You had to feel sorry for the charmless little bastard, really. Jill often did feel sorry for Harlan, very sorry indeed, because she didn’t think Nula had ever been any great shakes as a mother, not even when she was right in the head, which she most certainly wasn’t, not any more. The stress of losing Jake had unhinged her and she’d been in and out of the funny farm half a dozen times since, getting treatment. And Harlan had Charlie for a dad, the poor kid. She guessed that Charlie would be OK with a loud kid such as himself, but Harlan? No way would they ever get on.
Jill often wondered why Charlie and Nula had adopted a boy like Harlan in the first place. Surely there would have been others more suitable? They’d got him as a boy, but surely a small baby would have been a better choice?
Now she was watching all the teenagers as they played by the pool at the back of Charlie and Nula’s place. Milly was sitting apart from the others, reading a book, her glasses slipping down her big nose. And Harlan . . . well, if Milly would never win a popularity contest, neither would he. Harlan was a misfit. And as for Belle . . . her lovely daughter was growing up fast. Jill thought that Belle was going to break a lot of hearts. Maybe she would be a model, or an actress. She was good-looking enough to do anything she damned well liked. Jill herself was pretty – but she knew that Belle was one step on from that.
Jill didn’t like Harlan at all. He gazed at Belle all the time, like she was an ornament, a trophy, something fascinating and priceless that he would like to own. Jill had been aware of Harlan’s fixation with Belle, right from the very first moment they met. But now Belle was blossoming into young adulthood and the problem was more acute. She spoke to Terry about it.
‘Don’t worry,’ Terry told her. ‘I had a word with him. He’ll keep clear now.’
But having had bitter experience with the Stone men, Jill was doubtful. Milly sometimes asked for Belle to come over to the main house for sleepovers, but Jill would never allow that. Truth was, she felt that the house where Nula and Charlie lived was cursed, tainted by the awful memory of baby Jake’s death and then by Nula’s depressive illness. And maybe a curse was all they, all any of them, deserved. Oh, Belle and Milly still knew nothing about the business. Nor would they ever. Everyone was agreed on that. But Harlan was of an age now where Charlie would want to include him, to train him up to one day take over both the legitimate business and the illegal one. It was a sick, evil trade. They dealt in death. They imported it, made it at the crack factories all around the East End, then they supplied it, sold it to deadbeats on the streets who sold it on again, to kids, to drifters, to bored businessmen and aristos, to people who could one day find themselves hooked and with no chance of ever getting free from the hell Charlie and his crew had introduced them to.
Sometimes Jill wept, full of disgust and fear over the path they’d all come down. How had they come so far from the life where they had grown up hopeful, feeling that the future was full of promise? Jill didn’t feel that way any more. She hadn’t felt like that ever since that time Charlie Stone had decided it was his right to rape her. She lived her life in constant fear for all of her family, and these days, whenever Charlie showed up, she made sure she kept out of his way. Because it was him, wasn’t it. That loud repulsive bastard. He had led them all into this life. Like the devil tempting Jesus he had said, Look, all this could be yours . . . just do this.
And Terry had done it; everything and anything Charlie asked, Terry did. Terry was – even now – Charlie’s man, one hundred per cent. That male bond was strong, far stronger even than the one Terry had with his own wife. Jill and Nula had followed on behind their menfolk, not questioning anything. Seduced by living the high life. Living it large. They’d never, ever asked any questions. But bad things had happened. Horrible things. And she just knew there was worse to come.
A yell went up, startling Jill from her thoughts. Harlan was standing by the deep end of the pool and Nipper was thrashing about in the water. Milly looked up from her sunbed, gave a smirk and then returned to her book. Jill hurried over.
‘He fell in,’ said Harlan with a shrug.
‘He bloody didn’t,’ said Belle, running up in her tiny pink bikini.
Jill felt uneasy, looking at her. Belle had budding breasts and hips that were beginning to curve into the shape of a woman. Jill realized she was going to have to have a talk with her daughter about covering up more when it wasn’t just family. Soon. But then – even fully clothed in her plain grey school uniform or in riding jodhpurs, Belle still looked like jailbait.
‘You pushed him,’ said Belle.
‘Snitch,’ said Harlan, his smile widening to a grin as he saw Belle’s temper.
‘You did. I saw you,’ insisted Belle.
‘Oh for God’s—’ started Jill, then she jumped into the pool and caught hold of Nipper, who was panicking and out of his depth. ‘It’s OK, I’ve got you,’ she said, and hauled him to the edge.
‘I’m OK,’ he said, scrambling out, snatching up a towel and starting to rub himself dry.
‘Course he is. Aintcha, mate?’ Harlan slapped his follower on the shoulder.
‘You’re such a dick,’ said Belle.
Harlan just kept smiling.