THE FAITHLESS
Martina Cole
Copyright © 2011 Martina Cole
The right of Martina Cole to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2011
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 9780755375561
HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP
An Hachette UK Company
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London NW1 3BH
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
By Martina Cole
Dedication
Prologue
Book One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Book Two
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
Chapter Seventy-Four
Book Three
Chapter Seventy-Five
Chapter Seventy-Six
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Chapter Seventy-Nine
Chapter Eighty
Chapter Eighty-One
Chapter Eighty-Two
Chapter Eighty-Three
Chapter Eighty-Four
Chapter Eighty-Five
Chapter Eighty-Six
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Chapter Eighty-Eight
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Chapter Ninety
Chapter Ninety-One
Chapter Ninety-Two
Chapter Ninety-Three
Chapter Ninety-Four
Chapter Ninety-Five
Chapter Ninety-Six
Chapter Ninety-Seven
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Chapter Ninety-Nine
Chapter One Hundred
Chapter One Hundred and One
Chapter One Hundred and Two
Chapter One Hundred and Three
Chapter One Hundred and Four
Chapter One Hundred and Five
Chapter One Hundred and Six
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen
Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen
Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen
Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
Chapter one Hundred and Nineteen
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Five
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Six
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Five
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Forty
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Five
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Six
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Forty-Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Two
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Three
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Four
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Seven
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Eight
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Nine
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-One
Chapter One Hundred and Sixty-Two
Epilogue
By Martina Cole and available from Headline
Dangerous Lady
The Ladykiller
Goodnight Lady
The Jump
The Runaway
/> Two Women
Broken
Faceless
Maura’s Game
The Know
The Graft
The Take
Close
Faces
The Business
Hard Girls
The Family
The Faithless
For my Freddie Fling Flang.
Love you, darling
Dolly R . . .
xx
Prologue
‘Ain’t It Grand To Be Bloomin’ Well Dead’
Leslie Sarony
Song title
2009
‘You are not going to make me listen to this shit, Gabriella. You are wrong, very wrong. Use your bloody head, girl! I loved that little boy with all my heart . . . and, as for your brother . . . I don’t believe a word of it – they must have the wrong person.’
But Gabby could see the fear in her mother’s eyes, and she knew that it was true. Every word of it.
‘I met your old mate, Jeannie, today. That’s how I know everything – she told me all about the house in Ilford.’ She could see her mother’s head working, trying to figure out exactly what she was saying, could almost hear her brain whirring as she tried to lie her way out of what they both knew was the truth.
‘What the hell have you been taking this time, eh? What the fuck are you on, Gabriella, to make you come out with this shit?’
Gabby found she’d picked up a large bronze statue of a cat. As she held it in her scarred hands she felt the weight of it. Her mother kept talking. The world according to Cynthia Tailor who, along with God Himself, was almost omnipotent in the lives of her family, who ruled everyone around her with a rod of iron. She could see her mother’s mouth moving constantly, but she couldn’t hear what she was saying any more; all she was conscious of was a rushing noise in her ears. Then she struck her.
She lifted the bronze statue back over her head and hit her mother across the face with it, using all the force she could muster, and enjoying the feeling of total retaliation. She was determined now, determined to shut her mother up once and for all.
Cynthia fell sideways on to the white leather sofa. The spray of blood that came from her mother’s face was like a crimson mist. Gabby hit her again and again, each blow easing the knot inside her, each blow seeming to calm the erratic beating of her heart.
She looked down at the bloodied form and, for the first time in years, she felt almost at peace. Her mother’s face was unrecognisable, a deep red gash that was pumping out blood at an alarming rate.
Gabby looked at the woman she had hated nearly all her life. Then she sat down on the ladder-backed chair her mother was convinced was an antique, put her face into her bloodied hands and cried.
Book One
Long is the way
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light
Paradise Lost (1667)
John Milton, 1608–74
For the love of money is the root of all evil
1 Timothy 6:10
Chapter One
1984
‘Come on, Jimmy, have another one. I’m celebrating.’
Jimmy Tailor grinned; he had an easy-going nature that some people took advantage of. He was a big man, big in all ways – over six feet and well built. Before his marriage he had been a body builder, and he still held traces of his former physique.
‘Nah, better get home, Cynthia’s waiting for me.’
It was Friday night and all his pals were going to have a few more pints before meeting their wives and girlfriends later on in a wine bar in the West End. He would have loved to have joined them, but he knew that Cynthia wouldn’t come.
‘Fucking hell, Jimmy, you’re married, mate, not joined at the hip.’
This from his best friend Davey Brown. Davey thought Jimmy was a mug and that he should put his foot down with Cynthia, but Davey didn’t understand her. No one did it seemed, except him. He smiled, but it was a tight smile. ‘We’re saving, what with little Gabriella and all.’
‘’Course, mate, you get yourself off.’ Davey seemed immediately sorry for his jibe.
Jimmy left the pub a few minutes later, reluctant to go if he was honest, but even more reluctant to stay where he was. He walked along the road, feeling the cold hit him, making his face sting and, pulling up the collar of his overcoat, he made his way slowly home.
Chapter Two
Cynthia Tailor was pleased with herself. Her house looked lovely and festive – just how a home should look at Christmas time, from the scented pine tree, decorated in what she felt was a tasteful manner – no tinsel and no coloured lights – to the neatly wrapped presents underneath it. It couldn’t be further away from the house she grew up in, with the dirt, the smell of frying bacon, and the garish, cheap hanging garlands. She shuddered inwardly as she thought of her mother’s house. She had escaped from that life and there was no way she was ever going back.
Cynthia’s sitting room was painted a pale cream, and the carpet was a thick Axminster. It had cost the national debt, but looked wonderful against the walls and the luxurious chocolate-brown velvet curtains at the windows. She knew her home was beautiful, and she never tired of cleaning it, or enhancing it. This was the first step on the ladder for them; they would go on from here, make their money on this place, and get bigger and better houses each time. She sighed with contentment at the thought.
James was a decent man, boring in some ways, but she knew that with his accountancy job in the city they would always be all right for money. And he was expecting some big news about a promotion any day now. Cynthia had come from a council estate in Hackney, and she had been determined from a young age that she wouldn’t be staying there for longer than she had to. Now here she was, with a lovely semi in Ilford, and the chance to go onwards and upwards.
She walked out into her kitchen, and checked on the casserole she had bubbling on her new halogen hob. The kitchen was like something from a magazine, all white doors and stainless steel sinks. It was Hygena, and she knew it was far too good for the house, but she saw it as an investment. James had balked at the price but she had won him over. He always saw the sense of her arguments in the end; after all, she was the one stuck here all day, and she was entitled to have what she wanted around her – at least that was what she thought, anyway. And she had her ways to make sure he knew who was the boss under this roof.
She heard her daughter’s cry and, sighing, she left the kitchen and made her way up the stairs.
Gabriella was a handful, and this was the only bugbear in her otherwise perfect life. She should be clean at night by now. The other kids at Gabriella’s playschool were all clean, so why was her daughter so late?
She went into the child’s room. It was decorated as a girl’s bedroom should be decorated, with pale pink walls, and cream carpet. Cynthia loved this room. She had been brought up in a flat and had had to share her bedroom with her sister. It had been scruffy, cold and damp and she had hated every second she had spent in it.
The small night-light cast a rosy glow in the room. Kneeling down beside her daughter’s cot, she looked at her child.
‘What’s wrong, Gabriella?’
The little blue eyes held a plea, and she knew immediately that her daughter had wet the bed again.
‘Oh, Gabriella, why don’t you call me, and I’ll take you to the toilet.’ She lifted her daughter out of the cot with a heavy sigh, and set about cleaning her up, without another word.
Gabriella allowed herself to be stripped, washed and redressed in a clean nightie without saying a word either. As young as she was, she could feel the tension filling the room. The unspoken disapproval and the knowledge she had done something wrong was enough to quieten her. She knew her mummy was cross, and she knew better than to aggravate her.