Blood Sisters: Part 2 of 3: Can a pledge made for life endure beyond death?
It’s 1983 and best friends Vicky and Lucy swear that they will always be there for each other, that they’ll never let anyone come between them. But fast forward 4 years and life on the Canterbury Estate has gotten very messy.Lucy has fallen for local policeman’s son, Jimmy. And Vicky is madly in love with Paddy, the charming but ruthless local bad boy. The boys are bitter enemies and determined to keep the two girls apart. But then Vicky is accused of murder, and even her drug-dealer boyfriend wants her mouth shut, permanently. Maybe Lucy is the only one who can save her…Love, murder, revenge. Who can you really trust when there’s blood on your hands?
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Certain details in this book, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
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First published by HarperElement 2017
FIRST EDITION
© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2017
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Cover photographs © Alexander Vinogradov/Trevillion Images (posed by model); Paul Gooney/Arcangel (street scene)
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Source ISBN: 9780008142797
Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008142766
Version: 2018-09-13
Contents
Vicky looked down at the blue line on the stick in her hand and stared. It was a busy Thursday, and she was already a good ten minutes late for work. But, though she knew that, she couldn’t move: she was transfixed.
In the fairy-tale scenario she’d fashioned for herself, the baby had been conceived on a Monday. The Monday night before Paddy had been led away and taken off to prison, which made it a child that would be born of love. Of commitment, and passion, and also of promises. That they would love one another always. That they would always be together. That she would wait for him, like a wife torn from her husband by war. That he would do right by her. Return to her. Stay with her.
She had walked home on the Sunday morning, carrying her slingbacks by their straps, having borrowed a pair of Lucy’s old pumps. And despite her assurances to her friend that she was done with him completely, she’d still felt a pang when Lucy told her he’d come to find her, and a similar rush of unwelcome emotion as she rounded her corner to see his Capri parked outside.
She tried to steel herself, even so, calling to mind – which wasn’t hard – what she’d seen in the nightclub, with Lacey. And, as she approached, she was heartened to see that he’d not ventured into the house. It would make it all the easier to tell him to sling his hook.
She saw him first, walking silently in the old Dunlop plimsolls, and, as always happened (and perhaps always would, more was the pity), she felt the fluttering of butterflies in her gut.
He was half-sitting, half-standing on their gate, smoking a cigarette in the watery sunshine. He was so beautiful, she thought, even though she didn’t want to think it. And she wondered just how he would cope if – when – he got incarcerated. She’d heard the stories. And she’d seen documentaries on the telly, too. He was a good-looking man – but only just a man, really. In prison terms, eighteen was no age at all, was it? Yes, a world away from sixteen – to Vicky, Paddy was a man through and through. But in prison … She shuddered. There would be men in prison – older, harder, stronger men in prison – who’d feel the same attraction to Paddy as she did.
And when he saw her – when he turned to flick his spent cigarette into the kerb – that sense of his vulnerability was even stronger. Just his face, his swollen cheek, his look of shame, his look of love, were sufficient to make her completely rethink her decision, and consider going with her feelings after all.
But she held firm. There was too much pain and anguish to bear. She stopped on the pavement, and nodded towards the car. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. So, please, just go away, Paddy, and leave me alone.’
She was surprised by the calm way she’d managed to get the words out. And mindful, which made her resolve that bit stronger, that what Lucy had said about her naivety wasn’t true. She had been here before. She might be here again. Probably would be, if she didn’t end it now.
‘Vic, babe, please,’ he began, opening his walnut-brown arms out to her.
She walked around them, eyes down, and started up her path.
‘Please, Vic. I love you. Vic, please hear me out.’
She ignored this as well, and reached into her handbag for her key.
But it was her mother who opened the front door.
She heard Paddy mouth ‘Fuck’.
Vicky took in the sight. The haystack hair. The old trackies. The frayed jumper. But her mam looked reasonably sober, which was something, at least. But she shouted at Paddy, even so.
