She smiled ruefully. Now she had a grandson named Henry Dumas. Strange the way life snuck up on you, without you even realising it. Strange and disturbing. She wondered how Henry had felt seeing her image before him day after day, because Benedict was her double, like the spit out of her mouth as an East Ender would say. It must have galled him, seeing Benedict and knowing there was nothing he could do. She guessed, correctly, he had made the boy’s life difficult. Well, she’d expected that. Henry hated to be bested and Isabel had certainly done that much. It would not have made for a good relationship between them. But then, that’s-exactly what Isabel had wanted, wasn’t it?

Yet who had taken the brunt of it all? Briony herself. Her son now felt a rage towards her that would not be assuaged by anything she could do. It was this fact, this terrible fact, that had brought on the tiredness, the feeling of lethargy.

All her life she had hoped and prayed to be reunited with him. Now her hopes were dashed, she had nothing else to look forward to. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she dragged the brush through her hair, pulling it ’til her scalp ached.

The bedroom door opened and Tommy came in. Briony watched him in the mirror. He seemed so chirpy today. How she wished at that moment she could tap his energy and channel some of it into herself.

‘Come on, Bri, get your finger out. It’s not like you to be a lieabed!’

Something in his voice, in his words, said so lovingly and kindly, sent her over the edge. The tears sprang from her eyes and blurred her vision. Her shoulders shuddered with sobs.

Tommy realised she was crying and rushed to her. Pulling her round to face him, he held her to him, raining kisses on her face and neck.

‘Come on, darlin’, for goodness’ sake. Tell me what’s ailing you?’

Briony leant against his shoulder, breathing in his smell and feeling the strength of his body. She needed his strength today, oh, she needed it. Only Tommy could make her feel right. It had always been that way since they were children.

Slowly, haltingly, the story came out. Tommy stroked her back gently and listened to her silently, feeling rage at Benedict engulf him, rage at the unfairness of life. That she should have been taken like that, sold like that, and now all these years later have to pay for something she’d had no control over! ‘Life’s a bastard’ was one of his mother’s expressions and it fitted this situation perfectly. Life was indeed a bastard sometimes.