‘God, that’s horrible.’

‘And then he killed himself. Hung himself from a tree in the family’s back yard.’

Jesus.

‘His mother – Donny’s mother – was in bits over what happened to William. She threw herself off the church tower.’

Angel stared at her mother in total horror. This explained the weekly visits to the graveyard. Dora’s pleading not to go. Donny insisting that she would. Punishment. She had thought that it was a twisted overwhelming passion that was keeping Donny and her mother together. That Dora was his mistress, while his dull wife, his real family, were elsewhere, unknowing. But it wasn’t that at all. What was holding Donny and Dora together was hatred. It was revenge.

‘I was a stupid little cow back then,’ said Dora, her eyes distant, staring into that long-ago place where it had all gone wrong. ‘Didn’t know what I was doing, what I was playing with. Got in with some bad people. Terrible people. Witnessed a fucking murder.’

Angel stared at her mother. What?

Dora nodded. ‘Yeah. I was so young, so fucking silly. My boyfriend got fitted up for it, but I saw Frank Pargeter murder Tony Dillon. I was the star witness at the trial. And Frank got sent down but he said he’d have his revenge one day. He looked at me across that courtroom and said you’re dead.’ Dora smiled sadly. ‘No revenge could be worse than this life, could it though?’ She sighed. ‘Couldn’t wonder at Dad disowning me, really. None of my family would want to know me now. Too much water under the bridge for that.’

Angel was trying to take this all in. She reached out, squeezed her mother’s cold hand.

‘It’s all going to work out,’ she told Dora. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Yeah? How, for God’s sake?’ Dora’s smile was mirthless. ‘He’s started on you now. I knew he would. I could see it coming. He’s got us both here and there’s nothing we can do about it.’

‘There must be,’ said Angel. ‘There has to be.’

Dora gave her daughter a sad smile. ‘Don’t kid yourself,’ she said. ‘We’re finished, both of us. He won’t ever let us go.’

92

Donny didn’t call in that evening. Dora sat drinking and watching soap operas on the telly, while Angel went into the box room and finished the darts and seams on a new dress she was making. Pale green silk this time, another gift from ‘Uncle’ Donny. It was going to be lovely. But it was tainted by him. Having listened to what her mother said, she couldn’t wonder at his bitterness, his need to exact revenge. But there had to be a limit to this cruelty, didn’t there?

Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe Dora was right, and Donny would go on with this for as long as they lived because for sure there was no one to stop him. That thought caused Angel to put the glossy fabric aside. She went and sat on her little single bed, looking at the sewing machine, the fabrics, all given to her by Donny, who had now taken her to bed. Hurt her mother. Destroyed her, really.