Bad Blood (Tales of the Notorious Hudson Family, Book 5)
Page 25
‘But it means you might go to prison for years, Nick – for something I did!’
‘No, you didn’t!’
Christine shook her head. ‘Stop it, Nick! Why do you keep on and on like that? You know I did!’
‘For fuck’s sake! Keep your voice down!’ he hissed at her, grabbing her hands and squeezing them. ‘Why do you keep on and on like this? I need to do this!’
Christine had never seen her brother cry, any more than she’d seen her mother, and she recoiled from it initially, because it was like the bottom falling out of her world. The way his handsome face contorted. The way his eyes became so glassy. The way all her security – all that was constant and safe, scant though it was – was suddenly, violently, stripped away.
He fought it. Like her mam did, he fought it with all his might. But it was too powerful and a racking sob escaped him. She glanced across at the nearest guard, but he was apparently unseeing. Completely passive. And it occurred to her that he must see so many tears shed by men here that one more weeping inmate was of no consequence. Either that or he was being respectful. She preferred that.
Her hands trapped, she couldn’t do anything but whisper, however. ‘Please don’t cry, Nick.’ She said the same thing over and over.
But still he cried, albeit quietly now, for a good minute and a half. Then he wiped his face on his sleeve, sniffed and sat back. Then again, forward. ‘Right,’ he said, his voice finally under control. ‘For the last time, here’s the thing. I have to do this. I’m not being a martyr, so you can shut the fuck up about that one. I’m doing it for me, right? So I can hold my head up when I’m out again. So I can clean up, get my life together, and lots of other worthy bollocks like that. But mostly I am doing it because I’ve fucked you up royally –’
‘Nick, you –’
‘Shut it. I’ve fucked you up royally. I’ve stood by and done nothing while you started on the drugs, I’ve stood by and done nothing when it all kicked off with Joey, I’ve stood by and done nothing while you bloody imploded – and if you think I’m going to stand there and watch you go to fucking prison as a consequence, then you are even more deranged than I shall convince whoever I need to if you say a single bloody word more about all this shit, okay?’
He took his hands off hers and moved them up to her cheeks. And she realised she had never felt so loved.
‘Okay?’ he said again. ‘You’ve got to promise me, here and now. This is the end of it. My sacrifice. My choice. My redemption. Now make it worth it, for fuck’s sake, sis. Get my nephew back.’
Chapter 29
Leeds Crown Court, 1 April 1982
Christine wasn’t sure if it had been the right thing to do, bringing her mam all the way on the train to Leeds for the hearing. It wasn’t that it was that cold, but she was so thin and frail now that she looked like a breeze could blow her away. Still, the fact that she’d insisted spoke volumes. As the nurse at the clinic had said – and she’d said it like she’d meant it – there was still plenty of life in the old girl yet.
But half the day had already passed, and Nicky hadn’t been up yet, so, with the court broken for lunch, they were now at a loose end – time they were filling by sitting on the low sandstone wall, smoking, till the solicitor came to get them to go back in again.
‘Only your Nick,’ Brian was saying. ‘Only your bloody brother could do that – could cop for a sentencing hearing on bleeding April Fools’ Day.’ He blew out an expert stream of smoke rings. ‘What a frigging plonker, eh?’
Christine nudged her mother. ‘Have you heard him, Mam? Talking about your son like that. I’d belt him, I would.’
She and Brian exchanged smiles, as her mam did as instructed – albeit weakly, with her not-at-all-hefty handbag. And Christine thought for the umpteenth time since she’d last seen her brother how, apart from whatever glimpse he got of her in court, the likelihood was that he’d never see his mother again. She’d already said she wouldn’t burden him with a prison visit. Was completely adamant, in fact. ‘What bleeding good is that going to do him?’ she’d pointed out, more than once. ‘Having a picture of me in his head looking like this?’
No, she was happy enough, she’d said, to come here, to be here, and to support him. Because that was what he’d want. For them to pull together for Joey now.
Not that her mam knew the whole truth. She was principally here knowing only the public version of it, and that was something Christine knew she’d have to learn to live with. All Lizzie knew was the version that had been read out in court the previous week, when her brother had been found guilty of manslaughter, with extenuating circumstances. How did she feel, right now, with it almost certain, given she wouldn’t visit him, that she was never going to see her son again?
Christine pinged her cigarette butt away, remembering she was giving up tomorrow. Actually, there were no ‘buts’ about it. Despite refusing a hospice place, on the grounds that ‘being with a bunch of dying people’ would finish her off for certain, Lizzie, in reality, only had weeks left, and was looking a couple of decades older now than she really was. People stared at her in the street now, which made Christine want to slap them. Like she was mutton dressed as lamb, that she’d been dieting too much. No one ever thought. That was the thing. That no one ever thought she might actually be dying. Or was it some weird denial thing humans had mastered – to not even think the ‘C’ word, let alone say it?
Her mam was shivering in the weak April sunshine. ‘You all right, Mam?’ Christine asked. ‘Do you want my cardi?’
‘I’m okay, love,’ she answered. ‘Just haven’t took my jungle juice this morning, have I?’
‘Jungle juice’ was what Lizzie affectionately called her morphine. She was on a self-administering dose, and it usually sent her off her head. Or ‘away with the fairies’, as she called it – somewhere Christine never wanted to be again. But today, understandably, she had wanted to be lucid, so despite the pain that must have been coursing through her body as a consequence, she had refused to take any meds today.
Brian nudged her out of her reverie. ‘Eh, up,’ he said, throwing his own cigarette away. Nicky’s solicitor had come out looking for them and was gesturing that they should return. The courts were back in session and it looked like he was first up. Please God, Christine prayed. Please God, let them be lenient. There wasn’t a day when Mally’s death didn’t sit like a stone in her gut, and the thought of her brother being incarcerated for years on top of that was almost unthinkable. But she had to brace herself, because the solicitor had predicted three or four years minimum. And there was nothing – absolutely nothing – she could do to change it.
But she could tell straight away that it might not be that bad, just by the expression on the presiding judge’s face. She couldn’t explain why, but as Brian linked hands with her, she felt hopeful. And, glancing across at Nicky – this new, bulked-up, straight-back-and-sides version of her brother, she felt it again.
And she’d been right. He was given two years. ‘It might have been shorter,’ explained the judge, looking regretful, ‘due to the unfortunate series of events leading to this man’s death.’ He turned to Nicky. ‘That is, had it not been for you already being on a probationary period when the incident took place.’
And Christine could see that, just like her, Nick was relieved rather than disappointed. But she reined in the beginnings of a relieved smile on her face. Mally was dead, she must never, would never, forget that. And, thanks to her brother, she had been given another chance at life. For Joey. And he’d given it to her willingly.
Their eyes briefly met as he was ushered from the box. ‘I’ll do it on my head, sis,’ he mouthed as he was led away.
It was only when they were out in the brightness of the spring afternoon that Christine set eyes on Carol Sloper. Slipping her hand out of Brian’s and unlinking her other arm from her mam, she hurried across the concourse to catch her.
She turned just as Christine caught her up. ‘Ah, t
here you are,’ she said, smiling. ‘Not too bad in the end, was it?’ Then she smiled. ‘I’m so glad, Christine, really I am.’
And Christine knew it to be true. Along with another truth that had been living with her since back in late January. That, in all likelihood, Carol Sloper knew of the real course of events that had led Nicky here. And though they never spoke of it, and probably never would now, Christine had this profound sense that Carol Sloper wasn’t her enemy. That, just like Nicky, she believed in redemption. She had also proved it. Had been tireless in helping Christine since. Drug and alcohol support programmes. Constant support. A kind of friendship. Mutual trust.
She’d even gone to Mr Weston down the market and got her her old job back.
And, despite her never quite allowing herself to believe it might happen, Christine and her mam were seeing Joey next week. Which meant nothing in the big scheme, but at the same time meant everything. It meant hope. She couldn’t wait to tell Nicky.
‘I didn’t realise you were coming today,’ Christine said now. ‘You should have said. You could have sat with us.’
Carol Sloper shook her head. ‘I hadn’t planned to. But it’s in the nature of my job that I spend rather more time down here than most. So, as I was here, I thought I might as well pop in and see. You’ll be relieved, I’ll bet.’ She looked back towards where Brian and Lizzie were waiting. ‘How’s Mum?’
‘A little weak today, but nothing a few doses of her jungle juice won’t be able to sort once we’re back. She’ll be fine for next week. Plenty of life in the old girl yet.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Carol said. ‘And now I’d better get off. And you’ll be wanting to see Nicky before he leaves, I imagine.’
Christine shook her head. ‘I’m going to see him once he’s settled in,’ she told her. ‘His call. And now we need to get Mam back.’
She looked back to where Bri and her mam were still standing, arms linked, by the low sandstone wall. She waved, and Brian looked at her the way he often did now. Funny how things worked out. Who’d have thought?
She set off, mentally correcting herself as she returned his shy smile.
Not ‘back’. What she should have said was home.
Acknowledgements
Forever grateful to the team at HarperCollins, who continue to have faith in the stories I have to tell. I’m also so thankful for my partner in crime, the lovely Lynne Barrett-Lee, who continues to make silk purses from sows’ ears without any complaints, and of course, as ever, I have to thank the UK’s leading literary agent, the wonderful Andrew Lownie – a true gentleman and a friend.
Also available in the Notorious Hudson Family series.
Tap here to buy the full eBook now.
Also available in the Notorious Hudson Family series.
Tap here to buy the full eBook now.
Also available in the Notorious Hudson Family series.
Tap here to buy the full eBook now.
Also available in the Notorious Hudson Family series.
Tap here to buy the full eBook now.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Poem
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Acknowledgements
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