Gabriella had been allowed to have them next weekend for a trial period, so Cynthia had until then to devise a plan to make sure that they never let her daughter within five foot of these kids in the future. She was doing this for the benefit of the children. At least that is what she told herself. Without her, the kids would not be able to cope, and Gabriella needed to accept that the children were no longer hers. The sooner she accepted that the better. She could start another family with that fucking oik Vincent O’Casey when they finally let him back out on the street but, as far as these two were concerned, there was no way Cynthia was giving them up.
Gabby spent the day cleaning and polishing the house; she had got in all the treats that kids loved, and she had rented a couple of Disney DVDs. Their rooms looked lovely, and she had also made sure she had lots of drawing paper for Cherie – she was showing a talent for art that made her really stand out at school. At least that’s what her mother told her anyway.
She sighed as she thought of her mother. Cynthia, she knew, loved the kids – it was in a way her only saving grace – but she had moved heaven and earth to stop Gabby, their own mother, from being any part of their lives. Gabby blamed herself of course. After Vincent had been captured yet again, and she had seen herself once more on her own with another child, she had hit rock bottom. Coming so quickly after her nana’s death, it had all but destroyed her. It had taken her three long years to get herself back on her feet, and she was determined to make sure that her children came back to her where they belonged. She had promised Vincent that she would get them back, and she intended to keep that promise. He had been a great help to her even though he was far away, and he gave her the confidence she needed to fight her mother. It was so hard fighting Cynthia because she always,
always,
seemed to be in the right.
Cynthia didn’t seem to be particularly worried about her daughter’s problems. She was so tied up with her grandchildren,
she didn’t have the time or inclination to care about her relationship with her own child – the very same child who had borne the only two people Cynthia loved. Gabby appreciated all that her mother had done, but then surely any mother would have done that for her daughter? So why couldn’t Cynthia go the whole hog, and let her have the kids back? Why was she so determined to make sure that they had the least possible contact with her? It felt personal, as if her mother was punishing her for wrongs, real or imagined.
When she had spoken to her psychiatrist, something he had said had rung very true with Gabby. ‘Psychopathic personalities can emulate the emotions and actions of the people around them, even though they could never experience those actual emotions for themselves.’ He had been talking about her brother but, for some reason, it had made her think of her mother. She had felt a deep disloyalty at that because, when all was said and done, her mother had stepped into the breech when she had been needed. But now she was no longer needed. It wasn’t as if Gabby would stop Cynthia seeing them ever again – she knew how close they were to their nanny. She could only dream that one day they would love
her
that much. But for now she would be content to be a part of their lives. She wanted them back home with her and, eventually, with their father Vincent. Her mother was making it all so difficult, and that was what hurt her the most.
Gabby could not even risk arguing with her – if she did, her mother told the social workers that she had been ‘aggressive’, that she had ‘frightened the children’ and, as the social workers knew that her children were not exactly enamoured of Gabby, she had to tread very carefully indeed. Cynthia was ruthless and she would do anything in her power to keep these kids as she was demonstrating daily. No one else knew exactly what her mother was really capable of – especially the goody two-shoes social workers. They thought she was wonderful; a fucking
martyr. Well, they obviously didn’t spend much time with her, or they would have seen her other side by now.
Thankfully Vincent would be back soon, and he would not take any nonsense from her mother or anybody else. She had that much to look forward to at least. Her mother was wary of her Vincent, and so she should be – he was stronger than she realised. Strong enough for both of them and together they would face her down once and for all.
Gabby glanced at the clock and stopped her cleaning; she had to be around her granddad’s at six to make sure he had something to eat, and have a bit of a chat with him. He was still missing her nana Mary and she knew that without her in his life he would just give up.
She would pop the kids round there – that’s what she would do. They could all stay there Saturday night, and it would give him a thrill to see them. He loved it when they came round, which wasn’t very often thanks to her mother. Her nana Mary had warned her years ago that Cynthia wanted her children. Gabby wished now that she had listened to her.
‘I love you too, Vincent. I’ll be up the weekend, OK?’ Gabby replaced the receiver and turned to Cherie and little Vince, who were looking at her as if waiting for her to do something. She had picked them up an hour ago from her mother’s – not that they had been very enthusiastic about coming with her. Now they both seemed so uncomfortable around her it was breaking her heart.
‘Did you like talking to your daddy?’ She had hoped it would be a treat for them to speak to him.
Cherie shrugged. ‘It was all right.’
‘He’ll be home soon, and you’ll be able to see him all the time.’
Cherie gazed at her with her big, wide-spaced blue eyes, and the expression in them told her that was
not
something she was looking forward to.
Smiling with difficulty, she said gaily, ‘So, what do you want to do?’
Cherie looked at her brother and they both said in unison, ‘Go home.’
Gabby swallowed her disappointment; she knew she had to give it time, once they realised they could have fun with her as well as their nanny they would come round. But she could feel the ache of tears in her eyes and throat. ‘Well, you can go,’ she
nearly said ‘home’, but quickly replaced it with, ‘back to Nanny’s soon. Now, who wants to go in the car?’ She knew little Vince would want that; he loved cars, he had inherited that from his father all right.
When they arrived at her granddad’s she saw Cherie sigh heavily. ‘I don’t like Great-Granddad Jack. He smells and so does his house.’
Gabby had had enough and, before she could stop herself, she said quietly but with emphasis, ‘You know that’s not true – that’s just what Nanny Cynthia says. My advice to you is get out of the car now, and keep your opinions to yourself in future. I really can’t believe some of the things you say, Cherie. You’re nine now, not four. Stop parroting my mother.’
‘I’m not parroting anyone. He smokes like you do and it stinks.’ She curled her lip in disdain as she spoke.
Gabby replied angrily, ‘Your nanny smokes.’
‘Not near us, she don’t. She knows it’s bad for us to breathe in all that crud and toxic fumes.’ The inference being that her mother didn’t care if she was poisoning them, because she didn’t care, period.
‘You keep your opinions to yourself, young lady. You are going in there and you are going to be a good girl. Do you hear me, madam? You will do what you are told for once in your life.’
If she had taken back her arm and beaten the child to the floor the effect could not have been more extreme. Cherie’s eyes filled with tears and she started to shake and, as Gabby looked at her in alarm, it brought back a memory. That was how her mother would act when she didn’t get what she wanted. She had seen her father buckle down at that stance, and she felt a chill of fear that this child was already too far gone from her. She emulated her nanny Cynthia in everything, and the poor thing believed that was right.
Gabby fought the panic she felt rising in her chest and, taking
little Vince out of his car seat, she said as nonchalantly as possible, ‘Now out of the car, and not another word, OK?’
She was dreading telling the child they were staying the night. Little Vince went into his great-granddad’s happily but Cherie trailed behind. It occurred to Gabby that she
had
done the right thing; she spent too much time trying to please the child when she should be making her see who was the parent.
Cynthia had got herself sorted early, and now she was ready to go. She wondered briefly if she was taking things too far, but she knew that if she didn’t go far enough, it would be overlooked. Gabriella was gradually winning the social workers round to her side and, if that happened, Cynthia would be left with nothing. Surely they could see how well those children had blossomed under her care? So what if she was the grandparent? Their own mother couldn’t have done a better job of raising them. In fact, she had all but deserted them and now Gabriella expected to walk in and take them back, as if all Cynthia had done was for nothing. The thought of those kids stuck in that place with her and Vincent made her blood boil. They would never have a chance at anything.
She understood then that she had to do what she had planned. It was for the good of the children and, at the end of the day, they were what really mattered. She would do anything, literally
anything,
to see that one day she would have them for ever. All she had needed was an opening and today it had come. She had had a phone call from her granddaughter saying that her mother was making them stay at her great-granddad Jack’s and she wanted to come home.
As she had spoken to the child, Cynthia knew this was the
perfect opportunity to prove her daughter’s uselessness as a parent. This was like a gift from the gods, and she intended to take full advantage of it.
Jack Callahan watched as his great-granddaughter turned her pretty little nose up at everything in his home. He was glad, for the first time, that Mary wasn’t here to witness this; it would have broken her heart. Cherie had been a sweet little thing when she was born, but now she was Cynthia’s spawn, there was no doubt of that. He was sorry that he could find nothing to like about the child – even her beauty wasn’t enough to make up for her natural air of superiority over everyone around. Like Cynthia before her, she already thought she was the dog’s gonads, and he was itching to put his hand across that spoilt face. The worst thing of all was seeing poor Gabby trying her hardest to win the spoilt little mare over and only managing to make the child respect her even less. It was obvious the child knew the state of play, and was happily making her poor mother jump through hoops.
The little boy, however, was too young for Cynthia to have done much damage. Either that or the lad had more of his father in him, and wasn’t so easily swayed. Jack hoped so, because if not, a few years down the line, there was going to be another troubled boy, like that fucking looney James Junior. Jack watched a lot of daytime TV these days and he knew all the psychobabble, and the words ‘mother-damaged’ always sprang to mind where that boy was concerned. Cynthia was like a
disease, a cancer which invaded everyone around her until they were all infected with her spite and hatred. Now Jack could see her all over again, reincarnated in this little girl before him. He wasn’t sure he could take it any more and his plea to her was heartfelt.
‘Please, Cherie, will you just for once stop your yammering! Let’s all sit together in peace.’
Little Vince was watching in fascination; he always did what his sister wanted – it was easier that way. But he didn’t want to watch a film about Barbie, he wanted to watch Buzz Lightyear. He liked him, he was funny. He wondered if his sister would get her own way – she usually did where their mummy was concerned. He liked his mummy, and he liked his great-granddad Jack, but he knew that his nanny Cynthia didn’t like them, so that could be difficult sometimes. He had learned at a young age never to let his feelings show; it caused too much trouble.
‘I don’t want to watch that film, it’s for boys.’
Jack decided he had really had enough of this one’s attitude. He leant forward from his armchair then, and said firmly, ‘Well, that’s what is known as tough shit.
I
want to watch Buzz Lightyear, so does your mum, and so does your brother. Look up the word “democracy” in your dictionary, love. It means that the people with the most votes win! Now, put a sock in it, and let’s get this show on the road.’
Vincent, thrilled at the turn of events, climbed on to his great-granddad’s lap happily. But his enjoyment was short-lived. As the film began, his sister unleashed a tantrum which was, without doubt, her biggest and loudest to date. In short, pandemonium broke out.
They were back at their mother’s by five past eight.
Cynthia was nervous, but she felt sure she was doing the right thing. She had everything she needed to hand and all she had to do now was wait until it was late enough, and she could put her plan into action. As she waited patiently until she could safely leave her flat, she daydreamed of the life she would have with the kids she adored. And adore them she did, especially her Cherie, but then her little Vincent, though she hated the name the child bore, had stolen her heart as only a boy can. When she recalled the way he would climb up on to her lap and put his chubby little arms around her neck, she felt justified what she was doing for them was right. Anyone would do the same to save their grandchildren from a life of misery and degradation, she was sure of that.