Maggie Jamieson Crime Thriller. Noelle Holten

in her eyes. She had wanted to say goodbye to him before her granddad arrived. Lucy suspected Patrick was at the pub or avoiding Becky’s parents. She reached into her handbag, digging her mobile out to text Patrick and see if he’d be back in time.

      Lucy held Siobhan’s hand and they both headed to the living room, waiting for Patrick to answer. Siobhan turned on the television and flicked through the channels. Fifteen minutes had passed and still no response; she had no doubt then that he was at the pub. She turned to Siobhan and placed her hands gently on the child’s shoulders.

      ‘Looks like Daddy is at an important meeting, sweetheart, so I doubt he’ll be back in time. Let’s make you a quick snack and get your things together.’ She couldn’t bear to see Siobhan’s trembling lip and hated lying to her.

      As she wiped the crumbs leftover from Siobhan’s cake, Lucy heard the familiar chug of Ed’s car pulling up in the drive. She waited for the billow of smoke from his exhaust to clear before she opened the door. ‘Siobhan, your grandad’s here. Grab your stuff and come give me a hug.’

      Siobhan raced down the stairs with her weekend bag dragging behind her.

      ‘Love you, little one.’

      ‘Love you too, Lucy.’

      Lucy gave Ed a wave and watched as they left.

      The house was quiet when Siobhan was away. Patrick’s son, Rory, sometimes came around, but they didn’t speak much.

      Rory had found Patrick online through Facebook. The pair had been reunited six or seven months earlier and had since been making up for lost time. Rory was fifteen years old now and mature for his age. Lucy had occasionally noticed a flash of Rory’s temper. Given his age though, that wasn’t unusual. She only hoped he didn’t end up like his father.

      With the house to herself, Lucy struggled with deciding what she wanted to do. She found it difficult to relax when he was out, because she spent the whole time worrying what sort of mood he’d come back in. She almost wished he’d been at home, passed out drunk when she got back today. That way she could sneak past him quietly and make her way upstairs to the spare room, which she’d turned into a mini library.

      Lucy loved her little haven. She’d sit on the futon she’d brought when they had first moved in to the house together. Patrick hadn’t always been a monster. Life with him had started out pretty good. For the two years of dating, they’d had some amazing times – in fact, when looking back Lucy realized that most of those times he hadn’t drank any alcohol, at least not in front of her. Lucy held on to the belief that deep down, Patrick had a good heart.

      Of course, the whole Mr Nice Guy routine soon changed after they moved in together. At first, he’d have a few cans of lager after work. Nothing wrong with that. After all, he’d spend eight to twelve hours a day on building sites and just wanted to unwind a bit. Then the little sarcastic jibes started, which Lucy initially laughed off – he didn’t mean that, she thought. He’s obviously had a stressful day.

      It was when Patrick lost his job and couldn’t keep any of the other jobs he managed to lie his way into, that the worst of it started. Life, for them, soon went from bad to worse. With Patrick slowly slipping into a depression and alcohol becoming his solace, it quickly became Lucy’s worst nightmare.

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

      Shell Baker could always be found surrounded by men at one of the pubs in Markston. Most people who had grown up on the estates knew Shell. Her beauty made women jealous and her personality attracted men like moths to a flame.

      The minute he walked in the door, Shell was intrigued. She had heard of Patrick Quinn and wondered if he really was as bad as everyone made him out to be.

      He smiled at her as he made his way towards the bar. ‘What are you drinking, love?’

      She had to admit, he had a certain charm.

      ‘Don’t you think you’d better introduce yourself first, love? I don’t take drinks from strangers.’ He seemed surprised by her straight-talking, but she liked the sound of his laugh.

      ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, the name’s Patrick – you going to share yours now?’

      Shell was no fool. This guy was clearly a charmer, but a free drink didn’t mean she had to marry him, so why not.

      ‘Shell.’ She stuck out her hand ‘Pleased to meet you, Patrick. I’ll have a cider and black.’

      She’d seen Patrick at the pub before. Although he hadn’t grown up in the area, there were only a few pubs in Markston and most people knew the regulars. Shell didn’t like much of what everybody said about Patrick, but she always believed in giving people a fair shake.

      Of course, Shell was no angel either. If Patrick messed her about, he’d regret it.

      Patrick told Shell that he needed a break from home and the banter flowed easily between them.

      ‘So, why are you here talking to me if you have a wife and daughter at home?’ Shell said.

      ‘Lucy doesn’t get me. She’s controlling and always complaining. I can’t talk to anyone or go anywhere without getting the third fucking degree.’

      Shell wasn’t convinced. He didn’t strike her as a man who would let someone control him. He oozed confidence and had a slight arrogance about him.

      ‘Why do you put up with that shit, then? I’d be out of there like a shot if anyone tried that with me!’

      Patrick didn’t answer right away. He looked as if he was thinking carefully.

      ‘Not sure, if I’m honest. Been thinking about leaving her, but I have my kids to worry about too.’

      Kids? ‘I thought you said you had a daughter. What do you mean by kids? She ain’t pregnant, is she?’

      ‘No. No. No. I have a son, he just turned fifteen but lives with his mother. I was with his mother before Becky, Siobhan’s mum.’

      ‘Oh, right. I see. Well, if she’s like that with you, what’s she like with the kids … especially when you’re not around?’

      ‘Hmmm. I see your point. I never thought about that.’

      ‘Where’s your daughter’s mother then? She still in the picture?’

      A strange look came over Patrick’s face. ‘She’s probably in a psycho ward! She’s a raging alcoholic who fucked anything that gave her the slightest bit of attention.’

      Shell wondered if Patrick could sense her surprise at his outburst.

      ‘Look. I’m sorry if that came out a bit harsh. Siobhan’s mum has problems. She needs help. She’s a violent, aggressive drunk, and I worried she’d hurt my little girl. Not sure what happened to her before she met me, but it made her drink herself stupid nearly every day. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just upped and left.’

      ‘You left your daughter with her?’ Shell’s mouth gaped open and she inched away.

      ‘No. I took Siobhan with me and rang social services. I explained why I took Siobhan; they came, did their assessments, and the courts gave me custody. I would never leave my kid in a situation like that. What do you take me for? Sorry, I guess you don’t really know me so that was a fair comment.’

      Shell was beginning to warm to this guy. As well as being good-looking, with his cheeky smile, Patrick gave off all the signs of a decent, caring father. Someone with a troubled past who was doing their best. Shell could relate to that. She fidgeted in her seat with embarrassment at jumping to the wrong conclusion. Her hand went to Patrick’s and she gave it a squeeze.

      ‘Oh God, that sounds like an awful situation. Thank Christ you had the sense to get your