Life goes on. That was a saying she had used so many times herself over the years. But this time she knew it was a load of old crap; her life didn't go on. Not really. She lived from day to day and she hid her heartbreak, her anger and her terror at what might have befallen her lovely daughter from everyone.

But in the night she lived through every nightmare a mother could imagine. Every terrible thing she had ever read in the newspapers or seen on a TV programme was suddenly vivid and real to her, was feasible. Only she wasn't asleep when she saw these things, she was wide awake.

She wondered whether her baby girl was frightened, in pain, had been raped? Had she called for her mummy at any point? Had she needed her and she had not been there to answer that call?

There was nothing for them to hold on to, that was the worst of it. She seemed to have disappeared into thin air. No one knew where she could have gone or where she could be now. It was as if she had never existed, but they all knew she had. Her clothes were still in her wardrobe and her shoes were still in the cupboard under the stairs. Everything tangible, everything that proved she had ever lived here, in this house, was still in evidence. It was as if she had popped out and would soon be returning as usual. And they all felt that in different ways, she knew that; she watched them as they tried to understand what had happened.

None of them would ever be the same again and that was the thing Lil felt the most. The destruction of her family was so gradual, so complete and she saw it happening and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. She had started off hoping for a miracle, hoping Colleen would walk in the door and tell them it was a mistake. But eventually all she hoped for was a body, something to bury. Something to end the speculation that had been a part of her nights for so many years.

At least that way, if they could bury something, they might finally be able to mourn her, might finally find out exactly what had happened to her, and so understand why she had gone. Every Christmas, every birthday, was a reminder of what was missing, what was gone from them. It was the waiting that was the hardest, the waiting for news that could only break their hearts all over again.

Book Three

Chapter Twenty-Nine

'You'll be forty in a few weeks.'

Pat laughed. He was still good-looking but he had the same ruggedness that his father had possessed. Lil had to admit that even though he was her son, he was a good-looking fucker, and he knew it and all.

'Well, Mother, I ain't having a party. We all know what happened at the last one.'

Lil didn't laugh at that. All these years later it was still raw; she was still not over it. Patrick saw that then and went to her and, as he cuddled her, he said sadly, 'I'm sorry, Mum. That was a bad joke.'

She shrugged as always, as if she didn't really care but she did, he knew she did.

'It was a long time ago. It's in the past.'

She carried on tallying up the set of books in front of her and Pat watched her for a while. She was a game old bird, no doubt about that, and he loved her. She was a mare but he loved her.

She was a legend in Soho and she made a point of living up to her reputation. He had gone on to bigger and better things over the years but his old mum, Old Lil Brodie, had taken the clubs and made them into goldmines.

She looked up at him over her expensive designer glasses and he laughed again. 'You look like a glamorous granny.'

'Oh, fuck off and pour me a brandy, will you?'

He poured them both a drink and Lil sat back in the heavily upholstered chair and, yawning, she said with feeling, 'Have you talked to Lance yet?'

Pat had been dreading this but he knew he had to tell her. If he didn't she would only find out on her own. That was, of course, if she didn't know already and was waiting to see if he told her the truth. It wouldn't be the first time she had played that one on him.

He shook his head and she saw the thickness of his dark hair and how much grey was now peppering it. It suited him and she wondered at men; they seemed to age much better than women. The things that pointed out their advancing years were the same things that seemed to make them handsomer. It was one of nature's nastier tricks.

'I'm waiting for him to come in tonight; I left a message on his mobile.'

She knocked her drink back in one movement and held the glass out for more.

'Let me do it?'

Pat was biting his lip. He wanted to tell her to keep out of it but he knew he couldn't. You couldn't tell Lil Brodie anything she didn't want to hear. 'Leave it with me, Mum. I've got it all under control.'

Lil took the glass off him then and, sipping the brandy this time, she sat back once more and looked at him expectantly.

He sat opposite her. She was still an attractive woman and she looked after herself well. He knew she had indulged herself with a bit of nip and tuck. Nothing drastic, just the bags under her eyes and a bit of botox, to freshen her up, as she put it.

She dressed well, tailored suits and designer handbags. And she liked scarves; expensive scarves that she draped around herself artistically. She kept her hair blond but cut short; an easy-to-manage style that suited her elfin features. He knew she still had good legs; he had seen younger men appreciate them and he knew she liked to show them off in her tailored skirts. For a woman who had given birth to eight children, she looked good.

She was thin though. After Colleen's disappearance she had never gained the weight back. She ate like a bird and he knew she didn't sleep enough. But then neither did he.

'Well, I want to be here when you talk to him.'

Pat nodded his agreement. He knew she was not going to take 'no' for an answer and he knew from years of experience that it was better to let her do what she wanted.

'But keep out of it, all right?'

She smiled. 'Of course. What do you take me for?'

She saw his face as he raised his eyebrows and she said loudly, 'Yeah, I know, a nosey old bag.'

They were both laughing now and she yawned, wondering where the night's events would take them.

'Billy Boot is a good bloke and he done a lump, Pat. If he said something I would be inclined to believe him.'

'Even over Lance?' He said it quietly, already knowing the answer she would give, but having to say it anyway.

'Especially over Lance.'

She grinned and he saw the usual look on her face whenever Lance was mentioned or near her. It said that she only tolerated him and it was the truth, because she barely tolerated him at that.

She knew the conversation was over now and she relaxed back into her seat once more and surveyed her domain with relish. She loved the clubs, always had. Pat had taken back nearly everything that had been lost with his father's murder and she was happy to see them thriving and profitable. It seemed a fitting tribute to the man she had loved and lost all those years ago.

She also wanted to see what Lance had to say about Billy Boot's little bit of chatter and, as it concerned the clubs and some of the other business dealings they had, she was not only interested, she was also intrigued.

Eileen was locked in her bathroom; the new bathroom that had cost a small fortune and which had not given her any satisfaction at all. In fact, as she stood there, her hands gripping the sides of the basin and tears not far from her eyes, she wondered what the hell she had wanted it for in the first place.