by Martina Cole
‘We weren’t jealous of how he was with her, we were all pleased for her. Even Alana, who was his favourite before Rosie came along. She stepped aside with pleasure, because Rosie is special. She should be with me mum and if it wasn’t for me she would be. It’s all my fault, Roselle. All this mess - I made it. Not me mum. Me.’
Roselle took the girl by her shoulders and shook her gently.
‘Listen to me - what happened to you was not your fault. Your father was wrong, very wrong to do what he did. Your mother did what any other woman would. Any woman in the world if her child was hurt like that. So stop this stupidity. Your mother’s proud to have done what she did, she was protecting you from him for the future. Making sure he never did anything like that again.
‘And, believe me, knowing your father it would have happened, again and again and again. Once he got away with it the first time he would have seen it as sport. Your mother knew that and dealt with it, as she will deal with whatever happens in the future.’
Wendy stared into the severe face before her and sighed.
‘You don’t understand, Roselle, no one understands. If it wasn’t for me, my mum wouldn’t be in prison. The kids wouldn’t be here in care. Nothing would have changed so drastically. She would never have killed him, never. She was too scared of him, you see. Do you understand what I’m telling you?
‘Oh, she might have divorced him maybe. Or tried to get shot of him. But she wouldn’t have killed him. Mum isn’t capable of killing anyone.’
Roselle shook her head in consternation.
‘We’re all capable of killing, darling. That’s what is meant by the mark of Cain in the Bible. We’re all capable of killing. We can all be pushed too far.’
Wendy sighed sadly.
‘That’s what I am trying to tell you, Roselle. Me mum didn’t kill me dad - I did.’
The words, once spoken, electrified the room and the two women in it.
‘You what?’
Wendy licked her lips and said, slowly and clearly, ‘I killed him. No matter what anyone says, I killed him. Me.’
Roselle held her tight.
‘Stop taking the blame for it all. You couldn’t help what happened so listen to me and listen good. Your mum is in that prison, away from you all, but what keeps her going is knowing that she did what she did to keep you safe. All of you. Because who’s to say he wouldn’t have been after Alana at some point in the future, eh?
‘Now you get better and try and put all this nonsense out of your head. Your mum is up for appeal and I am going to make sure she gets it, whatever she says, okay? I am on board as from today. So stop worrying.’
Wendy leaned against her and her whole body felt slack.
‘I love you, Roselle. And so does me mum.’
‘And I love you too, sweetheart.’
They hugged once more and then Roselle stood up. Picking her bag up off the floor she took out a packet of Benson and Hedges.
‘Open the window and me and you will have a field day, eh?’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Colin was surprised to see the woman he had just been admiring in the street standing in his office. He knew he was smiling inanely but she had flashed quite a bit of leg getting out of her car.
His shared secretary, Callie, looked at him. Sighing loudly she said in a thick Birmingham accent, ‘You can put your eyes back now, Colin. She is real, aren’t you, love?’ She smiled at Roselle. ‘Can I get you a cuppa?’
Roselle nodded. She liked the girl though she was aware that the young man could probably murder his secretary at that moment.
When the door shut Colin tried unsuccessfully to move a pile of papers and files from a chair opposite his laden desk. The papers fell to the floor with a hushing noise and Roselle bent down and picked them up for him, giving him a glimpse of creamy white flesh that made his face burn.
Standing again, she looked at him and grinned.
‘You need a regular girlfriend, young man.’
Burning like a beacon now, he ushered her into the chair like an old-fashioned gentleman.
‘So, Miss . . . What can I do for you?’
Roselle smiled and her slightly parted lips looked so luscious he felt faint.
‘Mr Jackson, I’m a close friend of Susan Dalston’s and I’ve decided I want to help her, whether she likes it or not.’
Colin was nonplussed for a few moments.
‘How do you mean?’
Roselle smiled thinly. Her patience was being tried and it showed.
‘I mean, Mr Jackson, I want to help Susan Dalston get out of prison. I have the money to provide her with the best legal representation. I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to bring her home to her kids where she belongs.’
Colin stared across the desk. He wasn’t sure whether he was being sent up.
‘Why now?’
Roselle shrugged.
‘What difference does it make when, why or how? I just want you to find me the best counsel you can. I’ll foot the bill and I’ll also talk Susan into helping herself. Which, as I am sure you realise, is what stopped her getting out before now.’
Colin guessed this woman knew a lot more than he did. He also guessed she wasn’t going to elaborate in any way. Like Susan, she only said what she considered relevant at the time she spoke.
They were both difficult women. He had had to accept that fact, but couldn’t help pushing it.
‘What do you know?’
Roselle laughed heartily.
‘Enough. Now I’m going to arrange to visit Susan and talk to her myself. You find out who we can get on board and get working for her release.’
‘Geraldine O’Hara is probably the best silk you could get but she’s not cheap.’
Roselle nodded.
‘Then that’s who we’ll have. Can you arrange for us to see her?’
Colin liked the ‘us’ part, it made him smile.
‘I can try.’
Roselle leaned forward in the chair and said huskily, ‘Has anyone ever told you about the power of positive thinking?’
Debbie watched as Jamesie got ready to go out. He looked lovely as usual, all brooding good looks and expensive clothes.
‘No work today then?’
He ignored her as usual and carried on dressing.
She swallowed back an angry retort.
‘Will you be home for dinner?’
He turned from the wardrobe mirror and looked her in the face.
‘What’s it to you then?’
Inside Debbie’s head a voice was screaming at her, telling her not to let him treat her so badly. But she knew that if she retaliated he would go ballistic. It was Jamesie’s answer to everything. If she questioned him about where he was going he would hit her, he always did. She was forever trying to keep the peace with him.
She knew he was going to Carol’s. Carol who had given him a son. Carol the girlfriend with her blonde hair and blue eyes and trim little figure. Carol who looked her in the face, a half smile on her lips when they saw one another down the market. The girl’s eyes told her she was a fool but Debbie knew that already. She didn’t need a little tart in high heels to tell her so. She had to live with it every day of her life.
Five babies she had lost. The doctors said she couldn’t carry them. She was heavy now from the pregnancies, from the comfort eating, from the drinking. She wiped a hand across her face. It was a tired gesture and Jamesie laughed.
‘You are one useless ponce, Debs, do you know that?’
She looked him in the face.
‘I should do, Jamesie, you tell me often enough.’
She saw his eyes narrow and his face harden.
‘Getting a bit harry dash, are we, eh? Think you can say what you like, do you?’
She shook her head, the moment of retaliation over.
‘I ain’t flash, Jamesie. I ain’t nothing.’
He poked a bony finger into her chest.
‘You got that much right.�
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He pushed past her and walked from the bedroom. She hated herself for following him and asking the inevitable questions but she couldn’t help it.
‘Will you be home tonight? Shall I do you a bit of dinner anyway, put it in the microwave?’
She could hear the pleading tone in her voice, hear the need inside her head, and hated herself for it. For letting it happen to her.
He turned at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Do what you fucking want.’
He slipped on a leather jacket and Debbie tried to brush the shoulders for him. He slapped her hands away as if she was contaminated.
‘Please, Jamesie, don’t go today. We can go out or something.’
He sneered. His blue eyes and thick black hair made him too good-looking really. Even furious with her, he still had the power to make her want him.
‘Where would I want to go with you, eh? Fucking bingo, where? I wouldn’t be seen dead in the pea fields with you, Debbie. Surely you’ve sussed that much out for yourself.’
He was staring at her intently, amazed at her resilience, the way she could be treated so badly yet still come back for more.
‘Bricks and mortar keep me here. I own this drum and I want you out. There, now I’ve said it.’
Debbie felt the familiar sickness in the pit of her stomach. The shaking inside herself as if she was facing a perilous journey.
She knew he was enjoying her discomfort, he always did.
‘You rotten bastard.’
He grinned then.
‘Got it in one.’
He walked out of the front door as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
‘You’re not still writing letters, surely?’
Susan nodded, head bent over the table in the cell. In front of her was a pile of roll ups, a box of matches and a cup of tea.
‘I am. I have to try and sort out something for Rosie. I’m even trying me sister Debbie though I don’t hold out much hope. If only Barry’s mum wasn’t so ill, bless her, then I’d be sorted.’
Matty stroked her hair.
‘Shall I talk to Geraldine for you, see what she has to say?’
Susan looked up at her.
‘Would you? Really?’
Matty nodded, pleased.
‘Of course I would. I think it’s disgraceful what they’re doing to you. Rhianna’s been there too, you know. She told me about it. I can’t imagine having kids. I think it’s hard enough with just yourself to worry about.’
Susan lit another roll up and drew on it deeply.
‘I hate these things. All me fingers are going yellow. That brief of yours is supposed to be the dog’s gonads, ain’t she? But don’t she only work on cases like yours?’
Matty sighed.
‘Your case is like mine, Sue. You were battered, weren’t you? If you’d only help yourself more, you’d get out.’
Susan stared at her for long moments. ‘Does everything that gets said in the court have to be made a matter of public record?’
Matty sat down on the bunk.
‘Not necessarily, why?’
Susan shrugged.
‘I just wondered, that’s all. I mean, is there a chance it could be kept private?’
Matty looked into her eyes.
‘Like I said, it depends. Sometimes if a murder is particularly gruesome the judge might say that certain aspects of it should not be made public. Perhaps child murders, things like that. It’s deemed not to be in the public interest.’
Susan listened carefully.
‘Why, what do you want kept secret then?’ Matty probed.
Susan didn’t answer her.
‘Come on, Sue, you can tell me.’
Her voice was low, persuasive.
‘Nothing. I just wondered, that’s all.’
Her cell mate stood up, clearly annoyed.
‘If you told me what was really going on, I could help you. Honestly, Sue, I could.’
Susan looked as if she was about to say something when the cell door opened wide and PO Blackstock stood before them.
‘What’s this, a mothers’ meeting? Come on, Dalston, you have a real visit.’
‘Who is it?’
The PO looked at her nastily.
‘Well, who have you sent a VO to?’
Her voice brooked no argument and Susan followed her eagerly. She knew who it was and was amazed. After all this time she was both excited and nervous at the prospect.
She hoped she had done the right thing.
Geraldine and Roselle took one look at each other and a friendship was born. Two women, similar in some ways yet worlds apart in lifestyle, met in a plush office in Holborn and both knew instinctively they would be great friends.
‘Sit down and I’ll get us coffee. Unless you’d like something stronger, of course?’
Roselle smiled.
‘A large brandy wouldn’t go amiss. I’m about to blow my best friend’s world wide open. I need something inside me for that.’
Intrigued, Geraldine made them both a drink and when settled looked at Roselle and raised her glass.
‘Come on then, out with it. Before you change your mind and waste my time.’ Roselle laughed gently. This woman had sussed her out already. ‘I only saw you at short notice because of Colin Jackson. So don’t disappoint me now.’
Geraldine watched as Roselle slammed back the brandy in one swallow.
‘I needed that. All right, the truth. This is purely confidential, isn’t it?’
Geraldine nodded.
‘Of course.’
‘Barry Dalston, believe it or not, was my lover. That’s how Susan and I became friends as strange as it might sound. I know from Susan that he raped their eldest daughter Wendy. That was what drove Susan to murder him. The girl was given herpes by her own father, isn’t that sick? Susan has never told anyone so Wendy can live without everyone knowing what happened to her at the hands of her own father.’
Geraldine was shocked to the core.
‘You were his lover and his wife’s friend, and she killed him because he raped their daughter - am I getting this right? I thought that Wendy wasn’t even there that night.’
Roselle nodded.
‘That’s what everyone thinks. So what are you going to do about it?’
‘Get us both another drink, I think.’
Roselle grinned.
‘You do that and I’ll start at the very beginning, shall I? You’ll understand the situation much better then.’
Geraldine shook her head sadly.
‘I hope so, but it sounds as if my understanding it will be the least of our problems.’
June sat in the visiting room looking every bit the unconcerned mother.
Susan smiled at her.
‘Hello, Mum. How are you?’
She looked at her daughter and sighed, lighting a cigarette to hide her embarrassment.
‘I thought I’d be the last person you’d want to see?’
Susan still smiled and that smile was making June more uncomfortable by the second.
‘You are my mum.’
June shrugged dismissively.
‘I hardly need reminding of that, do I?’
‘Why did you come then?’
She shrugged again.
‘I wish I fucking hadn’t bothered to be honest. I suppose I just wanted to see how you were for meself like. As you said, I am your mum.’
Susan looked strange to her. She was much thinner and had a glow about her that June had never seen before.
‘Well, you obviously like the life inside. It suits you, if you don’t mind me saying. You look really well.’
It was the closest June would get to being motherly and Susan was grateful for it.
‘You look great, I like your coat.’
The full-length leather was June’s pride and joy.
‘Well, you’ve got to make the effort, ain’t you?’
She lit another cigarette from the butt of the previous one.
‘Must have cost a few quid?’
June looked at her spitefully.
‘It did. I bought it from the money I got from the papers, Sue. So now you know.’
Susan closed her eyes in distress.
‘I don’t want to argue, Mum, what’s done is done. I wanted to ask you a favour.’
June blew the smoke out of her lips in a belligerent fashion.
‘I thought it would be something like that. Well, if you want me to take on your four fucking kids, you can think again. I don’t want them.’
Susan closed her eyes and willed herself to be calm.
‘I don’t want that, Mum. I wouldn’t want my father near those children and you know why, don’t you? I want to ask you if you’ll try and talk our Debbie into having them for a while.’
June did laugh now.
‘You are joking? With that Irish ponce of an old man of hers? He sees you as letting down the family, girl. Thinks you’re scum. Poor Debbie has had to put up with all sorts over you.’
‘No, she hasn’t, Mum. Stop exaggerating all the time. She had hag with him from day one. He even had a baby by someone else.’
June sniffed.
‘That Carol’s a slag. Apparently her own mother and father are disowning her. Should have brought her up better, shouldn’t they?’
Susan shook her head in disbelief.
‘You know what? You really amaze me, Mother. You’ve had more men than a fucking dock dolly and yet you have the neck to sit there and slag that girl off. Your husband was after his own child and you never did a thing about it, did you? I’m in here because of you and him. You talk about bringing up kids after what you did to me and Debs . . .’
As June made to rise Susan grabbed her wrist tightly.
‘You walk away and I’ll rip your fucking head off. Do you hear me, Mother?’
June sat down opposite her daughter and felt fear rush over her.
‘When I think what our lives were like with you and him, I could fucking strangle you! Barry was just like you and me father, a selfish ponce always out for himself. Like you still are.
‘Do you know what it did to my kids, you selling that load of old crap to the papers about me and him? Blaming me for it all. Implying I was an unfit mother. Though you could never actually come out and say that, could you, because it ain’t true. If you’d loved us like I love my kids we’d have been all right, me and Debs. I vowed I’d do it differently and I did. My kids had everything a kid should have. They had clothes, they were fed and they were loved - really loved. They still are.