The Ladykiller by Martina Cole Page B

With the Christmas rush, we just don’t stop. I never even had my coffee break today. Mr Williams the manager said I was doing very well indeed, though.’
    She put on a very posh voice for the last part and Kate and Evelyn laughed. Kate broke off some more soda bread and mopped up the gravy on her plate.
    ‘Shall I run you a nice bath, Mum? I got some bath crystals from the Body Shop last week. It’s the aromatherapy range. They’re lavender and supposed to make you relax.’
    ‘That would be gorgeous. Today has been pretty hectic.’
    Lizzy went from the room and Kate and her mother smiled at one another.
    ‘Sure, she’s a good girl, Katie. That fellow’s been ringing her again. I think it’s love.’
    Kate lit herself a cigarette from her mother’s pack and pushed her plate away from her.
    ‘Well, she’s young, the boys are bound to be after her.’
    ‘True, Katie, but I worry about her. I don’t think she realises the effect she has on them, you know.’
    ‘That’s part of her charm, I think. We’ll keep an eye on her.’
    ‘That we will. Now you smoke your fag while I clear this lot away. You’ll need all the sleep you can get, I’m thinking.’
    Kate grinned again. Her mother was not happy unless she was looking after someone. Over the last sixteen years, Kate did not know what she would have done without her.
    Going up to the bathroom a little while later, she lay in the steaming and fragrant water. She had been working for sixteen hours non-stop. She had seen a woman practically dismembered on a mortuary slab, had set up an incident room, and had organised over thirty policemen and women for the door to door inquiry. She had at her fingertips information about anyone and everyone.
    Yet her mother still made her feel like a child. And after a day like this, it felt good.

    George lay in bed with Elaine. He listened to her deep snores and smiled into the darkness. Every time he thought of Geraldine O’Leary he felt great.
    Once more he replayed in his mind what he had done. He took himself through the act step by step, congratulating himself on his cleverness.
    Then he frowned.
    Into his mind’s eye came pictures of his mother. He wiped his hand across his face in the darkness as if that would erase them. He saw his mother as she had been when he was a child. Her bright red hair, naturally red not dyed like Elaine’s, was shining in the sunlight. Her sea green eyes were sparkling mischievously, and George could see himself smiling back at her. He could see the room: the cast-iron fireplace with the dried flowers in the hearth, the Victorian prints on the flock wallpaper and the black leather Chesterfield. He could also see the pipe and the bag and the china bowl.
    George tried to shut out the images but they were too strong. He lay in bed and watched.
    ‘Come to Mummy, Georgie boy.’ Her voice was a caress. She held out her arms to the little boy in front of her. In the distance Georgie could hear the sounds of the anti-aircraft fire. He stood silently in front of her.
    She spoke again, her voice harder this time.
    ‘I said, come to Mummy, Georgie.’
    The little boy looked at the doorway and his mother laughed.
    ‘Come in, kids!’ Her voice was loud.
    George looked at the doorway with frightened eyes. He watched his elder sister and brother come into the room.
    ‘Lie on the floor, Georgie boy.’
    The child shook his head and began to edge his way backwards. He watched his mother’s red-lipsticked mouth twist into an ugly shape.
    ‘Don’t annoy Mummy, Georgie. Just lie on the floor.’
    The child watched the others make a semicircle around him. His elder brother Joseph was so close he could smell the odour of bull’s eyes coming from him.
    He closed his eyes at the inevitable. She had already given them the sweets. They would want this over with as quickly as possible. He felt the familiar sensation of ice water in his bowels as the older children pulled him to the ground. He felt a