And what about poor James Junior? Cynthia had blamed James from the get-go. She had put him in the frame with her lies about him going round there and threatening all sorts. Was there nothing she wasn’t capable of?

Gabby was outside her mother’s flat, parked up all neat and tidy, but she had no memory of driving there. She got out of the car, and she felt as if she was walking through water, so heavy and awkward did her limbs feel.

Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Eight

Gabby was throwing up in her mother’s toilet, and all she could hear was her mother’s voice going on and on and on.

‘I don’t feel well, Mum. I feel ill and out of sorts.’

‘Well, whose fault’s that then? Pregnant again, aren’t you? He’ll leave you like he did the last two times. He won’t keep out of the nick, love – it’s all he’s fucking fit for. And I can tell you now, I’m not looking after any more kids either. You’re on your own this time, lady. I told you when you met that idiot Vincent O’Casey, I said then, and I stand by my words, he has the brains of a fucking rocking horse and the face of a Tonka toy. But would you listen to me? You should get shot of that baby. How can you have another one? I mean, I ask you, how long before he’ll be banged up again?’

Gabby was frightened of the hate spiralling inside her. She was terrified of the feelings consuming her, and the thoughts that were spinning out of control inside her head. She didn’t want to hurt her mother, she mustn’t hurt her – not yet anyway, not until she had found out the truth, no matter how painful it might be. But she had to know.

She took a deep breath and said calmly, ‘Have the police spoken to you yet?’

Her mother went quiet at that, and then she asked warily, ‘What about? Why would they want to speak to me? More likely they were after your old man. What’s he gone and done this time?’

‘Vincent? My Vincent ain’t done nothing, but it seems they have found James.’ She saw her mother’s face pale, and she wanted to smile.

‘Where? Where did they find him? Have they charged him? The murdering little fucker.’

She was good, Gabby would give her that. What was it the psychiatrist had said about mimicking emotions? Oh, that was her mother all over.

‘Well, where is he? Is he in custody? Have they collared him or what?’