The Faithless - Martina Cole [80]
He parked up as arranged by the side of the Portakabin and, shutting the engine off, he waited as he had been told to do. He didn’t even light a cigarette, unsure whether it would attract attention.
There were already a couple of cars there, and the lights were on inside. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he realised he was finally a real part of this world, and the pride he felt inside him was overpowering. If only his family could see him! He was on the periphery, he knew, but this was just a start for him. Once he proved himself, he would be given bigger and better jobs, and with those jobs would come the wonga and the prestige. He would make sure the O’Casey name would become something to be reckoned with.
When his Gabby was old enough, he would marry her and give her the life that she deserved. He hoped she was all right in that care home. He still felt enraged at what her mother was capable of. Even his mum – and she wasn’t up to much – looked like the mother of Our Lady by comparison. At least his mother was loyal to her family, would lie to the Old Bill for them, would even stand up in court and do so if need be. Not like that unnatural whore poor Gabby was lumbered with.
No, he would see to it that Gabby had a good, decent life, and he would make that his purpose. He wanted a nice little house, and a nice little family, in a nice neighbourhood, where the kids would go to a good school, and have a bit of a chance in life. He worried about Gabby and where she was. He knew about care homes, had seen the inside of a few himself over the years. But that had been his own fault not his mum’s; he had been a bit of a tearaway as a youngster, and that had been the cause of him being put away. That wouldn’t happen to his kids, not on your Nelly. He would be there for his little ones, not half-pissed all the time, or in the betting shop like his old man.
So intent was Vincent on his day-dreaming that he didn’t notice that the Portakabin was gradually filling with people.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Cynthia Tailor was home alone, but that didn’t bother her – she liked being alone. She glanced around the room, and felt the anger burning once more. She would have to sell up; the house was mortgaged to the hilt, and the insurance wasn’t going to pay out.
She couldn’t believe that she was in this position, and she blamed her husband and Jonny Parker. Thinking of her sister in that enormous house, with Jonny dancing to her every whim, made her almost apoplectic with rage. Everyone was acting as if it was her fault – he had walked away from it without any real damage. It was so unfair. She had wanted him like she had wanted no one else in her life and she had him for a time as well. But he had been a flake, just like the rest. Now where was she? He had paid her off, but it was a pittance considering what she was used to. She would have to get rid of this place and start again. Even Cynthia knew she couldn’t stay around here after what had happened. But then maybe getting a fresh start was what she needed. She could buy a nice flat somewhere while she was still young enough and still good-looking enough to attract attention from men.
As for that daughter of hers, she would need her one day and, when she did, Cynthia would take great pleasure in shutting the door in her face, just like it had been shut in hers. Her mother and father were dead to her – they had acted as though she was the main culprit. But then Jonny was still keeping them, so they would have to take his part in it all. Like Celeste, they would do whatever he told them to do. Well, he would rue the day he dumped her as well. Just who the hell did he think he was? She still loved him, though. He was the only man to ever make her feel alive, and she would miss that more than anything.
She could feel the tears coursing down her cheeks, and she brushed them away angrily. For the first time in her life she knew what it was to lose someone she cared about, and she