She had made up her mind that she wasn’t going to have too much to do with this new grandchild. She decided that, if she used her loaf, this would be the perfect opportunity to get Cherie away from them both for ever, and keep her for herself.

As she poured herself another of her ‘black’ teas – her euphemism for whisky and water – she pondered on how she could talk them into letting her move right away with Cherie. She couldn’t stand to be in London any more – everywhere she looked she was haunted by memories of baby Vince. Every road, park and zoo reminded her of him and she could hear his voice asking her things, making her laugh. Oh, how he had made her laugh – he had been such a dear little fellow. She realised she needed to get as far away from those memories as possible.

Gabriella had phoned to say she would be here soon. She wondered what she had to talk to her about? Probably wanting help with that baby she had on the way.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six

Gabby had parked her car by the new Somerfield’s at Chrisp Street Market; she needed to pick up a few bits for Vincent’s dinner, before calling at her mother’s. She couldn’t drive for long with her hands as they were but she could manage the automatic Vincent had got for her to get around locally. Vincent was as mystified as she was about the news about James. He said he’d dig around a bit for some more information. As she walked out with the trolley, she was startled from her thoughts when she heard someone call her name.

‘Is that you, Gabby?’

Gabby looked into the woman’s face, unable to place her. She grinned at her before saying in a friendly manner, ‘Sorry, do I know you?’

The woman smiled; she was in her late forties and she had kind eyes and heavy legs. ‘I’m Jeannie Proctor. I lived next door to you in Ilford when you were a nipper.’

Gabby smiled back. ‘Oh, really? I’m sorry, I don’t remember.’

The woman looked her over, and she said in wonderment, ‘You are the living image of your mother – that’s what made me recognise you. Beautiful, just like her. How is Cynth these days?’

Gabby nearly said, ‘Well, she would not be happy to be referred to as “Cynth”!’ Instead she said, ‘She’s fine, you know me mum!’

It was meant in jest, but the woman nodded, then said seriously, ‘Oh, I know Cynthia all right! Tell her she still owes me for the dry cleaning bill.’

Gabby laughed then. ‘What dry cleaning bill?’