Everyone had foibles. And Lenny’s weren’t too bad, as things went. She might not be in love with her husband, but she certainly liked him. And she rather envied him his impulsive nature. She envied that surge of reckless passion he’d felt when he’d first set eyes on her. Her nature was contained, silent, self-absorbed. She wasn’t unkind, but she liked to keep her distance. But . . . sometimes she wished she had felt the same thing – that reckless, intense and untamed passion – just once. She wished she knew how it was to be transported by longing, by ecstasy, by true love. But it had never happened for her, and now she knew it never would.

‘Good.’ Tom drained his glass. ‘That’s fine then.’ And he went back indoors, leaving Angel there, staring after him.

120

Frank Pargeter was called up to the office on a bright summer’s morning. Once there, he signed for his old clothes, cash, cheque book and keys. All the cons were going to miss him, he’d been king of the landings at HM Prison Maidstone throughout the long years he’d been inside; he’d ruled with an iron fist. Now all that was over. Finally, he’d done his time. He signed his lifer’s licence, and the governor himself told him that he had to report to his new probation officer today, without fail.

‘And good luck,’ said the governor, shaking his hand. ‘I know this will be a new start for you.’

‘It will,’ agreed Frank.

He’d been out of the hostel already with his old probation officer, bought new clothes. The others were thirty years out of date, because thirty years was what you got when you started out on a killing spree like Frank had. The first thing he did when he got outside the door of the hostel was to find a rubbish bin and dump his old togs in it. Then he saw Baxter Graves walking along the road toward him.

‘Boss,’ said Baxter.

‘Got the tickets?’ asked Frank.

‘Yeah,’ said Baxter, and together they walked down County Road to Maidstone East station to wait for the train that would take them back to life. Back to reality. Back to London. Because that was where she was, the one who’d put him away, and all her fucking family.

A new start, thought Frank. Oh, Governor, what a cunt you are.

The governor believed him to be a reformed character. Which was total bollocks. What Frank intended was to pick up exactly where he left off. Time was getting short. And first item on his to-do list? Sort out that bitch Dora O’Brien, who’d snatched away his liberty, taken his life.

Now, he was going to return the favour, a thousand times over.

121

She still came in every bloody week. Farmer looked out through the windowed partition in his private office and into the main office where the DSs and DCs all worked, and there she was again. Fiona fucking Maguire.