Since she had tried to get back into Gabby’s life, she had stirred them up in different ways. Gabby had wondered if her mother had changed and was now capable of loving her at least a little. Mary thought she had more chance of getting a wank off the Pope than that ever happening. Still, she knew the girl had wanted it badly – needed it, in fact. She wanted to feel that her mother loved her at least a little. Well, Cynthia wasn’t capable of love. Even her relationship with Jonny Parker had not been about love – it had been about taking what her sister had, and believing she had got one over on her in the process. Now, with Cynthia back in the picture, Celeste had been reminded of everything she had tried so hard to forget.

Celeste was tied to this house, frightened of the world itself. And it was understandable; after all; it had never done her any favours, had it? Now she lived in these few rooms content, in her own way, with her TV programmes and her films about other people’s lives. Even the house in Spain which she had loved so much was now sold. It seemed she would travel only once more in her life, and that would be out of this house in a coffin.

Her daughter’s existence caused Mary no small amount of pain. Knowing her lovely vibrant daughter had been reduced to this wreck of a woman was hard to bear at times. But bore it she did. What else could a mother do? Oh, Cynthia had a lot of things to answer for.

Even that poor demented boy, James Junior, was still in care. Mary didn’t want to see him though, as she had explained to the social workers. She had more than enough on her plate to last her a lifetime. Plus, she had been a bit frightened of James Junior since the kitten incident. Gabby had been kind and written letters to him with all the news, he was her brother after all, despite everything. He had never replied though. But she hadn’t given up.

‘Can I make you a cuppa, girl?’

She nodded at Jack and smiled faintly. ‘That would be lovely.’

Since her heart attack he was like the tea boy, always offering to make her a cup, or get her a few biscuits. She knew it was love and guilt, both of which, unlike Cynthia, he seemed to have in abundance.

Chapter Eighty-Seven