Josephine Flynn was absolutely devastated. Everything that she had been told about her daughter had hurt her like a physical blow.
‘Oh, Jessie, what possessed you? For fuck’s sake, have you no shame? Have you no fucking decency?’
Jessie laughed nastily. ‘Oh, have a day off, will you, Mum? Acting all fucking shocked. I might have fucked a few blokes but, in the grand scheme of things, that’s nothing really, is it? I never killed anyone, did I? I’ve never murdered anyone.’
Josephine stared at her lovely daughter; she saw the beauty she had inherited from herself, and she saw the coldness she had inherited from her father. Her Jessie was every bit as vicious as the man she seemed to hate so much.
Grabbing her daughter roughly by the hair, she forced her head back until she could look straight into her face. ‘Don’t you fucking dare try to bullshit me, lady. I’m warning you now, Jessie, don’t push me too far. I might seem like a fucking pushover, but I’m not. Far from it. We trusted you, lady. Whatever you might think of us, we trusted you. So the real world has finally arrived on your doorstep – get over it. But don’t you ever try and justify your own fuck-ups by blaming me and your dad. All we did was love you. We gave you the world, and don’t you ever forget that.’
She threw her daughter away from her angrily, watching as she fell to the floor, unable to find it in her heart to comfort her child and make it better. At this moment she hated her – hated her for what she had done to her father, to them all. Her daughter had chosen her own road, and it was a road that she would find very lonely, and very hard.
‘You broke your father’s heart, I hope you know that, and I’ll never forgive you for it. He loved you more than life itself. You stupid, stupid girl. You knew that we weren’t like other families – don’t pretend you didn’t. You knew all about us, I know you did, so stop trying to pretend different. Your nana Flynn made sure of that. I know she’s filled your head with her spite and her anger the last few months.’
Jessie pulled herself up slowly from the kitchen floor, grabbing at the black marble worktop to steady herself. She was in so much pain, hurting all over. She could see clumps of her hair on the flooring. That her mum could have attacked her like that was something she would never have believed possible. Even after everything that had happened, it was her mother’s anger that had really been the eye-opener for her. Her mother had always been the one person she had felt she could rely on no matter what. She knew now, though, that her mum would always put her father first – he was her only real interest. It was a learning curve all right. She could see the truth of everything her mother really stood for now, and it was just another let-down for her, just another lie they lived with.
She had been brought up to believe that her family were blessed, and lived so well because her father worked so hard. She had never questioned that – why would she? The man she had loved was a thug who used violence to earn a living. His lifestyle had nearly caused the death of her mother and herself, but no one seemed to think that was of any importance. Now her mother was actually trying to tell her that she was disappointed in her? That she was the one in the wrong? It was outrageous. How could her mother not see her point of view?
‘I saw everything that night, Mum. You with the shotgun, acting like fucking Calamity Jane. I saw everything that went on – I was watching. You hypocrites, telling me what to do all the time, watching me like a hawk, the good girl, the good daughter, pretending we were a normal family, when it was a lie. We could have died that night.’
‘But we didn’t, did we?’
Jessie sighed heavily, unable to believe her mother’s attitude.
Josephine poured herself a large glass of wine and, taking a long drink, she sat down at the kitchen table. Lighting a cigarette, she puffed on it for a while before saying sadly, ‘So you saw everything that night. I’m sorry, I really am. But you also saw a man murdered earlier tonight, a man you were sleeping with. Fifteen years old, and already a seasoned mistress! Yet that doesn’t seem to be bothering you too much – in fact, if it wasn’t for you, he would be alive and kicking, darling. So let me ask you this – how can you justify that? It seems to me you are more like your old man than you realise, lady.’