Freddie walked into the bar and the first thing he saw was his girls surrounding their mother in a protective cocoon. After the revelation about his boy, he was pleased that they were such good girls, even poor old Kimberley was a diamond, problems or no problems. He saw how protective they were of Jackie and he was heartened to see it. She was going to need them in the future, he would lay his last pound on that.

As soon as he'd entered the pub he'd sensed that there was something drastically amiss, and he was right. Paul motioned with his head and he followed the direction of the man's eyes. What he saw put the seal on what had already been a strange few days.

Terry Baker, his one-time friend and the archenemy, was lying in a pool of blood by the back doors.

He had been dragged there by Paul and Dicky until such time as someone decided to take him to the hospital on their way home. Some of the regulars were debating on whether they should just dump him at the train station, always a good place to dump people, but seeing Freddie Jackson in the doorway they were saved from any more pointless conversation about it. He would sort it out, so they could get back to the serious business of the night, drinking and talking.

Mug bunnying was the order of the day, coke was dispensed liberally, and the tragedy that had befallen Jimmy was as good a topic of conversation as any.

Taking a drink from Liselle, Freddie walked over to his family and for the first time in years he was not scanning the room for strange. He noticed that his wife looked crestfallen and guessed that whatever had happened with Terry Baker had involved her in some way.

Looking at the girls he was reminded of how attractive they actually were. Even his Kimberley, who had been a big girl when she was young, now had a trim figure and a sweet, heart-shaped face like the other two.

He was told what had occurred quietly and succinctly, and he amazed everyone once more by shaking Dicky's hand, thanking him, and not bothering to go over and finish the job young Dicky had started. Pat had received nothing more than a curt nod and this everyone knew must have been annoying for her. Freddie didn't even look at her after that, he had other things on his mind-Terry was unconscious now, and that was how he would stay until he was delivered back into the outside world. 'What a ponce, eh? You all right, Jack, you OK?' Jackie looked at this husband of hers in speechless shock. He was genuinely concerned. Young Dicky was also amazed and he could see that Rox was thrilled by the reception he had received from her father.

Freddie had just finished his drink when young Freddie knocked on the doors to be admitted, and there was nothing his father could do to stop him. Jackie, full of her own self-pity and still smarting from the insults she had received, hugged her son to her tightly. For once in his life, he was quite happy to let her.

The girls made a fuss of him, pleased he was on his best behaviour, and he was all smiles and big eyes as he charmed them.

Freddie watched him closely as he interacted with his family, aware that his son was sensible enough to know that he was going to need all the friends he could get.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Maggie had hardly spoken to anyone since she had woken up in the hospital with her head heavy from the drugs used to calm her and her whole being numb with shock. She had left with her husband the next morning with a prescription for the tablets that had kept her from feeling anything too acute. And since then she had just gone through the motions.

She was pale and she looked delicate. Other than that she was her usual pretty self, but all the happiness had gone from her face. She looked tired out, sad-eyed, and she was acting almost normally except she barely uttered a word.

Her hair was perfect, and her clothes were, as always, immaculate, and she even cooked a meal for Jimmy as she had always done.

Jimmy watched his wife now as she made coffee for him, and observed her as she laid out a tray, with a plate of biscuits, a napkin and a small coffee pot. The caterers were working around her. She had not even acknowledged their presence, but he knew she was aware of them. He had been relieved when he had seen her dressed in black. He had been dreading having to force her to go to the child's funeral.

She filled the little white china pot with coffee, and she wiped the sides delicately before placing it on the tray once more. It was like a work of art, and he had no stomach for it.

She had a knack for making things look smart, stylish, she always had done. Their homes, even the little rabbit hutch they had first owned, had looked like something from a magazine. Now this house, which had finally become like the home he had always dreamed of, the house that had finally rung with the sound of childish laughter, was suddenly like a mausoleum.

He couldn't bring himself to go in the boy's bedroom. He knew that Maggie did, he had listened to her sob there in the night, the only time he had observed a proper reaction from her. When he had gone in there, though, she had pushed him away. She wanted to be alone with her grief and her hurt.

But he couldn't bear it. He knew he was not ready to see all the paraphernalia that constituted a child's life, the toys, the little slippers, the trains that had been painted on the walls so carefully.

He had gone to get a plate from the kitchen the day before and he had picked up his Jimmy's Thomas the Tank Engine bowl and he had stood there, in the huge room with its Aga and its American-style fridge and cried his eyes out.

When did the pain stop?

Maybe today, once the funeral was over, he would finally be able to make some sense of it.

Jimmy could hear the tables being erected in his front room, knew they would be covered in white damask and that the food would be exemplary. It was the least he could do for his boy's send-off.

The place would be packed out, and he just wanted the whole thing over with so he could grieve in peace.

Freddie was already dressed in his funeral garb and having a drink with Paul in the pub. Even Paul had noticed that Jimmy was blanking him, and any sympathy Freddie had felt was all but gone now. He knew that Jimmy was treating him as if he was a nothing, a no one, a fucking ice cream.

Jimmy had not returned any of his calls, he had not tried to contact him about work, he was getting what amounted to orders from Paul here, who was now a fucking go-between, and he knew Paul felt this himself. Was obviously wondering what the score was.

Freddie was fuming now, absolutely fuming. He was back to his old self. He had tried being the nice guy, and what had it got him? A fucking humungous mugging off, that's what, and he was not standing for it. Jimmy Junior's death was terrible, but his boy wasn't going to take the fucking fall for it. He had slung Little Freddie back on his pills, and he was making sure the fucker took them this time, but at the end of the day, whatever had happened in that room, Freddie felt that Jimmy should respect him and all he had stood for over the years no matter what.

The old animosity was back, and Freddie was annoyed with himself over his weakness and the fact that Jimmy had used it to take advantage of him. Well, he had learned a lesson here. He had nearly turned his back on his son, and for what? For whom? A man he had raised from the fucking gutter and who had slipped in like a snake and taken all that, by rights, should have been his.

He had seen the change in his boy. He was adamant he had not taken part in what had happened, and Joe had admitted to Freddie that he had not actually seen Little Freddie go into the kid's room that night. So he had nothing really to go on, they had just assumed it was his Freddie. He had, in effect, allowed Jimmy to cloud his judgement.