Wishing and Hoping by Mia Dolan

and a good Catholic, they determined she would be a good and uncomplaining wife for their legitimate son. It had all gone well at first; Roberto Camilleri had been enamoured of her and she’d been attracted to him.
    As big a criminal as his father, he’d seemed at first to be a charming rogue, a ladies’ man, but he really had wanted a wife with an unblemished reputation. Unfortunately when he found out that she had a kid out of wedlock his attitude had changed.
    Marcie still shivered at the thought of the day he took her for a drive in the country. She’d never told him about Joanna, safely at home on the Isle of Sheppey with her grandmother. Thanks to a bitter ex-friend, Roberto had found out her secret. Not a word was said about it on that drive until she saw the walls of the home for unmarried mothers looming up in front of them. She’d denied nothing, and after that his mood had become violent. He’d raped her. How could anyone say they loved somebody if they could do that? And then he’d acted as if they could still carry on. He’d wanted her to give up Joanna. She’d refused, but he’d kept on at her, insistent that she would change her mind. Roberto Camilleri was used to having his own way.
    It was Michael who had sorted things out; Michael who had caused his half-brother and his father to be arrested. Roberto had ended up in prison. Victor was out and, although he hadn’t exactly vowed revenge on his son, Michael was wary and keeping his distance.
    If it hadn’t been for friends like Sally and Allegra – both of whom had been with her at Pilemarsh, the Salvation Army home for unmarried mothers – shedidn’t know what she would have done, gone back to Sheppey probably. And then there was Michael. For his sake as much as for her thriving little business, she’d stayed in London. Marriage to him had seemed a natural progression. She was happy with him and happier still when Aran had come along. Perhaps it was her own happiness with her life and family that made her so angry with her father.
    â€˜I think my father’s got a fancy woman. Have you heard anything?’
    She directed her question at Allegra who shook her head. ‘I am no longer part of the nightclub scene, Marcie, so in all honesty, I wouldn’t know. What makes you think that?’
    Marcie began unwrapping some material samples sent to her by an East End fabric merchant.
    â€˜Oh. Just something my stepmother said. He’s not going home much. The kids are missing him.’
    She had no intention of describing her stepmother’s outburst. Much as she disliked Babs, her words had not fallen on deaf ears. She knew her father too well.
    â€˜Perhaps he has just been working too hard,’ said Allegra.
    Her beautiful dark eyes looked trusting, as though no man could possibly behave like that. Since when had she changed, and why haven’t I noticed before? thought Marcie.
    Sally looked up and laughed. ‘Rubbish. That’s the way he is. He’s that sort of bloke. A lot of blokes are like that. It’s the chase that matters and as long as the wife is at home playing mother bleedin’ hen, they consider it all right for them to be out chasing spring chickens – even though they ain’t one themselves. And being involved in nightclubs don’t help. Think of it as a playground for men or the kid in the sweetshop. They’re surrounded with the stuff of their dreams, only in their case it isn’t chocolate or pear drops, it’s sexy girls taking their clothes off. It’s bound to get to them sooner or later.’
    Sally said all this whilst playing horsey with Joanna. The voluptuous blonde who stripped off for a living was on all fours while Joanna sat astride her back shouting, ‘Giddy-up, Auntie Sally.’
    Allegra had picked up Aran and was humming a lullaby while smiling down into his sleeping face. Looking at her now, it was hard to