Ozzy must never find out about any of it, and she knew from Jimmy's worried expression that this was going to be the make-or-break time.

As Maggie drove back to her house she had the windows open because she felt physically sick, and her head was clammy. She could not believe what she had just done and she wished that Jimmy had kept her out of it. It showed how worried he must be to involve her in this.

She remembered that she was supposed to be doing his mother's hair this morning and sighed. As she pulled up at the traffic lights two young men stared at the beautiful woman in the Mercedes sports car and tried to catch her attention. Even though this happened on a daily basis, she was suddenly convinced that they were following her. She wheelspinned away, and left them in her wake and wondering what the hell was wrong with the blonde in the brand-new Merc.

Jackie was drinking white wine mixed with vodka. It was eleven o'clock in the morning and so it was early even for her. Little Freddie understood that something momentous had happened and was for once in his life being quiet, and it was this that made everything seem even more surreal.

The alcohol was her painkiller, it was her crutch against the world and it was also the reason she got out of bed these days. She knew Freddie didn't want her, not really. The only thing keeping him near her was their son, and now the girls were growing he was suddenly taking an interest in them again. They had trundled along OK until this last event, but now she was frightened, seriously frightened of what this could all become, what it could all cause.

Freddie had killed a brass.

The words kept going round in her head and even though she knew it was true she was still having trouble coming to terms with it. Her hands were shaking and she wasn't sure if it was her usual morning unsteadiness or because she was in shock.

Jimmy had accused him of rape, said it had to be rape because no one would willingly be treated like that. But she was a brass, so she was used to being treated like shit. It was how brasses earned their money, wasn't it? They did what the wives refused to do for their men, at least that is what Freddie had always told her.

They had disposed of her belongings, according to Jimmy, but he had also said they had called an ambulance and pretended that she had been topped by a customer. In her heart she knew this was a load of crap, that this story was for her benefit, concocted by Jimmy when he had calmed down and seen how the news had affected her. He had been brought back to earth by her crying and screaming. But how could she believe this of the man she had loved for so long, who was the only reason she was even sitting at this table, who was everything to her no matter what.

She wasn't that stupid, she could work the truth out for herself, and it was the knowledge that he had done exactly what he had been accused of that frightened her so much.

They had dumped the body, they would have had to.

She wondered how they had shut up the other girls in the house. It must have cost them fortunes. Well, she didn't care how much as long as Freddie was going to walk away from it.

If this Stephanie, or whatever her real name was, had been topped by a punter, she still would have been disposed of. The last thing they needed was anyone scrutinising their working practices.

She gulped at her drink, and as she glanced once more at the clock she wondered if the girls would be back today. She had a feeling that they would be left at Maggie's or her mum's until Easter was over and this could all be sorted out.

She burped, and tasted the tannic cheapness of the wine, then she topped up the glass and drank once more. She needed oblivion and she knew that today of all days it was not to be hers. This was far too serious to anaesthetise with wine or vodka. This needed brandy or even whisky.

As usual, all she could think about was her and her needs. The dead girl was not really anything in her mind, she was just a brass, and who cared about brasses? She hated the woman who had caused all this, and she was sure it had just been an accident. Freddie wouldn't hurt a woman for no reason. A man, yeah, but not a female, not a woman, it was not feasible. He was a womaniser, she knew that much, and womanisers liked women. A man who'd harm them didn't like women. It stood to reason, didn't it, really?

She closed her eyes on her thoughts. She didn't really know what to believe; she only knew what she wanted to believe, what she needed to believe. And that was that her husband could not be the monster that everyone seemed to assume he was. She knew him, had given him four children. If anyone knew about her husband then it was her.

She knew that people thought she was a mug, but that was OK as far as she was concerned. No one knew him like she did. No one saw the kindness that was inside him when he dealt with his kids, or the way he tried to be a good person. The drugs and the drink got to him like they did her. It was an illness.

She clung on to this new thought as if it was a lifeline, which for her of course it was.

She heard the front door open and she turned in fear towards it.

Freddie knew he had fucked up big time. He also knew he had got to get back into everyone's good books and he had to get back into them sooner rather than later. He could suffocate that silly bitch all over again, she was nothing but trouble. Was he going to have to pay for this for the rest of his natural? So he had accidentally topped a brass, a fucking brass, a woman who, for a C-note, would shag a fucking doorpost. He knew Steph, she would shag a Rottweiler for a score and a large lump of dope.

Why hadn't he just gone home? He had asked himself the same question over and over again.

Now he was being made to feel like he was a criminal or something. Anyone would think he had hurt a civilian the way they were all carrying on, and if Pat found out, well, that would be the icing on the cake. Patricia would walk away from him and all that he stood for without a second's thought. As hard as she was, she liked the girls and in her own way she took care of them.

He had been out of his nut, it could have happened to anyone. It wasn't like it was planned or something, it was an accident.

If only he had not smoked the cocaine. Why couldn't he ever leave well alone? Why did he have to always be out of it? The brandy had already softened the edges, so why he had carried on drinking and coking, he didn't know. But Steph was as up for it as he was, only no one was interested in that fact.

She had wanted him there, she was always happy to see him, so why should he be given the bum's rush over a fucking brass? Well, this just all seemed outrageous and over the top as far as he was concerned.

He had enjoyed it, that was the real truth.

But he would swallow, he had no choice really, and when the time was right he would make sure that they all understood once and for all who really was the daddy.

Paul and Liselle watched Freddie as he downed drink after drink. The gossip had reached them, and they were doing what everyone else was doing. Waiting to see what happened before they decided on any action they might take.

The pub was empty except for Freddie, and they were glad about that. But when little Maggie walked in they both knew that trouble was going to come at any second. It was in her eyes, in her walk, in her very demeanour.

'You fucking nutter, you make me sick!' Her voice was low and husky, and Liselle pushed her husband towards their living quarters. She would deal with this. She knew that, no matter what, Freddie would not touch a hair on this girl's head. Not today anyway.