more screws suddenly appeared out of nowhere and, finally overpowered, Eddie sank to his knees.
‘I don’t wanna live any more. Please just let me fucking top meself,’ he screamed.
Joycie Smith finished off her outfit by adding the black netted hat, then studied her appearance in the full-length mirror. She was so glad she’d bought the new black dress and jacket. It looked very smart and she was determined to do her daughter proud. Moving closer, Joyce noticed how red raw and puffy her eyes looked. She’d had a good old cry this morning – in private, of course. There’d be no tears in front of Stanley and the twins. She had to be brave for their sake.
Joyce put on her tinted glasses and headed downstairs. The flowers had just started to arrive, and she wanted to arrange them neatly. She had to keep herself busy, it was the only way. Not only that, she was determined that her daughter would have the best send-off ever.
Stanley sat in his newly built pigeon shed and stared at his beloved birds. He was all ready – he even had his new suit on – but he’d rather leave Joyce to deal with the tributes.
Putting his head in his hands, Stanley broke down for the third time that morning. The flowers arriving made everything seem so final.
Jessica’s death had torn a huge hole in all of their lives. What had happened that night was nigh on impossible to understand, and living hell were the only words Stanley could find to describe life since. There wasn’t a parent in the world who imagined outliving their children, and he was no different.
Stanley had disliked Eddie Mitchell from the word go, but now he despised him with a resentful passion. Living in his house was a constant reminder of the murdering bastard, but it was Joycie’s decision and he’d had very little say in the matter.
As his two favourite pigeons, Ernie and Ethel, both cooed at him, Stanley lifted his head, wiped his eyes and smiled sadly. Seconds later, he heard his wife’s dulcet tones.
‘Stanley! Get your arse out that shed. Raymond and Polly have just arrived.’
Taking a deep breath, Stanley stood up. He was literally dreading the day ahead and it would be a miracle if he got through it at all.
Frankie was sitting on Joey’s bed. As her brother offered her a cigarette, she gratefully snatched it out of his hand. Being a couple of months pregnant, Frankie knew she shouldn’t really be smoking, but the sound of people arriving downstairs filled her with dread.
Her mother’s death and the circumstances surrounding it had created the biggest underworld talking point since the Brinks Mat robbery. The press had had a ball, they’d milked it for all it was worth.
‘Gangland boss kills wife in jealous rage’, ‘Gangster finds wife in bed with daughter’s boyfriend’, ‘Mitchell’s moment of madness’ were just some of the headlines Frankie had seen.
Most of what had been written was just awful, vicious lies. A couple of the more sensible papers had got the story right, but the ones at the lower end of the scale had written absolute trash just to sell their papers.
Both Frankie and Joey had barely left the house since their mother’s death. Frankie had sneaked out a few times to meet up with Jed, but on the last occasion the press had seen her climbing over the back fence and plastered her picture all over the papers.
‘Picture of innocence’ had been the sarcastic headline.
Frankie was mortified. All her friends had seen it and had called her on her mobile. Instead of being a victim, Frankie felt like the accused.
Things at home had been no better. Her nan and grandad had moved in to look after her and Joey. Jed wasn’t allowed anywhere near the house and every time Frankie mentioned his name, everyone in the room went quiet.
Frankie missed her mother dreadfully, but what had happened was neither her nor Jed’s fault. She hadn’t asked her father to turn up at Tilbury with a gun, had she now?
As her brother dissolved into tears yet again, Frankie hugged him. Joey wasn’t as strong as her, and he wasn’t coping very well at all.
‘Listen, Joey, in a minute we’ve got to go downstairs and face everyone. You’ve got to be brave for Mum’s sake.’
Joey threw himself on his bed. ‘I can’t go to Mum’s funeral. I just can’t face it. Let me stay here, Frankie. Tell Nan and Grandad I’m not well.’
Frankie stroked her brother’s back. Joey had been as close to her mum as anyone had. That’s why Frankie hadn’t already moved in with Jed: she couldn’t have lived with her guilt if she had left Joey at home with her grandparents. They were twins, had been inseparable, even in the womb; no one could look after him like she could.
‘Come on, Joey. Put your suit on, and we’ll go downstairs. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t go. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life.’
Joey sat up. ‘It’s all right for you. You’ve got Jed to look after you. Mum’s dead, Dad’s in prison and Nan and Grandad do my head in. I’ve got nothing and no one, Frankie, and I know you’re gonna be moving out soon. What am I gonna do then, eh?’
Frankie squeezed his hand. ‘I’ll only be living down the road, Joey. And what about when I have the baby? You’ll be an uncle for the first time, and I know you’ll be the best uncle ever. All you have to do is stop blaming Jed for everything, then you can be part of our lives.’
As she finally persuaded Joey to get dressed, Frankie made a mental note to ring Dominic the following day. Her brother had barely spoken to his ex since their father had found out Joey was gay and threatened Dom, but now Eddie was banged up, he could ruin her brother’s relationship no more. Joey was desperate for love and support and Frankie needed him to be OK before she could move on with her own life.
Downstairs, Joycie was keeping herself busy. She’d chatted to all the mourners, kept their drinks topped up, and managed to convince herself that she was over the worst. No amount of sobbing would bring her beautiful Jessica back from the dead, so she just had to get on with things.
It had been kind of her friends, Rita and Hilda, to come to the house, instead of just turning up at the service. They’d been her neighbours at her old house in Upney for over thirty years, and had known Jessica since she was knee-high.
‘So, what do you think of the house?’ Joyce asked them brightly.
Rita and Hilda glanced at one another. Joyce liked to act as if she was as tough as old boots, but they both knew that she wasn’t. Her behaviour today, considering what had befallen her, was strange, to say the least.
Gary and Ricky, Eddie’s sons from his previous marriage, had just turned up and, seeing them in deep conversation with Raymond, Stanley eyed his son suspiciously. Joyce might have forgotten about Raymond’s involvement on the night of Jessica’s murder, but Stanley most certainly hadn’t. If it wasn’t for Joyce, he could have quite easily washed his hands of the boy, but his wife had given him a lecture.
‘Now, you listen to me, Stanley, and you listen bloody carefully. I’ve lost one child and if you think I’m having the other banished from our lives, you can think again. Our son had nothing to do with what happened. He wouldn’t
