Shocked by Stanley’s outburst, Joyce did her best not to show it. ‘Move, then, if you don’t like it. You go back to that pokey council house of ours, see if I care. I’m staying here, ’cause it makes me feel close to my Jessica.’
Aware of Eddie’s sons, Gary and Ricky, staring at them, Stan led Joyce out on to the front drive.
‘You must think I’ve just stepped off the banana boat, Joycie. When we first found out Jessica had been murdered, you couldn’t agree with me enough about Eddie and his family. You soon changed your mind when you moved in ’ere though, didn’t you? All you’ve ever wanted is a nice, big house so you can show it off to your friends. I’m not as shallow as you, Joycie. I know exactly what you think of me and the home I’ve worked my bollocks off for over the years. I even bought it for you off that right-to-buy scheme ’cause you begged me to and I’ve bought you new furniture at your every whim. Well, I’ve had enough of it now, and tomorrow I’m going back home. You can do as you please. Stay ’ere on your own, for all I care.’
Joyce was gobsmacked. Stanley had rarely raised his voice to her throughout the whole of their marriage. As he walked away, she stood open-mouthed, and for once she said nothing.
Eddie Mitchell was agitated as he sat on the bunk in his cell. He’d known by the attitude of the two prison guards that he was in for a nasty surprise. They’d been laughing and joking as they took him down a corridor he’d never seen before. ‘Ain’t I going back to me old cell?’ Ed asked, bewildered.
The shorter guard grinned at the taller one. ‘No, Mitchell. The guvnor decided you and Malik weren’t suited and you needed better company, so he’s found you a new home with a nice friendly English cellmate.’
Ed had been in the cell for what seemed like four hours now and he still didn’t have a clue who he was sharing with. Apart from a few belongings, there was no sign of the geezer.
When he heard the key slot into the lock, Eddie picked up his book and pretended to read it. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he felt his heart leap into his chest as he recognised his new cellmate.
After her argument with Jed, Frankie had necked at least four more vodkas. Her hormones were having a field day, and she was tired, depressed, lonely and tearful. She and Jed rarely argued. On the odd occasion when they’d had a lovers’ tiff, it had always been immediately resolved.
Seeing Dougie and Vicki, her parents’ friends, heading her way to say goodbye, Frankie forced herself to be polite. About to get Vicki to take her mobile number so when she gave birth they could swap baby talk, Frankie heard a commotion coming from her left.
‘Get out of here, before I kill yer,’ she heard somebody yell.
Looking around, Frankie dropped Vicki’s pen in shock. Jed was sitting on a nearby wall, telling her uncle Reg where to get off.
Reg hobbled towards Jed. ‘Do yourself a favour, son, and get the fuck out of here, before you get hurt,’ he warned, his eyes bulging.
‘I’m going nowhere without my wife-to-be. You do whatever you have to, you senile old grunter. Frankie belongs to me and she’s coming with me right now.’
Aware that Gary, Ricky and Raymond had all run out of the house, Frankie began to scream. ‘Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt Jed,’ she begged.
Jumping off the wall, Jed showed no fear as Raymond went for him. ‘Frankie’s my woman,’ he screamed, as Raymond caught him straight on the chin.
Watching Jed fall to the grass, Frankie intervened and chucked herself on top of him. Seeing his uncle trying to manhandle his sister, Joey also joined in the fracas.
‘Leave Frankie alone,’ he shouted, as his weak punches landed nowhere.
Having been told that it was all kicking off in the garden, Joyce flew into action. ‘Oi, whaddya think you’re doing?’ she screamed, as she lost her footing and stacked it in one of the flowerbeds.
As all hell broke loose, Frankie decided enough was enough. She needed to make a decision, and if she was ever going to leave home, that moment was definitely now.
Stanley’s alarm clock went off at eight the following morning and he immediately got out of bed.
After the mass brawl in the garden the previous evening, he’d sodded off upstairs without saying goodnight to a single soul. Jessica’s funeral had been a catastrophe from start to finish, and Stanley would never forgive the bastards that had ruined it. Animals, that’s what the Mitchells were, and he was just glad that Jock had already left when the whole wake kicked off.
Pulling his suitcase out from under the bed, Stanley began to pack his clothes. The quicker he got out of this cursed house with its awful memories, the better.
Hearing her husband banging about in the room next door, Joyce lifted her head off the pillow. She felt as sick as a parrot, and as she burped, she heaved. All she could taste and smell was brandy, and she vowed there and then never to touch the poxy drink again.
Joyce got up and put on her dressing gown. Her recollection of the previous evening was vague, to say the least, but she could sort of remember a big fight happening. Noticing a large bruise and cut on her leg, she winced as she touched it. Surely she hadn’t fallen over in front of all the mourners? Desperate to get rid of the taste of brandy, Joyce made her way downstairs to make herself a coffee. Gagging for some fresh air and to rid the house of the smell of stale smoke, Joyce opened the conservatory door.
‘Christ almighty,’ she mumbled in complete astonishment.
Jessica’s once-perfect garden looked as if a bomb had hit it. All the furniture was smashed to pieces. The wooden table was lying upside down and the chairs had no legs left on them.
Shuffling outside, Joyce put her hand over her mouth as she noticed that all the beautiful flowerbeds had been trampled on. Seeing shards of glass by her feet, she turned to her left. The three smashed windows were the final straw for Joyce, and she ran back into the house.
‘Stanley! Stanley!’ she screamed.
When Stanley marched down the stairs with a suitcase in his hand, Joyce looked at him in bewilderment. ‘What are you doing? What’s with the case? You seen the state of the garden? Everything’s smashed to smithereens.’
Dropping his case, Stanley ran out the back. He’d locked the pigeon shed, but what if it had been smashed or the birds had died of fright? Fearful for the safety of his babies, Stanley shook as he put the key in the door.
‘Thank God,’ he said, as all four cooed at him. ‘Daddy’s here now and he’s taking you back home, away from this loony bin.’
‘What are you gonna do about cleaning this mess up, Stanley? I think I’ll ring Raymond, he’ll know a glazier. The twins can help an’ all. I mean, we don’t ask ’em to do much, do we?’
For once in his life, Stanley felt like a man as he spoke. ‘You ask who you like, Joycie. I won’t be here. I told you yesterday, I’m moving back home.’
Joyce remembered bits of what Stanley had said the previous day about leaving, but
