Oh no, that wasn’t for her – that was for the likes of Cynthia. She had the strength to deal with things. Cynthia was the only person Celeste trusted. Cynthia would always look out for her, would always save her from danger. She was like a modern day Penthesilea, an Amazonian woman who could fight like a man, and think like a man. She could always depend on her, she knew that much. Like she would sort out little James, and steer him towards the right path.

Celeste was surprised to find herself in the kitchen, and wondered vaguely how she had got there. She opened the huge fridge and took out a chunk of cheese. She bit into it and savoured the strong cheddar taste, the saltiness on her tongue. Then, replacing it, she went to the countertop and poured herself another vodka. It occurred to her that she had not left the house for over a week, but she shrugged off the thought. Inside the house was bad enough, but it was nothing compared to the dangers on the streets.

She settled herself at the kitchen table and began to peruse the papers they had delivered every day. She looked for stories of death, pain, serial killers and genocide. These stories made her feel safe, made her feel that her take on the world was the true one. Even Spain, her beloved adopted country, wasn’t immune. It was filling up with gangsters and murderers, including Majorca where she had believed life was simpler and therefore better. The papers were full of it nowadays, all kinds of death and destruction, the whole world over.

Those facts, those stories she read, assured her that her thoughts were not wrong, that her life as it was could not be any other way. It was comforting to know that the world outside was just as she believed. That was the only positive thought she possessed, and she hung on to it like a dog with a bone.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Jimmy Tailor was understandably upset at his son’s behaviour and, what was worse, he didn’t know how to address it. He could see that the hiding had meant nothing to the boy. To compound these feelings of worthlessness, he was aware of the look of contempt for his family in the boy’s eyes too. It was a strange thing, but he really disliked his son now. Knowing he was capable of something so shocking and so heinous, and was not the least bit concerned about his actions, had shown Jimmy the true state of the boy’s mind. He knew that in his hands he was now holding a potential threat to society.