Jail Bird

her face and staring at her mother through a haze of rage.

‘I hate you,’ she gasped out. ‘You bloody bitch.’

And that was enough for Lily. She left the room, ran up the stairs, flung herself into the room where she’d been sleeping, threw herself on the bed. Then, and only then, did she allow herself to weep.

36

Jase knew he’d made a mistake taking Oli back to his flat after that meeting with Si. He wasn’t in the mood for shagging, not after that. Wasn’t in the mood for anything much, really, except possibly getting rat-arsed on his own. Should have gone off down the gym, done a few bench presses, worked it off.

‘What’s wrong?’ she kept asking him.

Oh nothing, except that your fucking uncle has fired me, after all the effort I put in with you, you cow.

Well, he couldn’t say that. But by God he thought it. And when Oli started in again with the oh-what’s-wrong crap, is it something I said, are you okay, all that…well, he’d lost it slightly, just for an instant, and given her a sharp one across the chops.

Damned steroids, he was going to have to cut back on them one of these days; he was always pumped up and roaring, an aggressive outburst just this far away. So he’d lost it with Oli.

Not that it mattered much now. All his plans were in the shit-heap anyway. He was crazy-mad about it. Oli should have had the sense to leave him the fuck alone, not go whining on about didn’t he love her any more, all that jazz, when he was trying to think of a way out, trying to dream up another scheme.

She stood there in the little kitchen of his flat, her hand to her reddening face, and stared at him.

‘Sorry,’ he’d said straight away, but she’d just gone on standing there, staring.

So he’d belted her one. So what? Nothing to make a big deal over. It was a one-off. He’d been pushed past his limits by that bastard Si King.

Oli left shortly after that. He thought he’d maybe got away with it—she was mad for him, after all. Then he went down to the gym—where he should have gone in the first place. He lifted the weights again, again, again, muscles straining and bulging, sweat streaming from him like a river; and he thought: Fuck this. That door’s mine. I’m going to take it back. You see if I don’t.

And then he thought of Freddy King saying, Do Lily King. Jase paused, eyes widening.

Do Lily King.

Please Freddy and you’d please Si too. Maybe if he did that, like Freddy had asked him to, then maybe he could start to get everything back on track. Yeah, it would be sweet. That’s what he would do.

He would kill Lily King.

Oli couldn’t believe that Jase had hit her. She couldn’t believe it, and yet she couldn’t really say that it had surprised her that much. Jase had changed over the last few months. He had become steadily more aggressive, with a shorter and shorter fuse. She didn’t like it. That wasn’t her Jase, the one she knew and loved. She thought that…well, she suspected that maybe he was on something. Some drug or other. She knew he’d once smoked a little weed, didn’t everyone? And then he’d stopped the weed, and before she knew it he was down the pub every night, drinking ten pints and a couple of shorts besides, and what good was that for him? She’d made it clear to him that she was not pleased about that. That he’d ruin his health.

‘Darlin’, you want me to stop the drinking, I’ll stop,’ said Jase, the old Jase, the one she adored.

Not knowing, of course, that Jase had to keep her sweet if his plans were ever going to bear fruit.

Oli knew he had his faults. But he was always trying to please her; she loved him for that. So he went on the health kick, always down the gym, toning up, bulking up, he seemed to expand in size almost overnight, his neck thickening, his arms growing dense with muscles, his thighs as big around as her waist. Could that be right?

‘I’m taking a few isotonic drinks, that’s all,’ he shrugged when she questioned him about it.

Oli didn’t think isotonic drinks would bulk anyone up as fast as that, or make them so…well, so damned aggressive. She suspected Jase was taking steroids to build up all that muscle. She didn’t question him any more about it. But when he stood there sulkily in his little kitchen, clearly upset, she’d asked him had she done something wrong, what was it?

And then…then he’d hit her. Not hard. But hard enough. Her front teeth had mashed against her lip and her lip had bled a little.

This was Jase who’d done this.

Oh, he’d apologized. But so what? It was done. She reeled out of his flat and sat in her car, shivering and crying. Finally, she’d steadied down enough to drive herself home. Only to find that Saz was back, raging about how could she have allowed all this to happen, how could Oli have let that woman back in their home, and what was wrong with her mouth, it was bleeding, didn’t she realize?

Oli said nothing. She just went to bed, and lay there in the dark with her lip hurting and her eyes wide open, picturing Jase, Jase who she loved so much, Jase who had hit her. Somehow, eventually, she fell asleep.

37

Some evenings there was ‘free association’ for the lags, a real luxury. Lily and Mercy would wander around the wing, chat to people, shower, read papers. Lily became a bit of a gym bunny, worked off some of her frustration that way, but more often she’d just sit and watch some TV with Mercy.

‘You killed your old man,’ said Mercy while they slumped there, inert.

‘Yeah,’ said Lily.

She had long since stopped protesting her innocence. And she had learned that her reputation as a killer gave her a certain kudos inside; it made others keep their distance. She wasn’t about to let that small advantage go, not even in a private conversation with a friend.

‘And you got kids with the man,’ said Mercy.

‘Yeah. Two girls.’ Lily showed Mercy the photo of her and Oli and Saz; all together, grinning happily. Leo had been behind the camera. She’d shown Mercy the picture before. This was a little ritual of theirs; it comforted them both.

Mercy looked at it. ‘They’re so beautiful. I got kids too, you know.’

‘Yeah, you said.’

Lily glanced at Mercy. Tears were snaking down her cheeks, dripping off her chin.

Lily reached out and squeezed her hand.

There was nothing she could say that would make Mercy hurt less, nothing at all.

38

‘Jesus! Your lip’s cut, Oli. What happened?’ asked Lily the next morning.

She’d made some phone calls and had been sitting in the kitchen alone, enjoying—or trying to—a solitary cup of coffee, and wondering what the hell else was going to kick off today. She’d slept badly again; the dreams still plagued her and she wondered if they always would. Then Oli walked in, her hair wild and her eyes looking as if she hadn’t slept in a month. She was wearing dungarees and a flowery top—and her lip was cut.

Lily started off her stool, alarmed. Oli made calm down motions with her hands, and helped herself to a coffee.

‘I fell over on the driveway,’ she said with a half-smile. The smile quickly became a grimace as a spasm of