The Faithless - Martina Cole [130]
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven
‘Well, she’s asleep. Surely you don’t expect me to wake her up!’ Cynthia’s voice was low, but full of contempt. Vincent was on the phone asking why she had not brought his daughter back as arranged.
She had not said when she would be bringing her back for definite, she had just said maybe Sunday night. Anyway, she had rung her daughter earlier and left a message to say that Cherie was a bit under the weather and then she had put her to bed. It wasn’t her fault that Gabriella had not checked her messages and she said as much. But Vincent was not a happy bunny.
‘You know she should be here, Cynthia, she’s got school tomorrow.’
Cynthia snapped right back at him, ‘Not with a cold, she isn’t. Plus, poor Gabby’s just about ready to drop, she can’t be running around after that lively little mare. Unless you’re staying home, of course.’ She knew she had him then and she smiled down the phone imagining how angry he was.
‘Well, I want her back tomorrow, all right? She spends far too much time at your drum for my liking.’
Cynthia didn’t answer him; she had won this battle and if it was left to her she would soon be winning the war.
When she put the phone down she went back into her kitchen and looked through Cherie’s drawing case. She had found a piece of paper earlier, and on it, written in pencil, were the plans to rob a security van for a bank in a place called Borough Green, which was apparently in Kent.
Cherie had drawn a picture of a nice house, and she had been admiring it when she had spotted the little diagram on the back. This was how you planned any robbery, Cynthia knew, from her time in Jonny’s circle. You used Ordnance Survey maps and you always used pencil – never pen. Then, once the route was established, the map was destroyed, along with anything else incriminating. Cynthia knew that this would have been destroyed eventually, but Little Miss Trouble had got to it first, unaware that it was her father’s blueprint for his next job. She laughed with glee. That Vincent really should be more careful about what he left in his office at the garage.
She hugged the paper to her chest. Oh, the old saying was right: God really did pay back debts without money; of that she was now sure. In her hands was the fate of Cherie’s interfering fuck of a father, and she knew exactly what she was going to do with it.
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight
Mary Callahan wasn’t well, and Jack knew it. She was having trouble breathing, and she seemed to spend longer and longer having a ‘bit of a lie down’, as she called it.
He looked at her now as she slept next to him in their bed. Her face still held some of the beauty that had attracted him all those years ago. In repose, the lines were not so harsh, and she seemed younger somehow, more how he liked to think of her. She had been an eyeful all right, like their Celeste. Hers had been an understated beauty, as opposed to Cynthia’s in-your-face sexuality. Mary had aged prematurely; all the trouble that Cynthia had brought to their door over the years had certainly taken its toll on her as, he supposed, it had on him too. But, for all their trials, he still loved this woman, and he hoped to God that he died first, because he didn’t think he would cope without her.
He decided to make her an appointment at the doctor’s, but tell her it was for him – she would accompany him then to make sure he went. It was the only way he’d get her there – she spent so much time worrying over everyone else, but not a second did she waste on herself.
She had never been the same since their Celeste went. He knew that she blamed herself for her daughter’s eventual decline but it wasn’t her fault. Celeste, unlike her sister and indeed her own mother, hadn’t had the strength of mind needed to cope with what life had thrown at her. It had finally worn this wife of his down too; she was losing weight by the day, and she had no appetite.
He was suddenly