Cynthia adored her granddaughter and the feeling was entirely mutual. As she walked her in the park, Cynthia planned the child’s life; a good school, private of course, and nice friends. Once she had fleeced David she would move on, this time to a nice London suburb. A place where the child would be surrounded by the finer things in life.

Oh, it was as if she had been given a second chance at happiness, and she was grateful to the powers-that-be for giving it to her. The only problem was Gabriella; she would always have to put up with her having some kind of role in the child’s life, but she would make sure that her input was minimal at best. It irritated her but there wasn’t a lot she could do about it. Well, not for a while anyway.

The social services thought she was the dog’s bollocks, and she had made sure of that by being the picture of kindness and generosity. They agreed that her daughter was still too immature to look after a child, and she pointed out how well Cherie had settled with her, which was not a lie either. Cherie was very happy, and why wouldn’t she be? She was waited on hand and foot, clean and well fed. She had only the best clothes and shoes too; she was like a little doll, and Cynthia loved to dress her up.

The doorbell rang and she went to answer it; she hoped it wasn’t David, expecting a cup of coffee and a quick feel – she really wasn’t in the mood today. Opening the door, a smile plastered on her heavily made-up face, she was amazed to see her mother standing there.

‘Hello, Cynth, aren’t you going to invite me in? The social worker’s just parking the car.’

Then, walking past her speechless daughter, Mary went into the large lounge and, kneeling down, she opened her arms to little Cherie and said happily, ‘Hello, my little lovely, your great-nana’s here to see you.’

Chapter One Hundred and Five

Miss Byrne had a feeling that something was not right between Cynthia Callahan and her mother, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what that might be. They were polite enough to each other, but it was forced, as if they were both playing a part. Which, of course, they were.

Mary couldn’t help but be impressed with Cynthia’s home; although it was clean as clean could be, it still had the smell and feel of a real home. Cherie’s toys were scattered all over the place, something that she had never seen in Cynthia’s house when Gabby and James Junior were little. The poor things had been terrified of making a noise, let alone a mess.