The first birth had ruined her all right, and when you had someone like Freddie, you were more than aware that there were trollops lining up to be on his arm, the villain's arm. Freddie, like most of his counterparts, needed the approbation those girls afforded him, needed to be seen with those young girls. Her father had been the same, but in a much smaller league of course.

Freddie had broken her heart and she had never recovered from it.

So stopping drinking was not an option for her. With a few drinks inside her, she could pretend her life was great, convince herself that her husband loved her really, and with a few shots in the morning her hands stopped shaking long enough for her to light a cigarette.

It was so easy for everyone else to condemn her, talk about her drink problem. Especially her girls, who were still relative virgins where men were concerned and still believed in happy ever after. But they would learn, as all women learned eventually. Life took its toll on women far quicker than it did on the men.

Jackie had a few drinks because without the crutch of alcohol, her life and all it entailed absolutely terrified her. It had helped her sleep when Freddie had been banged up, when the utter loneliness had been more than she could bear. A couple of shots had brightened her day when the pressure of being alone with three kids had been so intense, and the need of her husband had been so acute, she had felt as if she would die from the want of him.

When a man was sentenced to prison, the judge, the lawyers, barristers, whoever was involved in the court process, never realised that a whole family was often sentenced along with them. The bad man was put away, and so he should be, he had broken the law. Society could sleep easier at night, but what about the mothers and the wives and the kids that were left behind, mourning someone they loved who was gone for a lifetime, but who was not dead? What about the love they had for them? The person being accused in the courts was often like a stranger to their family members, and was often made to look far worse than they actually were by over-zealous policemen and the Crown Prosecution Service. So the family didn't think that justice had actually been done, because they missed the person they knew, the person who had loved them, and who they loved in return, the person who had always stood by them, or who had walked the floor with them when they were babies, sat beside them when they were ill. Loved them whatever.

No one thought of people like her, whose whole life was over in minutes because of a jury verdict, who had two little girls and a belly full of arms and legs when her husband had been placed so far away from her. Who had been left on her own and without any kind of support whatsoever. Who had given birth alone, and with tears running down her face because the baby would not see her father for months, and could only be parented from afar, on visits, and by a man who she didn't know from Adam. So a drink had been her salvation in the end, had been the one thing that could stop the ache inside her and ensure she slept at night.

By the time Freddie had been on the out she had been consumed with the habit, and even his presence had not been enough to make her stop.

Now she looked into this grimy and scuffed mirror and she saw what Freddie saw. Terry Baker had proved to her the truth of her life, that she was a nothing, a no one and that she was only a joke to people.

He had destroyed her in front of nearly everyone she knew, and it didn't matter that Dicky boy had stepped in to defend her. The damage had already been done.

She cut another line quickly and neatly. She needed total oblivion tonight and she was determined to achieve it. If she was going to walk out there again and face everyone she needed all the Dutch courage she could get. She might be a piss head, she might be a prescription drug queen, but the great thing about it all was, with a few drinks inside her she could laugh about it, in a way she'd never manage if she was straight and sober.

Now that was a state of mind she hoped she never experienced again, because it was only the drink that kept her from jumping off the nearest bridge she could find. Drink problem, well fucking whoopee. For all their whispers, they were actually confusing her with someone who cared.

'Can we go home, Dad, please?'

Freddie shook his head. They were on the way to Paul and Liselle's. He had just received a call to say they were experiencing a soupçon of trouble from a local bully boy. His Roxanna had rung him, before it all got out of hand. She said that the usual faces were in there, but she felt he should come and have a look see. Freddie was annoyed now. Paul and Liselle were good people and he was not about to have them disturbed by what amounted to the equivalent of a fucking lager lout. A few of the local fucking ice creams had tried to get an in, and they had been sorely disappointed. So an event like this was not unheard of, though he would not normally deal with it personally. Any other time he would have made a call, he would have delegated the job out to a lesser person on the payroll.

He was good at that, delegating, but he had decided to sort this lot out for himself, to show willing, he supposed. The pub was Ozzy's and so he had to make sure the punters' nights were untouched by any kind of aggravation. They expected to drink in a trouble-free environment. He was also going there personally because he needed an excuse to delay his decision about his boy.

Without looking at his son, he said, 'I have to sort out a bit of business. Now just be quiet and let me concentrate on me driving, eh?'

Little Freddie was for the first time in his life unsure of what he was going to do. He had no remorse in him, he was incapable of it, but he was frightened of his father because this time he might actually put him away. The social worker had been harking on about it for ages, and he knew that one word from his dad and he was guaranteed a lock-up somewhere, without any chance of kiddie parole. It was his mother who was keeping the wolf from his door, and he made a point of keeping her sweet.

This man, though, his father, who walked in and out of his life at a whim, finally had him well and truly sussed out. For a moment there, Little Freddie had been convinced he was off to the land of the psychologists. Now, though, he had seen a little chink of light, and he was going to milk that for all it was worth.

He was learning the hard way that he had to keep on the right side of everyone, especially his father, and his days of saying and doing what he wanted were long gone. He had to keep a low profile, do what was expected and wait until he could safely and securely be himself to do what he wanted, when he wanted. And he was shrewd enough to know that even then he would need the protection of his family around him.

Since he could first understand his surroundings, he had known on some level that he was different. He had no real feelings for anything or anyone. He had thought his father was like him, but now he was not so sure.

Jimmy Junior had been a severe irritation for a long time, and he had been determined to rid himself of the boy's constant presence. He was disappointed in his father because he was only trying to emulate him. He had not wanted him to find out what he had done, but he had not expected his dad of all people to make such a song and dance about it.

Now it was all about damage limitation, as governments said when they fucked up big time. And he was more than aware that he had fucked up what had been a very relaxed and very protected lifestyle.

Damage limitation was definitely the order of the day.