‘I know. But I hate having to fight for my freedom, Mum.’
Josephine laughed delightedly at her daughter’s dejected countenance. She was a real drama queen, a natural actress.
‘Look, darling, if it was left to your father you’d never leave the fucking house. I’ve told you before, the best way to manage him is to let him think he is in control.’
Jessie rolled her big blue eyes with annoyance. ‘I’m nearly fifteen, Mum, I’m not a child any more.’
Josephine pushed her away gently. ‘Well, the jury’s still out on that one, mate. Have a good night.’
She watched her daughter as she climbed into her uncle Declan’s Mercedes. As she waved her off she felt a stab of fear. Jessie looked eighteen even without any make-up on – she was her daughter all right. Done up she looked like a grown woman. But she wasn’t, that was the trouble. She was twenty-five in her body, but still a child in her mind. Older men looked at her with interest, and why wouldn’t they? She didn’t look like a schoolgirl; she had ripened far too early, bless her heart. It was a godsend that she was Michael Flynn’s daughter, that alone gave her the protection most girls of her age didn’t have. She was a beautiful girl, and that wasn’t a mother talking. Her Jessie was a true stunner, in every way that counted for this generation.
She went back into the kitchen, prepared for the fact that her mother was going to give her an earful about why Jessie should never be allowed out without a chaperone. Her mum worried about Jessie looking so much older than her years, and she did too. But, by the same token, her Jessie had her head screwed on. It was strange because Jessie was much closer to Michael’s mum than hers. Who would ever have thought that? Hannah seemed to understand her granddaughter in a way that Lana couldn’t comprehend. If she didn’t know better, she might actually think her own mother didn’t like her only grandchild. Lana always seemed to be finding fault with her. It hurt Josephine because her Jessie was a good kid, but all Lana saw was the girl’s appearance, and she seemed to insinuate that Jessie being well-developed was a black mark against her somehow. It wasn’t something that anyone could have prevented. Nature had endowed her daughter with good looks, a great figure and a bone structure to die for. She was a sensible girl, who had never given them a day’s worry, and that was the most important thing as far as Josephine was concerned.
Lana was still fuming at being called an old bitch. ‘Did you hear the way she spoke to me, Josephine? Who does she think she is? You need to put a stop to that fucker’s gallop, I’m telling you.’
Josephine looked at her mother, saw the way she was bristling with indignation, determined to make her point about her only grandchild, and suddenly she heard herself bellowing loudly, ‘Oh, Mum, will you give it a rest, for fuck’s sake? She’s fourteen years old! Get off her back, and give her a chance.’
‘You let her get away with murder. You are making a rod for your own back, madam.’
Josephine was trying hard to keep a lid on her anger. ‘Do you know what, Mum? Jessie is a fucking good kid, she does well at school, she goes to Mass without a fight, she helps out around the house. She never pushes her luck. She is my baby and, unlike you, I don’t look for flaws, or weaknesses. She’s still a kid, Mum, so let her be one while she has the chance.’
Lana sighed. She couldn’t help it but she didn’t like the child – didn’t trust her. She was still waters, deeper than the ocean, that fucker. She would be proved right eventually. She loved her granddaughter – of course she did – but there was no liking there. Jessie Flynn was so selfish, so arrogant, so self-assured it was sickening to witness. She wouldn’t be a kid for long. Already she knew too much. She had never understood the word no but, then again, she had never heard it. Everything she had ever wanted, she had been given. Michael would pluck the moon out of the sky if she asked him to. She was the only child, late arriving, and she was treated like fucking royalty. But she was also sneaky. Even as a little kid she had known she possessed the upper hand in the relationship with her parents. She was an accident waiting to happen, she would not toe the line for much longer, Lana would put money on that.
She looked at her daughter, who she loved with a vengeance and, modulating her voice, she said carefully, ‘All I’m saying, Josephine, is she plays you like a fucking banjo.’