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‘Going with dirty girls makes you a dirty boy. My boy is better than that.’
Fifty-eight years later, any mention of Lillian still made his heart flutter. There would never be another.
Her own child, Hannah, then only two years old, had been screaming. In darkness and half asleep she’d staggered from her bedroom to comfort her. As the toddler’s wailing continued, she’d hurried along the landing before colliding with her drunk husband, Terry, at the top of the stairs. Just like back then, her heart quickened and the walls seemed to be closing in, showing no mercy. She wanted to fall to the floor and curl up in a ball, closing her eyes until it was all over and she could breathe again.
She was lonely – no, she was slowly dying inside, being eaten up by the secrets that were invading her new life, secrets she’d tried to bury.
The world wasn’t a good place. It wasn’t all roses, cake, parties and nice things. It was a dark place, a place that she’d yet to fathom.
But Terry had been bad from the start, and Gina had chosen to ignore the signs because she craved something from him: love, attention, self-esteem maybe.
‘A starving body equals a poor mind.’
