Cynthia was not going to take no for an answer. ‘When was the last time you were a young girl, eh? When was the last time you got your gladrags on and had a night out with your mates? Had a few drinks, let your hair down? It’s not good for you being stuck in with a baby all the time, even one as lovely as our Cherie. We’ll be here waiting for you.’ She smiled at the baby in her arms. ‘Won’t we, darling? We’ll wait for mummy, won’t we? How’s that mate of yours, the one I always thought was a bad influence?’

‘Christine Carter? Oh, she’s still around, pops in to see me sometimes. Now she is always out somewhere!’

Cynthia laughed with her daughter. She knew exactly what Christine Carter got up to – she was a byword for whoring and drug-taking, by all accounts.

‘You should ring her, go out with her. You’re not a kid any more, are you? I bet she’ll show you a good time!’

‘I could I suppose, she does love a night out. But Vince . . .’

‘Vince is in the nick, love, and I’m sure that if he had the chance of a night out he would take it without a second’s thought for you or anyone. Blokes are like that, love. Anyway, you’re not married to him and, while he’s away, why should you be locked up too? He should have thought of that, love; if you want my opinion, I think you deserve a night out.’

Cherie gave one of her big gummy grins and the matter was sealed.

A little later on, Cynthia handed her daughter fifty pounds in cash. ‘Have a good night, sweetheart, and don’t worry about little Cherie – she’ll be safe as houses.’

Gabby hugged her mother then, overwhelmed by her generosity and, when her mother hugged her back, she felt as if she had won the rollover on the lottery.

Chapter Ninety-Seven

‘Where the hell have you been?’

Mary’s voice was angrier than Gabby had ever heard it and, putting the pillow over her head, she groaned. ‘Not now, Nana, I’m tired out.’

Mary opened the curtains and dragged the quilt and pillow from her granddaughter’s bed. ‘’Course you’re tired out – you’ve been out on the lash for two days. It’s Sunday, love, and you are getting up and you are going to go to your mother’s and you are going to get your baby. Remember your baby? Cherie, ten months old, little bundle of happiness?’