. I’m not your mother any more. D’you think I’ve hauled myself out of the gutter for you to drag us straight back down there again? Do you? Over my dead body! You can get out – take your things and your bastard brat, and get out of my sight. You’re all the same: you’re an O’Neill to the core, and I’m finished with you – the whole damn rotten lot of you! That’s what you are: rotten to the core.’

It was Vera who was sobbing after this bewildering outburst, bent over with her elbows resting on the table, face buried in her hands. Katie stood numbed, in shock as the words poured out of her mother, not seeming to make any sense.

Vera suddenly flung herself away from the table. ‘Go on, I mean it – get out! Take your things and go – to him. And I hope he damn well wants you or you’ll be on the streets, my girl, and it’ll serve you right, and don’t think you can come running to me! You’ll find out what life’s about, won’t you, you stupid little bitch. Go on . . .’

She came across the room and Katie ran out, frightened that her mother was about to set about her. Up in her room, she stood at a loss. What was she doing? Surely her mother didn’t really mean her to leave, for good? She couldn’t mean that! In her panic, the only person she could think of whom she wanted to see was Simon. He felt like her rock, the only safe haven to which she could escape.

‘I’ll take my night things,’ she murmured, opening drawers with shaking hands and gathering a little pile of belongings on the bed, the tears now running down her face.

‘Are you ready yet?’ Vera’s voice grated up the stairs. She came up and stood in the doorway, arms folded, her expression as hard as iron.

‘Mother, surely you don’t mean . . . You don’t really want me to leave?’

‘Oh yes, I do. I’ve had enough of you and your kind – Judases all!’

‘But what d’you mean?’ Katie wailed. ‘Uncle Patrick wasn’t a . . . a Judas. And Daddy . . .’

‘Daddy,’ Vera mimicked in a nasty voice. She looked so strange, so completely possessed by rage, that Katie was frightened. It was as if Vera had become someone she’d never seen before. ‘What do you know about Daddy. You were too young to remember anything.’

‘But . . .’ Katie’s voice became a squeak. ‘What d’you mean?’

They stood staring at each other. Vera’s face was working, and for a few seconds Katie felt she was looking at someone deranged. Then her expression seemed to freeze. In a low, intense voice, almost a hiss, she said, ‘I don’t mean anything. He died. Left forever. That’s a betrayal – can’t you see that? Can’t you?’