Little Freddie frightened him. This was a child who, without knowing it, had taken away the son he had secretly loved.

Jimmy Junior had been everything he had wanted in a child. He was also his trump card in a war that he had caused by himself and which he was also fighting by himself. Every time Jimmy had made a new deal, had cranked his power up another notch, Freddie had been able to console himself that he had the upper hand, that he knew something Jimmy boy didn't. He had needed that power.

Then something had happened that he would have believed impossible, and after a long time of fighting it, had eventually had to accept it.

Jimmy Junior had got under his skin, had made him vulnerable. And this child of his, Little Freddie, had somehow sensed that, had resented that, and like his father would, he had taken steps to prevent it from going any further.

In one way, a detached part of him could see the boy's point of view, but it was wrong. Little Freddie was far too young to be removing anyone from his orbit. Far too young to have countenanced even letting the thought cross his mind.

He kept seeing that little boy fighting for his breath, and it was the knowledge another child had wilfully and purposely brought that suffering about that was so hard to stomach. He desperately needed to make some sense of it all. He loved Little Freddie in his own peculiar way, and he knew this child loved him, really loved him.

He had proved that by his actions.

He also knew that this boy of his was a time bomb. One day he could be at risk from his son, and Rox's child could easily be what he saw as the next threat to his security.

Driving along, he had told Little Freddie that he knew what he had done and that he was going to give him up. Not to the filth, that would be too much even for Freddie Jackson, but he would put him into care and leave him there to rot.

But now he had actually stopped the car, had made himself stare into Little Freddie's eyes, he wondered whether he could in all honesty go that far. This boy had kept him in a house he hated, with a woman he had not wanted since before he had been sentenced and shut away from the world for years, and he had been dragged up by his wife, the child's own mother, the person who should have been the one to make sure he was secure and cared for. Jackie had a lot to answer for, and he had a lot of things to make good somehow, to mend.

It was this simple fact that was stopping him in his tracks now. He knew what it was like to be unwanted. His father had never cared for him, not really, and he understood his son's fear that someone else might be more important than him. Might be snatching the little bit of love and affection he was given as and when it suited the parent in question.

Freddie was more than aware of his failings, and he wanted to put this night, and this son, as far away from him as he could, but he was responsible for Little Freddie.

He knew he should do what he had promised, but it was easier said than done. This was his legal flesh and blood, and he wasn't so sure he could dump him now.

It wasn't just his face and the fear it was displaying, though. He could feel the genuine terror coming off his only son in waves. It was also because Little Freddie was his only son, and he knew how it felt to be ignored, knew how it felt to be unwanted, seen as nothing more than a bind. Freddie's mother too had used him and made him the be all and end all of her married life. Like Jackie, Maddie had known that his father would have gone on the trot. It had been left to Freddie to make sure he finally did the right thing, and he had. Freddie had been there for his father from the beginning to the end of his chequered and pointless life.

So he wasn't sure he could turn this child away now the anger had subsided and the knee-jerk reaction of earlier in the day had all but worn off.

He had a duty to his only son. He should be standing by him, trying to make sense of what had happened and try to stop it happening ever again.

He wanted to wash his hands of Little Freddie and punish him for his actions, and until now he had been determined to do just that. But now, looking at him and seeing the child's deep unhappiness he really was not so sure he should give up on him. Jimmy Junior was gone, but this boy was still here.

His mobile went off and cursing silently to himself he answered it.

Lena and Joe had come back to the hospital because they didn't really know what else to do. They felt so guilty, so responsible. Their daughter was prostrate with grief and they decided they should be beside her no matter what.

Joe, especially, felt the full force of what had happened. He felt it so acutely that he wondered if he would survive this feeling he was carrying around in his chest like a lead weight. It wasn't just that the boy had died, it was also because he knew it was not the accident everyone thought it was.

He should have opened his mouth as soon as he had realised what had really gone on. That mad bastard Freddie had finally killed someone, and he had killed the dearest, the most important person in their lives.

But, for all that, and as big a fucker as that child was, Joe's natural loyalty made him unsure about bringing this into the public domain. Little Freddie was his flesh and blood, and Joe was also worried about Jackie's reaction.

In his heart he was worried about Freddie knowing the score, though he was even more worried about Maggie finding out. It would bring his whole family down in an instant.

He also knew, or rather guessed, that Jimmy knew far more about this than he was letting on. So he sat with his wife and son-in-law by the bedside of his lovely daughter, who he knew would never recover from this tragedy.

Jackie snorted her line of coke, sniffing noisily as she brought the white powder through her nose and into the back of her throat. The bitter taste made her gag but she brought her head forward and sniffed loudly once more to make sure she got the full monty inside her head. Then she looked into the dirty mirror that adorned the wall of the pub toilet and for the first time in years saw herself as others saw her.

She was yellow, not yet jaundiced, but well on her way. 'Sallow skinned' was how her mother described her.

Her hair was lank and greasy, her eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and her body was aching and bloated. She had waited for her Freddie, and she had longed for her Freddie, and when he had finally emerged from his prison cell he had looked younger than ever and fitter than ever.

That was when she had really needed a drink.

Deep inside, her condition frightened her, but like many an alcoholic before her, until the symptoms were up and running and kicking her arse she would ignore them. What else could she do? Drink made the days bearable and the nights pass.

Freddie didn't want her, he wanted the Pats of this world and the young girls, and she couldn't compete with them. She was too far gone now. Since Kimberley's birth she had been ruined. Her belly was saggy and she was marked all over. Even the backs of her knees and the backs of her arms had been stretched. The little confidence she had possessed had deserted her like her husband had.

Jackie hadn't had the advice that was given out these days – use a lotion, don't put on too much weight. She had been told she was eating for two! No one was expected to look like a fucking beauty queen when they were in the club, no one had told you then how to avoid the wrecking of your body. Magazines were not read for those kind of tips. She had only ever bought True Crime, sometimes a Woman's Own. When the recipes had been the hook, and she had not even known about healthy eating until it was all too late.