Young Tyrone Brown was watching in morbid fascination, knowing this was wrong even though to him it felt right. His little cat Bullet had had its throat cut by James and he felt he should pay for that. Being too little and too young to fight James, he had gone to his granddad because he knew he was big enough to do what he couldn’t. He had loved his little cat, and he didn’t want to see it die like that. He started crying then, a high-pitched keening that seemed to jerk Mary Callahan to life.

‘Come here, child, come to me.’

But Tyrone had had enough, and he left the hallway sobbing, his granddad following him in a bewildered state, shocked at the day’s events, and wondering if he had any hard stuff in the house.

Picking up the dead cat, Jack Callahan threw it at his now inert grandchild and said scathingly, ‘Clear this lot away. You’ll bury that little lad’s cat for him, and you’ll do it properly and with an apology, you rotten little fucker. The shame you’ve brought on this house today, you murdering little bastard. You’re your mother’s son all right.’

It wasn’t until much later when he went over the events again in his mind that it occurred to him that his wife had not once leapt to her grandson’s defence. That alone spoke volumes.

Chapter Forty-Five

‘It was a fucking cat, Jonny. Anyone would think he’d murdered Mother Teresa the way they’re carrying on.’

Jonny had heard the story – it was all people were talking about. The school had got wind of it and had said that James Junior should see a psychiatrist. The general consensus was that the school was right; cutting a kitten’s throat wasn’t exactly a boyish prank for all Cynthia tried to make it out like that. It also seemed that her boy James was getting a name for himself as a weirdo, for want of a better word. The school had been concerned about him for a good while, and he knew that was what was really getting up Cynthia’s nose. She didn’t have any real interest in the children unless they were reflecting well on her – then she was proud, or at least acted proud. She played the part of an exemplary mother and housewife, but it was all a façade. Now this latest incident had brought out the mother lioness in her, and she was determined to make sure it was seen as a youthful indiscretion and no more. But even hardened criminals were shocked at the child’s antics. Cutting that poor kitten’s throat because he couldn’t have one of his own was seen as something sinister, not quite acceptable. Not for a nine year old anyway.