Cynthia realised that it was not in her interest to pursue this conversation, and her instincts were telling her it was much better to retreat on this occasion. But she knew that if her husband had access to drugs – and he had to be on drugs otherwise he would never have dared to say the things he had – it was something she could use against him in the future. Oh, he was on the old Persian rugs all right. And he had been on them for a while. That had to be something to do with Jonny Parker and, as such, she knew that it could only be to her benefit in the long run. She would dig and dig until she found the truth, and then she would use the knowledge to her advantage. She had access to James’s clothes and his wallet. Sometimes it was so easy, all you had to do was sit back and wait. Eventually it just came to you, without any real graft.

Her sister thought that her life was so fucking special, so fucking great. Well, Cynthia could end it with a phone call. One call and it would be over. That knowledge alone made her feel so good.

Chapter Twenty

‘Well? What’s happening then?’

Mary Callahan was annoyed. She hated this weekly argument – Cynthia acting like she had arranged to take the children out for the afternoon when everyone knew that was never going to happen. Cynthia never had the kids for more than a day, and even then it was as if she was doing them a favour in some way. She couldn’t cope with both her children for more than a couple of hours anyway. She palmed them off on her parents with a relief that was almost tangible.

But today Cynthia seemed determined to cause some kind of aggravation, it seemed as if she had an agenda, and it was not the first time she had acted this way in the last few weeks. It bothered her mother. She knew this daughter of hers better than anyone else. In many ways she hated her daughter if truth be told. She knew that Cynthia was capable of great hate, and great treachery. She also knew that Cynthia was not averse to using her children to get what she wanted. She had been doing that since they had been born. But lately she wouldn’t trust her daughter with anything – she knew that there was a hidden agenda, there was always some kind of hidden agenda with Cynthia. This time she knew exactly what that was.

‘Look, Mum, if you don’t want them, I’ll take them back home with me . . .’

Mary was already holding her grandson in her arms, and her granddaughter was clasping her around her legs. She knew she was never going to let them leave now.