The Faithless - Martina Cole [147]
She had made up her mind that she wasn’t going to have too much to do with this new grandchild. She decided that, if she used her loaf, this would be the perfect opportunity to get Cherie away from them both for ever, and keep her for herself.
As she poured herself another of her ‘black’ teas – her euphemism for whisky and water – she pondered on how she could talk them into letting her move right away with Cherie. She couldn’t stand to be in London any more – everywhere she looked she was haunted by memories of baby Vince. Every road, park and zoo reminded her of him and she could hear his voice asking her things, making her laugh. Oh, how he had made her laugh – he had been such a dear little fellow. She realised she needed to get as far away from those memories as possible.
Gabriella had phoned to say she would be here soon. She wondered what she had to talk to her about? Probably wanting help with that baby she had on the way.
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six
Gabby had parked her car by the new Somerfield’s at Chrisp Street Market; she needed to pick up a few bits for Vincent’s dinner, before calling at her mother’s. She couldn’t drive for long with her hands as they were but she could manage the automatic Vincent had got for her to get around locally. Vincent was as mystified as she was about the news about James. He said he’d dig around a bit for some more information. As she walked out with the trolley, she was startled from her thoughts when she heard someone call her name.
‘Is that you, Gabby?’
Gabby looked into the woman’s face, unable to place her. She grinned at her before saying in a friendly manner, ‘Sorry, do I know you?’
The woman smiled; she was in her late forties and she had kind eyes and heavy legs. ‘I’m Jeannie Proctor. I lived next door to you in Ilford when you were a nipper.’
Gabby smiled back. ‘Oh, really? I’m sorry, I don’t remember.’
The woman looked her over, and she said in wonderment, ‘You are the living image of your mother – that’s what made me recognise you. Beautiful, just like her. How is Cynth these days?’
Gabby nearly said, ‘Well, she would not be happy to be referred to as “Cynth”!’ Instead she said, ‘She’s fine, you know me mum!’
It was meant in jest, but the woman nodded, then said seriously, ‘Oh, I know Cynthia all right! Tell her she still owes me for the dry cleaning bill.’
Gabby laughed then. ‘What dry cleaning bill?’
Jeannie Proctor paused for a few seconds as if she was wondering if she should speak, then she said candidly, ‘It was a long time ago, so I don’t suppose it matters now. She torched the house – for the insurance, like. She had spent so much on it that they could never get the price it was worth, so she torched it. Left fags all over the place, she did, and open cans of paint and turps. Looked like she was decorating, see. She was a fucking girl, her. Mind you, in those days you could get away with murder with insurance companies. Can’t any more, they’re wise to everything now.’
The woman was laughing, but Gabby could feel herself going cold.
‘I had my bedroom windows open, and the smoke damage was atrocious, as you can imagine . . . Here, where you going?’
Jeannie Proctor watched as the girl hurried away from her. ‘Well, what on earth rattled her cage?’
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven
Gabby sat in her car and thought back to what Jeannie Proctor had said to her. Somehow she knew that the woman was telling her the truth. But did that mean her mother had burned her house down too? Had killed her baby boy? Somewhere inside she knew that was what had happened.
It was all falling into place now. She had been on the verge of getting the kids back, she had straightened herself out. In her