‘You heard her. My mum’s dead,’ said Angel. ‘What the hell good is it going to do you, taking anything out on us?’

‘Yeah, you’re the daughter.’ Frank eyed Angel up. ‘I can see the resemblance. Dora was a looker and so are you. Not like this scrawny pair here.’ He toed June with his boot and gave Lil a smirk.

Angel felt a surge of fury. ‘You leave them alone,’ she said. ‘They’ve done nothing to you.’

The greasy smile fell from Frank’s face and he came forward a pace, toward Angel. His mouth twisted in bitterness. ‘You what?’ he spat out.

‘You heard me.’

Frank jabbed out a finger. ‘What you fail to grasp is, it don’t work like that. How it works is this. Baxter here starts work on these two here, the fucking ugly sisters, this pair, and then he’s gonna start work on you. All that time in prison, I met some interesting people. Foreigners. A couple of Colombians. You know what a Colombian necktie is?’

Angel shook her head dumbly.

‘Thought not. Well it’s when they slash the throat, then they pull the tongue back through the front so it flops down – like a tie, you get it?’

Angel felt sick. The man was crazy. Her heart was beating so hard she thought she was going to have a seizure. The atmosphere of hatred Frank Pargeter had brought into the kitchen was so thick, so cloying, that it was almost choking her.

‘That’s what’s going to happen here. I want you to know that,’ said Frank.

‘But my mother’s dead,’ she repeated. Her ears were humming, she was afraid she was going to pass out. ‘All that’s in the past. It’s nothing to do with us. She may have hurt you, but we haven’t.’

‘As I said – you’re her family. So you get to carry the can. So you know what, honeychick? She may be dead, but you’re about to join her,’ growled Frank, and he pulled out a knife and stepped toward her.

Then the front doorbell rang, and everyone froze.

151

After ringing the bell, Farmer stood outside the front door and waited. He glanced back at the car parked at the pavement and shrugged at Paddy, sitting in the passenger seat. Before he’d left the cop shop, he’d given the number to one of the DCs and told him to keep dialling until he got an answer, and then – if he did – to tell Angel O’Brien to get her arse down to the station straight away. One way or another, Farmer was going to get the truth out of her.

Now, no one was answering the door. Well, the household members could be anywhere. At the hospital, visiting Tom Sibley. At the shops. At the cinema. Anywhere.

He walked back along the path, sighing sharply in frustration. Maybe he’d leave it for today. Let Angel calm down, recover from the shock of her cousin’s injuries and his trashed flat.