The Runaway by Martina Cole Page B

overwhelming loneliness and defeat. He’d wanted life to be different for his son and now it looked as if it would be. For all the father had been a drunkard, a wastrel and a womaniser, he’d never actually resorted to criminal actions - well, no more than the odd bit of petty pilfering in the docks. Now, at sixteen, his son had launched into a criminal career by murdering a fellow teenager. And the killing wouldn’t stop there, he knew. From now on, Eamonn Junior would live like a villain and die a villain’s death. That was to be his destiny and nothing on God’s earth could save him from it.
     
    Madge was happy, which meant that her daughter should have been ecstatic. Instead Cathy was withdrawn and nervous. Watching the girl as she made them both tea and toast, Madge noticed the deep shadows under her eyes and the sunken cheeks.
    ‘Are you sure everything’s all right, love?’
    Cathy smiled gently. ‘For the millionth time, Mum, I’m all right. Stop questioning me. I’m just tired, that’s all.’
    ‘It’s Eamonn, ain’t it? This is something to do with him. He’s never been off the doorstep all week. Anyone would think you two were joined at the hip.’
    Cathy made an effort not to look in her mother’s direction, knowing that the shrewd blue eyes would immediately read the thoughts inside her head. Say what you liked about Madge Connor: she ignored her daughter shamelessly at times, but when she wanted to know something, she had a way of finding it out.
    ‘I don’t know what you mean, Mum. I’ve always seen a lot of him.’
    ‘Well, girl, you’re seeing too much of him for my liking. I know the score there so don’t try and give me any old fanny. If he topped Carter then he’s for the chop himself. Don’t get involved, love.’
    Cathy’s eyes flashed a steely blue as she turned on her mother. ‘What do you know about anything? He was with me, and if the filth come knocking on this door, I’ll tell them the same thing. Bloody hell, Mum, I expected it off everyone else but not you! He was the closest thing to a son you ever had. If it was his father in trouble you’d be moving heaven and earth to help him.’
    Madge sipped her tea and smiled, further irritating her already strung-out daughter. ‘His father, for all his bleeding faults, wouldn’t be in this kind of trouble, as you so nicely put it. That boy’s a natural villain. The sooner you accept that, the easier your life will be. Believe me, I know exactly what I’m talking about. He ain’t just a ducker and diver no more, love, he’s a face, and faces have a habit of getting kicked in round these parts. Just you bear that in mind. Everyone is for him at the moment but that could change overnight. You know what the East End’s like. That Carter boy was an Irish, and the Irish stick together. They ain’t like Londoners.’
    Cathy cracked her knuckles, a sure sign of agitation. ‘He’s an Irish and all, Mum, remember? You should do, you was trumping his father for long enough.’
    Madge grinned, her usual good humour coming to the fore. ‘We are getting on our high horse today, aren’t we, dearie? Who gives a fuck anyway? If the filth come snooping I’ll back the boy up and all, you know that. I just don’t want you getting too involved, love. I know I ain’t Mother of the Year, but I do care about you in me own way.’
    Cathy picked up her cup of tea and took a swig. ‘You’re a funny woman, Mum. I should hate you really. I do sometimes, but it never lasts. You always end up making me laugh. At times I feel like I’m the mum and you’re the kid.’
    Madge stared into her daughter’s lovely face and smiled, a real smile that softened her rough features and made her cheeks look round and rosy, her only Irish feature.
    ‘You’ve not had the greatest childhood, I understand that, love. But I am as I am. As me old mum used to say: “I’ll never change all the time I’ve got a hole in me arse.” But I just want you to