Now he kissed her and it felt wrong. His hands on her body no longer felt gentle, his tongue between her legs made her want to gag, because it felt thick and harsh, and coated with white scum like Freddie's had been that night. And even though she knew it wasn't Freddie, that it was her husband, who she loved, the feeling would not go away.

She could still smell him, and she could still feel him, and because of that night she had to live with the knowledge that Jimmy was no longer the only person to have had access to her. She had been proud of that, and she knew he was still proud of it. Only it wasn't true any more.

In the bathroom, where they had lain in the bath and laughed and joked and loved together, she saw only herself on her knees, with Freddie's hands in her hair as he painfully forced her to take him into her mouth. The floor was clean and tidy, but she still saw the long blond hairs that he had ripped from her scalp as she attempted to stop him.

It was ruined, and she could not make it better, not now, nor at any time in the future. Everything that they had worked for together was destroyed and Freddie had deliberately set out to cause that heartbreak. Jimmy's lovemaking was nothing to her any more. She loathed it, and she knew he had realised that, but he was also trying to make it all better somehow, and she knew it could never be fixed.

The deceit was killing her, and Freddie used every opportunity to bait her, to taunt her, like the bed. Taking the bed. Jackie was not thrilled about it, she could tell that much, and she had a feeling that her sister was going to work it all out.

She felt the burn of tears once more and fought to keep them at bay. If Jimmy came in and saw her crying it would start him off again with the questions and the kindness. It was the kindness she couldn't bear.

Maggie didn't sleep any more. She was tired out physically and mentally, but as soon as she got into bed she was wide awake. This new bed was not as comfortable as the old one. Jimmy hated it, but she had insisted that she wanted this one, and as usual he had relented.

When Freddie had asked for the old bed, and Jimmy had given it to him without thinking, she had nearly gone mad with grief. She knew he was lying there night after night remembering what had taken place on it. He had told her over and over that he had never had such a good night's rest, and she had sat at the dining-room table and nodded at him, all the while wanting to vomit up her dinner, and scream with frustration and anger.

Maggie felt the familiar crashing of her heart, and she forced herself to breathe deeply. Panic attacks, the doctor called them, guilt attacks was what she called them. And the guilt weighed on her heavily, because she had brought this on herself and that was so hard to accept. If she had not confronted him, spat at him, maybe this would not have happened. She was OK for days at a time, then it came on top once more. A word, a sentence, a TV programme, or Freddie staring at her with that smirk he had, brought it all back. She didn't know how much longer she could keep herself together.

She had taken to swearing out loud when she was by herself. She broke things, smashed them against the wall, and for a few minutes her pain would subside.

But it always came back.

'You have got to be some kind of fucking twat. What on earth were you thinking of?' They were sitting in the car. Jimmy was trying to get some sense out of Freddie, but it was a waste of time.

Freddie was on one of his quiet times. He had them after he had fucked up big time and normally Jimmy left him to it, but this time it had been too close for comfort and he wanted an explanation.

'Lenny was a fucking twonk, but he did not deserve that, and you know it. And if he had asked you for a ruffle, why didn't you give it to him? I was under the impression he had been weighed out, given a rise for his services. I didn't know he was still on the same earn. That means you were fucking having me over then, don't it? Because if he was still on the same poke then you had to be fucking pocketing the difference, didn't you? Pennies and fucking halfpennies to what we fucking rake in, and now you have killed him over your own petty greed.'

Freddie was still quiet. He lit another cigarette and smoked it calmly while watching Jimmy. He had a wary look in his eye but apart from that, he didn't seem to have a care in the world.

Jimmy was bewildered with it all. 'His wife and kids were in that house. Suppose his wife had fucking monged out, what would you have done, eh? Killed the whole family? Come on, Freddie, I am genuinely interested in what you have to say for yourself.'

Freddie shrugged nonchalantly. 'I lost me temper, that's all.'

Jimmy looked at him. The respect was finally gone, and they both knew it this time.

'You lost it because he had you bang to fucking rights. We should never have been there. He was earning us a fucking good crust, and you were taking his fucking poke. He was a good earner, and he was a friend of Ozzy's. What am I supposed to tell him?'

The mention of Ozzy brought Freddie's full attention, as Jimmy knew it would. He hated using Ozzy like that, but it seemed it was the only way he was going to get this sorted out. Because Freddie had to understand that this could never happen again. It was so fucking dangerous. They could get a life sentence for something that was completely senseless.

'You telling Ozzy, then?'

It was a threat and a statement in one.

Jimmy laughed then, a tired, annoyed laugh. 'Well, he'll have to fucking know. One of his oldest mates and biggest earners is dead, his wife is widowed with six fucking chavvies, and we will have to explain what happened. That is how it works, Freddie, you ain't a law unto yourself, see. We have to explain away things, especially dead fucking blokes who we are getting a good living from, and who are mysteriously gutted like a fish in their fucking own house.'

Freddie had heard enough. His anger was evident. 'Are you having a fucking laugh, mate?' He was stretching his eyes to their utmost. 'Are you telling me that you are going to tell Ozzy the score? Is that what you are trying to say?'

Jimmy was getting angry himself now, and Freddie was reminded of just how strong and fit he actually was.

'I would never do that to you, but I should! You need a fucking lesson, Freddie, you are an accident waiting to happen. Do you want another fucking lump, because I certainly don't want even a remand, let alone a ten or an eighteen.'

Freddie snorted in derision. 'You wouldn't last five fucking minutes in nick, mate…'

He had gone too far. He stopped talking and Jimmy stared at him for long moments before he started up the car.

As he drove along a Sussex country lane, Jimmy could feel the anger welling up inside him again. He stopped the car once more, and he said quietly, 'This has got to stop, Freddie, because I can't be around you any more. You killed that girl and she had your baby. I weighed her mother out for the funeral and the kid and you should have done that, it was your mess, your fucking balls-up. You're a fucking liability, mate. You seem to think you can do what you like, but I tell you now, one day, Freddie, your luck will run out and you will get sent down. And I for one won't give a flying fuck.'

Freddie had listened to him with half an ear but he was thinking about other things. He had a knack of doing that. When he'd made a big fuck-up, he had a clever way of forgetting about it by concentrating on something else he had done, something less important. But even he knew that Jimmy was just about finished with him, and that if that happened, he would not last long on his own.