was wrong. She had a child, another on the way, she should feel settled here instead of feeling like this was just another stop. Somewhere to sit and wait for the man who dominated her existence. Yet she knew she wasn't alone, that a lot of the women in her position lived their lives in exactly the same way.
For the first time though, she was really worried about what the future might bring. Pat wasn't a fool, he would dodge the law as best he could, but, pregnant once more, she was terrified of being alone. Seeing the prisons up close and personal, she was frightened of the power the thought of them had over her. As she looked at her little son playing with his toys on the lino, she felt the familiar sickness wash over her. Patrick said it was just the baby; once the new one arrived she would be OK, but she wasn't so sure.
She had the same feelings in the prison as she had felt as a child growing up. The utter loneliness that pervaded the place was bad enough, but to then be told when to eat, sleep and even shit, was terrifying. To live your whole life on a rota, even worse, a rota planned and executed by people you would cross the road to avoid, was to her the worst thing she could ever imagine.
Being at the mercy of other people was something she understood very well, and it was something she hated with a passion that surprised her.
She picked up Pat Junior and held him close, even though he wriggled to get away from her to continue his playing. She needed bodily contact constantly: after being starved of affection for so long, she now craved it desperately. Her husband's arm across her belly was like her life's blood, a necessity.
Since Pat had started using her to visit and relay messages, she was now frighteningly aware of just how precarious her life actually was. She put the squealing child down and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Needing people brought its own set of problems; at times like this she wondered if she had been better off as she was before. Then she had felt she was missing out on something, she just had not known what that something was. Now she knew, it was even worse.
She took a deep breath and sighed once more.
Life, after all, was what you made it, and Pat was making sure her life was wonderful. Even to her own ears that sounded hollow.
Chapter Three
Everyone, especially the police, knew that Pat had taken out his arch rivals. And as luck would have it, nobody, including the police, cared. Billy Spot's demise had been on the cards for a while, it was just a case of who would be responsible, as opposed to when it would happen. Pat Brodie had been a contender for a while and the sensible money had been on him.
When he had wiped out Spot he had opened up the West End for everyone. Unlike Spot and his cronies though, Pat and his cohorts were quite happy to let people work their trades in relative peace and tranquillity. Providing they made sure that a percentage of the money earned made its way into their pockets they were happy. Life was good for everyone; Pat was fair, and the numerous Williams brothers who were on his leash were amicable and easy enough to get along with. Business thrived for everyone, from the street vendors to the club owners. Life was easier than it had been for years and, as Pat and his cohorts made a point of being seen on the very streets they policed, no one was worried about late-night visits and protection money being demanded twice in one night. Spot had not watched over his troops and that had been when the rot had set in. So now, everyone was earning, and everyone was feeling relaxed enough to unload the shotguns they kept under their bars and hide away the handguns they might have kept in their cars.
Until, that is, they had all been brought to the notice of the local filth by a disgruntled punter. Kevin Craig had been served up by a man called Denny Harris and, even though it had been a worry at the time, it had ended up being a blessing in
For the first time though, she was really worried about what the future might bring. Pat wasn't a fool, he would dodge the law as best he could, but, pregnant once more, she was terrified of being alone. Seeing the prisons up close and personal, she was frightened of the power the thought of them had over her. As she looked at her little son playing with his toys on the lino, she felt the familiar sickness wash over her. Patrick said it was just the baby; once the new one arrived she would be OK, but she wasn't so sure.
She had the same feelings in the prison as she had felt as a child growing up. The utter loneliness that pervaded the place was bad enough, but to then be told when to eat, sleep and even shit, was terrifying. To live your whole life on a rota, even worse, a rota planned and executed by people you would cross the road to avoid, was to her the worst thing she could ever imagine.
Being at the mercy of other people was something she understood very well, and it was something she hated with a passion that surprised her.
She picked up Pat Junior and held him close, even though he wriggled to get away from her to continue his playing. She needed bodily contact constantly: after being starved of affection for so long, she now craved it desperately. Her husband's arm across her belly was like her life's blood, a necessity.
Since Pat had started using her to visit and relay messages, she was now frighteningly aware of just how precarious her life actually was. She put the squealing child down and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Needing people brought its own set of problems; at times like this she wondered if she had been better off as she was before. Then she had felt she was missing out on something, she just had not known what that something was. Now she knew, it was even worse.
She took a deep breath and sighed once more.
Life, after all, was what you made it, and Pat was making sure her life was wonderful. Even to her own ears that sounded hollow.
Chapter Three
Everyone, especially the police, knew that Pat had taken out his arch rivals. And as luck would have it, nobody, including the police, cared. Billy Spot's demise had been on the cards for a while, it was just a case of who would be responsible, as opposed to when it would happen. Pat Brodie had been a contender for a while and the sensible money had been on him.
When he had wiped out Spot he had opened up the West End for everyone. Unlike Spot and his cronies though, Pat and his cohorts were quite happy to let people work their trades in relative peace and tranquillity. Providing they made sure that a percentage of the money earned made its way into their pockets they were happy. Life was good for everyone; Pat was fair, and the numerous Williams brothers who were on his leash were amicable and easy enough to get along with. Business thrived for everyone, from the street vendors to the club owners. Life was easier than it had been for years and, as Pat and his cohorts made a point of being seen on the very streets they policed, no one was worried about late-night visits and protection money being demanded twice in one night. Spot had not watched over his troops and that had been when the rot had set in. So now, everyone was earning, and everyone was feeling relaxed enough to unload the shotguns they kept under their bars and hide away the handguns they might have kept in their cars.
Until, that is, they had all been brought to the notice of the local filth by a disgruntled punter. Kevin Craig had been served up by a man called Denny Harris and, even though it had been a worry at the time, it had ended up being a blessing in
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