The Favourite Child by Freda Lightfoot Page A

drenched in fear.
    ‘Hello Jinnie girl. Long time no see.’
    Billy Quinn. He was lounging against the wall as if he’d known she would come, if he waited long enough. Happen he did know. Happen he’d been following her for days, just waiting for Saturday when the mill loosed early. A cold nub of fear churned in her stomach. If she’d waited an hour or two longer, till Edward had finished some accounts he was working on, she could’ve walked home with him. But she’d wanted to be one of the girls and now look what a pickle she’d put herself in as a result.
    ‘Hello Quinn,’ she said, praying the tremors inside weren’t revealing themselves in her voice.
    ‘Ye look well. In fact, I cannot recall ever seeing ye look better. Is it the new job that agrees with ye, or the company ye keep these days? Quite the swell, eh?’
    Jinnie decided that she’d no option but to brazen it out. She even managed the semblance of a smile. ‘I’m doing all right, thanks. And yerself’?’
    ‘Fair to middlin’, as you Lanky’s say.’ He had on his Saturday suit, a houndstooth check jacket and waistcoat over matching trousers, a white cotton muffler tucked into the collar. On his head he wore a slouch cap, tilted cheekily to one side, and the inevitable cigarette drooping from the corner of those full lips. Jinnie had forgotten how very good looking he was and for a moment her stomach clenched, remembering those nights when he’d instructed her in what he termed ‘the arts of satisfaction’. Billy Quinn never made the mistake of mentioning love. ‘It took me a while to work out where you’d gone. Haven’t seen you about for weeks.’
    ‘I’ve been ill.’ Jinnie could have kicked herself for owning up to even this much, in case he should start questioning what had caused the illness. But as he blithely continued, saying how sorry he’d been to hear of her loss, it soon became all too clear that it was too late to worry. He knew already. He must’ve got it out of Sadie. Jinnie didn’t care to consider how and felt even sicker at what this meant for her own future.
    ‘I’m wondering why ye didn’t think to come to me first,’ he mildly remarked, and Jinnie mumbled something about not wanting to trouble him but Quinn only laughed; a harsh grating sound that held not a scrap of humour in it. ‘T’would’ve been no trouble. No trouble at all. If ye’d explained how you were worried over having a babby, don’t ye think I would’ve taken care of ye better than daft Sadie? Tis a pity ye had such little faith in me that ye couldn’t mention such an important matter to me first. And now these secrets are making even more trouble, are they not? Tis a terrible mess ye’ve brought upon yerself.’
    Jinnie was shaking her head, the sickness now making her feel giddy and light-headed in her fear, quite unable to think straight. She longed to turn and run as fast as her skinny legs could carry her but knew they’d be nowhere near fast enough for the job, not to escape Billy Quinn. There wasn’t a person born could run that fast.
    As if to remind her of this fact he grasped her arm and twisted it up her back. ‘Ye weren’t thinking of running off again, were ye now?’
    Jinnie could hardly draw breath, let alone speak. One more tweak of her arm and she was sure it would come right out of its socket. She shook her head and with a little chuckle he released it. Jinnie gave a cry of pain as it fell to her side which only made him laugh all the more. Knocking her back against the wall he pushed one knee between her legs, rubbing it up hard against her groin. ‘We’ve had some fun, you and me. And I don’t easily let go of what’s rightly mine. Didn’t ye realise how much I’d miss ye, Jinnie lass? How much I’d need ye.’
    Jinnie began to whimper. ‘Let me go, Quinn. You don’t need me. I’m worth nowt. There’s plenty of women who’d give their right arm to be with you.’
    ‘Aye, but I don’t want plenty of