She could see the bewilderment on Ray’s face and that just made her laugh harder. She knew there was a tinge of hysteria in her voice and she used all her willpower to try to keep from screaming out loud.

‘Like father like daughter! You know, I was always frightened that one of the boys would be gay like Lenny. But now that means nothing, does it? No one has to hide who they really are any more. Except you, of course, eh, Ray?’

He was looking at her in complete and utter amazement.

‘She obviously inherited your lying, scheming, fuck-anything-with-a-pulse gene. Because she sure as hell didn’t get it from me! You fucking hypocrite. As for Barton, she is seventeen – he could be her fucking grandfather! Another fucking whore, like you. Did it ever occur to you that he might have taken advantage of her? How many little girls have you chatted up, Ray? They were all someone’s daughter or sister. This isn’t about our Kathy, this is about you! Barton has pissed on you from a great height and you can’t fucking stand it, can you? Well, now you know how I feel.’

He stormed from the room and she shouted after him, ‘Smash him up, smash his fucking face in. Go on! That’s your answer to everything!’

When the front door was given a resounding slam, Kathy sat up and, putting her arms around her mother, she waited to be comforted.

Instead, her mother gave her a stinging blow across the face and threw her away from her. Behind her, Annie gasped.

‘Oh no you don’t, lady. You slept with the husband of one of my dearest friends, a woman who has always shown you nothing but kindness and respect. You little whore. Your father was right about that much, anyway. What have I bred? Two murderers and a fucking whore. Not much to show for a lifetime of love, is it? That was my only job, loving and caring for you all. The only thing that mattered. And how have you repaid me, eh? You have trampled on my love and thrown it back in my face. Well, do you know something? Fuck you! Fuck you all!’

She turned into an embrace with Annie, putting her head on the old woman’s chest and she cried like she had not cried since the night she had found out about Lenny and Reggie. This time, though, she wasn’t crying for her sons, her children. She was crying for herself and the abortion her life had become.

Annie was a wise old bird and she held Sharon tightly until the crying subsided. Then she slowly walked her down the stairs and through to the kitchen and, pouring her a brandy, she urged her to drink it for the shock.