The memory hurt her - yet another suppressed slight that had resurfaced in the last few days. Small things that over the years she had ignored. Could you really love someone so much, you allowed them to dominate even the most trivial parts of your life? He had told her what to wear, and how to wear it. He had told her what she should be, how she should talk, how she should act, and she had gone along with it all. Never daring to question anything, because if you questioned Georgio he had a knack of making you regret it, making you feel a fool.

If you wanted Georgio, you did what he said, and if you didn’t then you knew you would lose him. Now, after all that had happened, she wondered why the thought of losing him had been so very frightening. She looked around the room again and smiled once more.

It was a shambles. But she was actually enjoying it. Enjoying living in her home - and it was her home now. Georgio had signed the lot over to her. Home, business and brothels. She laughed gently, covering her hand with her mouth.

She was the proud owner of a building business, a car lot and a brothel. Not any old brothel either, a brothel for children. Georgio had always promised her he would see her all right, look after her, and he had. Oh yes, he had looked after her all right.

Picking up the ashtray, she hurled it across the room, sending ash and cigarette ends all over the place.

She felt better for the action.

On the verge now of wrecking the house, feeling the urge rising inside her, she took a deep breath.

‘Get a grip,’ she whispered to herself.

‘Get a grip on yourself, woman.

‘Everything you survey is yours and Georgio Brunos can’t take any of it.’

What was the old adage she had heard from Carol Jackson? That was it. If you wanted to hurt a man, hit him in the pocket. Well, Georgio would never get a cent from her, or from this house, ever again. She would burn the lot first and enjoy herself while she did it.

Lying back on the settee she closed her eyes.

Would today never end?

She had to hear something soon or she would lose what little remained of her mind.

Carol called through her door in a strident voice: ‘Go away, Davey, I’m warning you!’

He stood on his own doorstep, aware of the stares of women coming home from taking their children to school.

‘Carol love, open the door. I just want to talk to you. We have to sort out what’s going to happen.’