Jimmy guessed what was really going through her mind; he knew her better than anyone. But he didn’t say a word, all he could do was make sure his son got the best treatment available and hope against hope that it worked. Being brought up by Cynthia Tailor had to have some kind of repercussions, and he had a feeling this was just the start of them for both his children. He didn’t worry as much about Gabby though. She had a thick skin where her mother was concerned, and he was glad about that. She was going to need that thick skin for a while yet; she was growing up and turning into a beautiful girl and it wasn’t something his wife was going to accept graciously. That Cynthia was jealous of the girl was evident – not that she would ever admit it – but Gabby was really going to be a beauty, and that was something Cynthia was going to find difficult to tolerate. It was her way or no way – how many times had he heard her say that to the kids over the years?

Well, this was the upshot of her mothering and, while he hoped that it taught her a lesson, he doubted very much that it would. Cynthia didn’t care about anyone or anything enough to change her ways, and that thought, along with his kids’ problems, depressed Jimmy further still. He knew he should leave, take his daughter now and go, but where? Cynthia would let them go, of that he had no doubt, but he knew that with his lifestyle and his little habit, he wasn’t going to be much use to his kids. It was a cop out, but he didn’t want the responsibility of those two by himself. Like his wife, he was too caught up in the world he lived in to make those kind of changes. It was a vicious circle, and every one of them was caught up in it. The kids more than any of them, because they lived at the whim of their parents, and he knew he and Cynthia were not parents anyone would choose to be lumbered with.

Still, he consoled himself with the fact he had fought her to get James Junior the help he so desperately needed, so at least he had done that much. A voice in his head was telling him it was too little, too late. But he ignored that, and left the house quick smart. Cynthia could do the boy’s packing – she was better at things like that than he was.

An hour later he was coked out of his nut, and working on long columns of figures. Only numbers made any sense to him these days, and he lost himself in them like a drowning man grabbing on to a lifeboat.

Chapter Fifty-Four