body to her own. She soothed Frankie by stroking her long, dark hair.
‘Sssh, it’s OK, sweet child. You have a lie down and get some rest. If you wanna talk again later, we can, and if you don’t, then that’s fine by me.’
Joycie Smith was thoroughly enjoying the latest episode of her favourite soap. She always prerecorded EastEnders and watched it when Stanley wasn’t about, as his constant jibes and criticism of the programme often resulted in an argument.
‘Load of old bleedin’ codswallop. Ain’t nothing like the real East End. I should know, I was born within the sound of Bow bloody Bells,’ Stanley would constantly chirp.
Sipping a drop of sherry, Joyce put her glass down and clapped her hands in glee as her current fancy man appeared on the screen. Up until recently, Joycie’s only love interest had been that Eamonn Holmes off GMTV, but since that dishy David Wicks had appeared in EastEnders, Eamonn had taken a back seat in her affections.
Fantasising that David Wicks was snogging her instead of the actress playing his girlfriend, Joyce was annoyed as she heard Stanley’s car pull up outside. ‘Bleedin’ nuisance,’ she mumbled as she pressed pause.
‘What are you doing home? I thought you were going for a meal with Jock,’ Joyce shouted as she heard his key in the lock.
Stanley marched into the room, his face as black as thunder. He walked towards his wife and stared at her with a look of pure repugnance. ‘How could you, Joycie? How fucking could you?’
Joyce was stunned. What was she meant to have done? Surely Stanley didn’t think she was having an affair or something. ‘Whatever you on about? You silly old sod.’
Stanley had never hit a woman in his life, but he’d been made so furious by his wife’s betrayal that he could have quite easily knocked her from one side of the room to the other. Restraining himself, he instead pointed a finger in her face. ‘You have been fraternising with the enemy, Joycie. I know all about you meeting Eddie Mitchell in the Bull in Romford. How could you sit there laughing and joking with that bastard when he obliterated our daughter? You absolutely repulse me. In fact, I fucking hate your guts.’
Shocked by her husband’s contorted expression and harsh words, Joycie decided to be truthful with him. ‘It’s not what you think, Stanley. I only met up with Eddie the once to sort things out between him and Joey. It’s what Jessica would have wanted and I did it for her.’
‘Don’t you dare say you did it for our daughter. I know exactly why you met up with him – ’cause you love being associated with the villainous bastard, you always have done. You only encouraged our Jess to marry him because he was a face and that gave you something to brag about. In that warped, fucked-up mind of yours, our daughter ending up with a notorious gangster gave you the street-cred you’d always craved. Well, let me tell you something, Joycie, you are a nasty little nobody, and none of them people you used to brag to even fucking liked you. Even your friends Rita and Hilda can’t bastard well stand ya – no one can. You’re an evil old dragon; everybody knows exactly what you’re like.’
Livid that Stanley had brought her friends into the argument, Joyce knocked his dumpy finger away from her face, stood up and gave him a dose of his own medicine. ‘You wicked, bald-headed old bastard! How dare you call me a nobody! If anybody’s a nobody in this house, it’s you, Stanley. You have no style about you, no bloody class, and that’s why you always hated Eddie Mitchell from the word go, because he was something that you wasn’t. I loved my Jessica more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and if I can accept that what happened was an accident, then why can’t you? Both Frankie and Joey have forgiven their father – they know how much he loved their mum – but no, not you, you have to be the odd one out, Stanley. Bitter, twisted and full of grudges, that’s what you are.’
Unable to control his boiling temper any longer, Stanley lifted his right hand and slapped Joyce fiercely around the face. ‘You are poison, Joycie, and I’m leaving you. In fact, I want a divorce.’
As Stanley stomped out of the living room, for the first time in donkey’s years Joyce was left totally struck dumb.
Back in Holloway, Frankie had stopped crying and was now ready to continue her story. ‘Where was I?’ she asked.
‘You and Jed had fled to the trailer in Tilbury,’ Babs reminded her.
‘Oh yeah. Well, my mum rang my mobile, said that my dad was on the warpath and she asked if she could come and see me to sort things out. She was so sweet, my mum, she was beautiful and everybody loved her, Babs. Anyway, I gave her the address, but not long after she’d turned up, my dad and uncle Raymond turned up as well, so my mum hid under the bed. My uncle kidnapped me; he bundled me into a car and drove off. He didn’t know that my mum was there, but he’d put tape over my mouth and my hands were tied up, so I couldn’t even tell him. Finally he realised something was wrong and he stopped the car. When I told him that my mum was in the trailer, his face went white and he drove straight back there. But, we were too late. By the time we got back there, my beautiful mum was already dead.’
As Frankie began to cry once more, Babs rested her young friend’s head on her shoulder. ‘If it’s too upsetting for you to talk about your mum’s death, just tell me what happened with Jed,’ Babs suggested.
Frankie nodded, then wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sweatshirt. Talking about her mother’s demise was still far too raw and she couldn’t relive it – it was too awful for words. ‘Well, after my mum, you know, died, my dad got put in prison and I moved in properly with Jed. Things started to go downhill almost immediately. I hated his mother and I couldn’t adapt to what he called “a traveller’s way of life”. By that time I was trapped, though. I was pregnant with Georgie, my mum and dad weren’t there to help me, and I wasn’t even speaking to my grandparents. Jed was a bastard. He knew I couldn’t run away ’cause I had nowhere to run to, so he did exactly as he pleased. I was so naïve, Babs. I used to think that he was actually working when he stayed out all night, but he was out shagging other birds. Jed was such a convincing storyteller, even God would have believed his lies.’
Babs squeezed Frankie’s hand. ‘Don’t beat yourself up for believing him. They’re all lying bastards – trust me on that one, honey.’
Frankie smiled gratefully, then carried on talking. ‘Looking back now, apart from right at the beginning, I can’t believe that I ever really loved Jed. I mean, how can you love someone who tries to strangle you and gives you black eyes regularly? And I’m sure the night Harry was conceived, Jed practically raped me.’
‘You can easily love an evil man like that, because I did it also, remember?’
‘He even got another girl pregnant while we were together and I still forgave him, but one day I woke up and I felt differently. The love I’d had for him had turned to hate and I wanted him out of mine and my children’s lives.’
‘So, is that why you stabbed him then?’
Frankie fell silent for thirty seconds or so. Apart from her friend, Kerry, nobody knew the real reason that she had stabbed Jed, and she was weighing up whether she should tell Babs or not. She turned to her cellmate. She had barely spoken to Kerry for weeks and she had to tell somebody the secret that was burning a hole in her heart.
‘My grandad was a legend in the East End. Harry Mitchell was his name, and I think he was one of the biggest villains to ever come out of Canning Town. He wasn’t the best grandfather in the world – me and Joey rarely saw him – but obviously I still loved him ’cause he was my
