Jimmy Junior could have tied the bag himself, he was a bright little spark and Jimmy was trying to blame his boy for his own failings. They should never have left him with Lena and Joe. They were old, they weren't able enough for a lively kid like him.

He had taken his Little Freddie under his wing, and he was now of the opinion that the boy had been grievously maligned. He was only a kid, and he was now back on the happy pills and like a different person.

Jimmy, even allowing for his grief, was not making all this any easier with his fucking attitude. He was acting like he was something special, someone better than him. He was giving Freddie fucking orders as if he was a novice to the game.

It was an insult of momentous proportions. And Freddie Jackson, with his knack of rewriting history to his advantage and convincing himself that his was the true and accurate account of what happened, was once more after revenge.

Jackie was wearing a black skirt and jumper provided by Roxanna, who had also been over that morning to blow-dry her mother's hair. As Jackie applied her make-up, she wondered at the day that was overcast and chilly, and on which they would be burying a small child. It was unbelievable that such a tragic occurrence could hit their families. It must be doubly hard for Maggie, who had not expressed an interest in her child for three years. The guilt must be eating at her like a cancer.

Freddie was adamant that Little Fred must not go to the funeral, in fact, the child had been almost tied to the house. She was aware that his little cousin's death had hit him hard, and since it had happened he was a changed boy. Polite, friendly and almost annoying in his quest to be helpful and useful. It was as if he had been given a personality transplant.

Freddie had felt the change in his boy and they were now like that. She mentally crossed her fingers in her mind.

After the terrible events, Freddie had seemed pleased to see his son not only alive and well, but also trying to make up for his past behaviour. He was a model son now, and even the social workers had been amazed at his changed persona. Freddie made sure he took his pills every day as specified. She had never been able to get that child to take them, yet for Freddie he was as good as gold about it.

Freddie, though, had hardly been near poor Jimmy and Maggie, and that had confused her. Even though Maggie didn't want anyone round the house, and Jimmy said she was best left alone, Jackie had at least expected Freddie to be there for Jimmy. Yet from what she could make out he had basically left him to it.

When she had tried to discuss it with him, he had bitten her head off and the only thing she could deduce from his behaviour was that he was also grieving for the little boy. Freddie had always made such a song and dance about that child, and it had annoyed her because he had rarely done that with his own kids. She knew it had upset Maggie too, and she had seen her almost wince when Freddie had picked the child up and thrown him into the air. Jimmy Junior had screamed with laughter, and been thrilled at all the attention. Her own son had sat there watching the little display with his usual stoic demeanour, and she had felt Little Freddie was probably wishing his father had bothered to shower him with so much love and attention.

She had to admit, Jimmy Junior had been a lovely little kid. She conveniently forgot the times she had accused her sister of ruining the boy, had felt that her mother and father had preferred him to her son, had accused them in her drunkenness of favouritism and used any excuse to make out the child wasn't right.

Now she was the perfect sister, or at least she had tried to be, but even at this terrible time Maggie had not wanted to see her, and that had hurt.

The official story was that no one had been able to get across the doorstep, but she knew in her heart that the girls had been allowed access, especially her Rox, who was closer to Maggie than she had ever been to her own mother. Jackie swallowed down her anger at her thoughts, and then she gulped at her glass of vodka to calm her thoughts, and quickly washed down a few Valium before spraying herself with Giorgio perfume and slipping on her old black suede slingbacks. Her feet were spilling over the edges, but once she had worn them for a few minutes they moulded into her shape and were comfortable.

As her old Nan used to say, get yourself a good bed and a good pair of shoes, because if you ain't in one, you are in the other. Wise words.

She had also said many times, never drink to forget, because no one ever forgets the ramblings of a piss head. For Jackie, that had been proved to be true.

Maggie stared at the small white coffin and wondered at a God who could have given her a child in such terrible circumstances and had then seen fit to take him away from her. It was cold in the church, and she was aware that everyone was watching her as if waiting for her to do something.

All she wanted to do was die. How would her little Jimmy get on all alone? But then, he had been given plenty of practice at being alone, hadn't he? She had left him to his own devices enough times.

The pain hit her once more. It came in waves, washing over her like an icy wind, making her bones ache and her jaw numb. Maggie was freezing with pain, she was almost stiff with the cold knowledge of her son's death and the awful suspicion that this feeling inside her would never be eased, it would never get any better, that it could only get worse.

She felt suddenly as if she was floating up into the air, like she was suspended over the crowd of people all singing their hearts out.

She felt Jimmy grab her hand and squeeze it tightly, and she fought back the urge to snatch it away from him, make him stop this charade. She wanted to scream out the black, putrid hate that was building up inside her.

Freddie, she noticed, was not crying. Jackie was, a loud, heavy, liquid sound that made her want to retch. They were in the pew opposite them. It was Glenford who was sitting with them, and she knew that some people must have been questioning that fact.

Roxanna, who was sitting beside her father in a smart black two-piece that must have set her back a small fortune, was also crying, but her tears Maggie appreciated. Rox's tears were clean and salty looking, she even cried in a tidy, designer way. Dabbing at her eyes daintily with a snow-white handkerchief, unconsciously making sure her make-up wasn't ruined.

Dicky, the love of Rox's life, was sitting on her right side. He had a handsome profile. He was a good-looking man, and they would produce a lovely child. She envied them, not in a nasty, jealous way, but in a wistful way. She envied them their love and the newness of everything. She had been like that once with Jimmy, and she had believed, as they probably believed, that their life would be charmed somehow. That nothing bad could happen to them, that they were different to everyone else, their love could only bring them joy.

Of course life had a habit of kicking you squarely in the teeth, and she prayed that those two young lovers would not find that out for a long time.

Jimmy was shaking with his grief. He was sitting beside her with his head down and his shoulders hunched over, and she could almost feel his pain, it was so acute.

Yet she now felt nothing, she just wanted this over.

Behind her she could hear her mother sobbing and her father's inadequate words of comfort whispered in the quiet of the church. It was too little, too late.

She felt like screaming once more but she forced herself to keep quiet, forced herself to people-watch, to take her mind off her troubles.

Jackie was slumped in the pew. Her fat legs were crossed and her black skirt had ridden up over her knees to display varicose veins and milk bottle white calves that wouldn't have looked out of place on Geoff Capes.