She was staring into his eyes and she looked triumphant when she saw the shock on his face at her words. 'You are nothing to me, and this baby is a little Jimmy. It will be decent, and it will be educated, and it will be as far from the animal called Little Freddie that you two dragged into the world as is humanly possible. Now get out of my way.'

He stepped aside this time and she opened the door. Her head was splitting, but she walked away from him with her head held high and her back straight and she made her way down the stairs and back to the party with a smile on her face and a cheery word for whoever spoke to her.

It was what she had dreaded more than anything, and it had happened, and she was still there. Her world had not collapsed and the fear was lessening now she had faced him. This was how she was going to play it, and having started this deceit she had to see it through to the bitter end.

Freddie had already destroyed so much that she held dear, but he would not find out that he must have fathered the child her husband believed was his. And it would never occur to Jimmy that it wasn't his. He trusted her, and he had once had every reason to trust her.

This child had been forced on her, and she was going to have to pretend that she wanted it, loved it and cared for it. She had to front this out and she was determined to do just that.

If Freddie even had an inkling that she thought it was his he would never let her forget it, and Jimmy would be completely destroyed if the truth came out. And she now realised that was what all this was really about. Jimmy had climbed up the tree of success while Freddie was still on the lowest branches.

He was a vindictive and dangerous adversary, but she had to protect herself, her husband and her sanity.

She prayed that night and every night that the child inside her would die.

She was delivered of a son on the first of November 1996.

He was named James Jackson Junior, and his mother cried for three days after the birth.

Book Three

Chapter Eighteen

'You ain't leaving him here again, surely?'

Maggie snapped at her mother, in a high angry voice, 'Well, if you don't want to have him, Mum, just say.'

Little James Junior was watching the scene before him with his usual nervous demeanour.

He spent half his life at his nana's and he liked it there. At three years old he had already sussed out that his mother was not like other mothers. She rarely hugged him, or touched him unless it was absolutely necessary. Yet she took very good care of him. He was clean and fed but he was looked after most of the time by his nana and this suited him right down to the ground.

His father was a different kettle of fish altogether. He loved his dada and his dada loved him. He hugged, kissed and played with him until his mum bathed him and put him into his bed. It was his dad who read to him, took him with him in his car and who made him feel safe.

His mother, on the other hand, made him feel worried. He had a nervous tic and he blinked his eyes constantly when he was with her for any length of time on his own. He knew he wasn't quick enough for her, that he irritated her, and yet he also knew that she didn't mean to hurt his feelings, that she felt bad about it. Then she would give him a hug, but it was more as an apology than an expression of love.

Nothing he did was right in her eyes, and he didn't know how to make her like him.

Now his nana was doing her crust, as his granddad called her tempers, and he knew that he would be staying there no matter what. At least he hoped so anyway. His granddad made him laugh and told him stories. His nana made him lovely food and cuddled him as much as she could. It was as if she was trying to make up for his mother's complete lack of affection.

But he didn't mind. If he could live at his nana's and see his daddy every day then life would be perfect.

'Give us another kiss, you!'

Rox was going out with a local boy called Dicky Harmon. He was a good-looking lad, and he was also an up-and-coming young scoundrel. He was working for Jimmy and he was loving it. Freddie frightened him, but he was sensible enough not to let him know that. Freddie would put the kibosh on their relationship if he could, but Rox had put him in his place a long time ago. He knew, though, that Freddie could not bear the thought of his daughters with boys, no matter who they were, so he did not take his animosity too personally. He was sensible like that, he knew that Freddie looked after his girls in all the wrong ways but he could not bear for them to be treated as Freddie treated all the females in his own life. Freddie would take it personally if one of his daughters was fucked and left. It wasn't about them, though, it was about him and how he was perceived.

Dicky had sussed him out a long time ago. He had a father just like Freddie, and he was determined not to be like any of them. Rox was a star and he loved her. He didn't want anyone else just yet, but when he did he would take them discreetly and without fear of hurting the love of his life.

Rox was like a clone of Maggie at the same age. At twenty-one she was stunning, and she was also a qualified hairdresser and beautician. She ran Maggie's second-biggest salon in Chingford, and she had bought her own little flat and her own car. Maggie had helped her, though no one knew that, of course.

She thanked God every day for her aunt, and she worshipped her. Maggie had helped her get away from the dump she had grown up in and shown her a better way of life.

Now that she had Dicky and she was in love, her life was better than it had ever been. Her father had tried to stop them, but once Jimmy gave his blessing he had calmed down a bit. Plus, she thought that her father actually liked Dicky but just couldn't admit it.

It was a Friday night and the salon was packed out. The sun beds were all booked up and the smell of the tanning accelerator was heavy in the air, mingling with the perfumed smell of the hair products used by the stylists. Rox was tired, happy, and trying to make Dicky get out of her little office so she could get on with her work.

One of the juniors, a pretty girl with heavy hips and hair extensions, called through the door. 'Margaret's buzzer just went. Shall I wash her colour off, or do you want to check it first?'

'I'm coming, Renee. Pour her a glass of white wine, and pour me one and all. I'll be right there.'

She pushed Dicky towards the door. 'Come on, you, get a move on. I have work to do.'

He laughed. 'We still on for tonight?'

She nodded, amazed as always that this lovely man wanted her. 'Meet me at me flat about half eight, or would you rather meet me in the pub?'

'Better be the pub, eh? Your dad and that will be there, won't they?'

She sighed. They walked out together into the bustle of her little domain, and she felt the thrill she always felt knowing this was all under her control.

Dicky left just as two women came in, hoping for quick blow-dries, and she smiled professionally at Margaret Channing, checking her hair with an expert eye, even though her mind was on the night ahead.