‘Yeah? Christ knows why,’ Shauna sneered, eyeing the ring. She felt sick, seeing it. So it was true. All right, she might muck around with the Cleavers and a few others, but that meant nothing. What she felt for Josh was real. He should be hers.

Claire glared at Shauna. ‘Look. It’s a fact. So why don’t you go and find your own man, you low-life bitch? Like one of those deadbeat pig-farmer Cleavers you’re always hanging around with. I think that’s more your level. I heard they fuck those pigs – and knowing them, I believe it. How about one of them?’

‘Why you—’ Shauna looked shocked for a second. The little mouse was actually answering back instead of running snivelling to Mama like she always used to do.

Shauna shot out a hand and grabbed a handful of that silky blonde hair, yanking it hard toward her so that Claire stumbled forward with a shriek of pain, half-tripping over Blue.

‘Get off!’ yelled Claire, struggling to break free. The piebald was jumping around in alarm, struggling against its halter, which was tethered to the back of the van.

In a blind rage, Claire swung the currycomb in her hand and it struck Shauna’s jaw. Shauna fell back. Blue started barking. He lunged at Shauna and sank his teeth into her leg, then when she kicked at him he yelped and leapt away.

‘Fucking mongrel hound!’ said Shauna, staggering back with a hand to her scraped jaw.

She stared down at her leg. Blood was starting to seep from the bite, colouring the torn denim to purple. Her eyes when they met Claire’s were vicious.

‘You’re going to be sorry,’ she spat out, panting with temper.

Shauna turned away from Claire. Then she turned back.

‘That crack about finding my own man?’ she rapped out. ‘For your information, I fucking well have, bitch. His name’s Josh Flynn and he’s mine. He just don’t know it yet.’

4

4

Shauna got back to the family trailer and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her chin was scratched from where Claire had struck her. She bathed it. Then she stripped off her jeans and poured some of Dad’s neat gutrot whisky over the bite that mutt had inflicted on her. It stung like a bitch, but she was so mad, so fucking incensed, that she barely felt it. At least the bleeding had stopped.

Then she put on clean jeans and stalked around the trailer, irritably picking up this and that, fuming, unable to believe that dopey cow had summoned the nerve to turn on her like that. She kicked the couch, but really she wanted to kick her, Claire Milo. She wanted to wipe her out, never again to see that pretty-pretty face with those sickeningly soft blue eyes.