Disordered Minds

before she went missing. Billy let her think I'm Cill by giving her the number of the last detective agency that came snooping, but the minute the Trevelyans see my photo, they'll tell her Priscilla Fletcher's Louise Burton. Then what are we going to do?'

He pushed his plate away and lit a cigarette before tilting his chair back and propping his feet on the table. 'More to the point, what are you going to do, my darlin'? I'm not the one pretending to be someone else. Maybe I'll just wash my hands of you the way I should have done the day you took my son to bed.' He blew a smoke ring into the air and watched it drift and expand toward the ceiling. 'What say I throw you to the wolves, eh?'

She moved behind him to rest her cheek against his hair and link her wrists over his chest. 'You'd never do it. Nick'd kill you first.'

He stroked the soft down of her forearm. 'Has he been hitting you again,' he asked, squinting up at her bruised lip, 'or was that for Billy's benefit?'

She smiled as she dropped a kiss on the top of his head. 'Billy's putty in my hands when he's feeling sorry for me. I always got more money if he told Dad I was being done over.'

Roy dropped his feet to the floor. 'What are you up to?'

'Nothing.'

He shook her off abruptly and stood up. 'I should never have helped you get off the white stuff. You were halfway controllable when you were stoned, a sodding nuisance since you started thinking for yourself. I wouldn't mind so much if you didn't have sawdust for brains. You act before you think, Cill, that's always been your trouble.' He moved away to put some distance between them.

'Don't call me that,' she said irritably. 'You know I hate it.'

Roy shrugged. 'It's what you've been called for most of your life.' He watched her expression sour. 'You're carrying too many ghosts, darlin'. They come back to haunt you every time you feel sorry for yourself. You should have kept your clothes on and left the lad alone, then maybe I wouldn't have been so keen to let Nick take his turn in the queue.'

She lifted her scarf to hide her mouth. It was an automatic gesture, learned from long experience of avoiding inquisitive eyes, but it was a waste of energy with some-one who knew her as well as Roy. 'Billy told me Mum's got religion,' she said with a sudden little giggle, 'and when he asked Dad why, Dad said she had things on her conscience. That's pretty funny, isn't it?'

Roy eyed her thoughtfully. 'What else did Billy say?'

'That George knows about the rape and thinks you and me had a baby when we were in our teens.' She flicked him a sly glance. 'She's confused because she thinks I'm Cill-which makes the kid the product of rape, and you its daddy.'

Roy's jaw tightened. 'And?'

'I told Billy he was your son by one of your tarts and I mothered him as best I could in the circumstances.'

'What circumstances?'

'That he took after his dad,' she said lightly. 'A highly sexed, out-of-control teen with a habit, who couldn't keep his hands to himself and ended up in prison.'

'My God!' he said with loathing. 'You really are a bitch, aren't you?'

She raised an indifferent shoulder. 'It's as near the truth as damn it.'

Roy had a momentary understanding that he had never controlled her-even when she was on her knees, begging for a hit-but the idea was too radical to hold for long. 'You're one sick bitch, Lou.'

She let the comment go. 'So what am I going to say to Billy? He'll come back, he always does.'

Roy squeezed out the glowing tip of his cigarette and let it drop to the floor. 'Not my problem,' he said harshly. 'You've brought this one on yourself. You should have left George to me, like I told you.'

Louise wrapped her thin arms around herself. 'Maybe I didn't want to,' she said, with a catch in her voice. 'Maybe I hoped she'd find out about Cill ... maybe I can't live with ghosts as easily as you can, Roy.'

He gave an angry laugh. 'Don't do this,' he warned. 'It might work on your brother but it never worked on me. There's the phone.' He jerked his chin toward a receiver on one of the worktops. 'Use it. Call her. See how well the damaged-little-girl act works on a woman. Better still, call the cops. If you're lucky, they won't believe you-' He broke off as she leaned forward to stare at the monitor. 'What's up?'

'You've got visitors,' she said in a remarkably steady voice, all pretense at sympathy-seeking forgotten.

He followed her gaze and saw George and Jonathan talking to the barmaid. 'Bloody hell!' he growled, as the girl lifted the trapdoor and gestured toward the kitchen. He manhandled Louise out of the door. 'Upstairs and stay put till I tell you,' he ordered, crushing her arm in an iron fist, 'because I'm warning you ... if Hughes catches even a glimpse of you, I'll drop you in it so fast your feet won't touch the ground.'

Louise glanced at him scornfully as she placed her foot on the first step.

*17*

THE CROWN AND FEATHERS, FRIAR ROAD, HIGHDOWN

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 2003, 7:35 P.M.