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They left the kitchen then and she didn't attempt to stop them. Instead, she opened the fridge and took out another bottle of wine.
Her husband and her girls – Maggie had taken them all.
June Brewster was in a state of shock, but she was still sensible enough to know that Jimmy Jackson was not the main culprit here, and that he was the one she needed to sort this out with. Freddie Jackson was a murdering ponce, but she had already heard that expression in co
When she had walked into the conservatory, she had screamed once, then she had contained herself as best she could. She had not phoned the filth, which she knew had endeared her to Jimmy Jackson.
He was also much calmer now, though when she had entered the conservatory she had seen the utter contempt he had for Freddie Jackson on his face.
Freddie had fucked up, and it was only her rep as a close-talking wife that had kept her on their good side. Married to Le
Le
Jimmy was talking sixteen to the dozen, and in between his talking and scheming he was pouring her brandies, trying in his own way to lighten her burden.
But how could he?
Le
Now she was on her Jack Jones with six kids and a house that they had only been doing up because she had insisted on it. Le
She was seeing him in her mind's eye, with his tight little arse and his muscle-bound arms, a smile that was whiter than a Colgate advert, and his soft dark hair that was long, thick and tied back in a ponytail. She had thought about him every time she had slept with Le
All the time she had been cooking the bacon sandwiches she had been thinking about Freddie Jackson, and pondering his prowess in the kip, and now he had killed her husband, the father of nearly all her kids. The man who, even though she was getting battered around the edges, and so her chances for romance were getting less and less, had pledged his undying love for her, had taken in a child that was not his, and who had ripped these two fucking lunatics off to give her the house of her dreams.
How many times had she imagined him popping off over the years, and her being her own boss, being in a position to go away on holiday and shag herself stupid with men she would never see again? How many times had she wished for Le
She had actually been contemplating shagging Freddie Jackson, and now she was contemplating shagging someone else. Her head was going mad, she was thinking of all the wrong things, but with six kids hanging around her neck, she needed money, and she needed the insurance. She needed the house paid off and the loans off her back, not only for the cars, but also for the building work and the new furniture. She needed to focus on that now, and then when it was all over, she could fall apart in peace. Maybe in Tunisia, where the sun shone every day and where her mother phoned her and told her that the kids were fine, and where she could pretend to be footloose and fancy free, and where maybe she might forget about this night and what it entailed.
Every time she thought of Le
Freddie Jackson was eating the bacon sandwiches she had made earlier, and it freaked her out. He was drinking his tea and acting as if this was a normal evening. He had even winked at her. She had four kids in bed, and her eldest two were due round the next day and her husband, the stupid thieving fucker, was dead as a doornail in her new conservatory.
It was surreal, and yet she knew it was really happening because her brain had acknowledged it and was now helping her to try to make some kind of sense out of it. She knew to an outsider she would seem mercenary, cold-blooded, and even hard and uncaring. But she had no intention of falling out with the Jacksons or with Ozzy himself. She had already seen what they were capable of if provoked.
She had six kids aged three to nineteen, and she had to keep her head above water. Get your priorities right had been Le
Maggie lay in the big bed alone, and wondered what time Jimmy would finally get home. It was three in the morning, and he had left a message saying that he had a bit of business to attend to, that she was not to worry and he would be home as soon as he could.
He was so thoughtful, and she knew he was worried about her and the way she was acting, but she couldn't do anything to allay his fears.
She was wide awake as was usual these days, but she had listened to his message without picking up the phone and talking to him since he would have guessed she hadn't slept yet. She didn't want him home yet, not really. He wanted to hug her, and kiss her, and try to make her happy. He wanted to love her, and she wasn't ready for that. Didn't want any of that, because with Jimmy a cuddle always had to end in sex. Now she just allowed him to take her, and she knew he was aware she was just letting him, that she was not joining in any more.
From the first time they had made love, she had enjoyed it. She had not climaxed then, but she had loved the feeling of him inside her, even though it had hurt. She mirrored his own excitement, and had felt a natural reaction as he had reached his orgasm. He had known that, and she knew he had loved her for it.
At fourteen she had been made aware of what sex was really all about, that it was not just for procreation, not just a quick release, but was the joining of two people who could not get close enough to each other, but who tried to with each encounter they had together. For every deep thrust that Jimmy had penetrated her with, she had arched her back up to meet him with the same fervour and excitement as he felt for her.