For the first time in years, Gabby felt a modicum of contentment in her mother’s company as they chatted and laughed. It was as if the heavier she got with this baby the better her mum liked her. Her nana Mary thought she was mad, but they didn’t see this side of Cynthia – so few people ever did. There was no doubt about it – as her mother got older, she was becoming more like a mother should be. OK, not where James was concerned maybe, but then he’d always been difficult, to say the least. Gabby hoped none of her kids inherited his mental illness, that would be too cruel. Whereas her mother had never been a loving mother exactly, Gabby was – she loved her family with all her heart.

She had tried to tell her nana and granddad about how her mum was behaving these days, but they both dismissed it out of hand, saying she was after something, just as she had been before. Gabby understood that they didn’t trust Cynthia, but even if she was after Cherie, now that Vincent was back he would never let anything happen to them.

Having him there made her so happy – she just wished he was home more. She knew that it had taken lot of work to get the garage off the ground, and he wanted to make a success of it. It was all for them so she shouldn’t really moan too much.

Cherie had her little bag packed, and was impatient to go with her nanny Cynthia now. She had brought all her drawing books with her; she loved drawing, and her nanny Cynthia had got her an easel which she loved painting on. She had a white smock just like the real painters in a book her nanny showed her.

Cynthia really thought the child had a talent, and she was determined to see her make the best of it. She could be the next Tracey Emin, that was Cynthia’s belief. She knew with certainty that this little girl had a brilliant future ahead of her, and she would move the heavens to see she got the chances Cynthia felt had been denied to her. She saw herself in little Cherie, saw her as she would have been with different parents, with people who could have given her a proper start in life. Cynthia blamed her parents for the way her whole life had turned out, and her son’s life as well. She believed with all her heart that her mother had had more say in James Junior’s upbringing than she did and, consequently, the blame for his condition lay at her mother’s door.