Pat Junior, on the other hand, loved having her home all the time. In fact, she felt his relief when the nights drew in because she realised just how much of a hold her mother had over her younger son. She was almost pleased to learn that the school felt pretty much the same way as she did about Lance. They told her that he was not a sociable child and she had smiled and interpreted the words as they were meant to be interpreted. He was a bully and, if his father had been anyone else, he would have been taken properly in hand. Pat Junior, God love him, had been pushed aside to make way for Lance, the golden boy, the child she knew Annie saw as her own. The child her mother seemed to think was more important than anyone else in the world.
Yet no matter what happened, Lil couldn't find it in her heart to push her mother away completely. Somehow she knew that the woman was experiencing love for the first time in her life and as she had such difficulty loving Lance herself, she knew she was guilty of letting her mother give it to him instead. Lance, God love him, gave her the creeps and the guilt she felt because of this was what kept her mother in her life. The new child would be born soon and she would reassess the situation then. At the moment though, she was tired and out of sorts. Lance and his problems would have to wait.
Annie placed a glass of milk beside her, and Lil smiled her thanks, noticing that her mother was being much more civil since Pat had taken her in hand.
The shriek that came from the bedroom brought both women running. It was high-pitched and terrifying; as they burst through the bedroom door they saw Lance cowering on the floor with Patrick leaning over him. It was a scene that neither mother or daughter had ever experienced before. Pat was always the peacemaker, the good boy. Annie immediately shot across the room and slapped Patrick hard across the face. Lil, for the first time in weeks, found the energy returning to her body. As heavy as she was with the pregnancy, she walked purposely over to her mother who was now kneeling on the lino hugging a screeching Lance and, taking back her fist, Lil slammed it with all her might into the side of her mother's head.
Lance screamed even louder and, without thinking, she slapped him too, a stinging blow across his face. 'Get out of my sight before I do for you, boy!'
Lil's voice was deep and resonant, the force of the words penetrated the child's brain and he ran from the room, the shock of the slap quieting him.
Lil pulled Patrick into her arms, hugging him to her. He still wasn't crying, even though the blow from her mother must have been painful.
'You and all, Mother, out.'
Annie looked into the face so like her own and knew that her reign in this house had come to an end. In just a few seconds all the good things she'd had whilst under her daughter's protection flew into her mind. Money, prestige, warmth and companionship. She would rather lick this bitch's boots than be parted from the child she adored.
'Calm yourself down, Lil, think of the baby.' Her voice was low, her face a travesty of hurt and sorrow.
'Get the fuck out of my house.' Lil was talking through her teeth, her anger causing her to pant, and it was this more than anything that warned Annie she was skating on very thin ice.
'I am sorry. Lil, will you please calm down, love?'
Annie was pulling herself up off the floor by leaning on Pat's bed, and Lil saw that she was a woman aged before her time, from her severe, pulled-back hair to the deep grooves around her eyes and mouth. She was mean; her eyes told the truth of her real feelings and, once more, Lil felt the urge to murder her where she stood.
'Go home, Mother, before I do something I regret.'
Annie walked slowly from the room then and Lil didn't expel the breath she was holding until she heard the front door downstairs close behind her.
Patrick stared up at her and said sadly, 'It weren't my fault, Mum.'
She squeezed him to her once more, realising how big he was growing and how sturdy he was.
'What did he do, Pat?'
'He hurt me, he grabbed me and he hurt me.'
He indicated his groin as he spoke and Lil didn't question what he said, as most women would after hearing that said about their child; she knew Pat Junior was telling the truth.
'Go and get yourself a treat and send your brother in.'
She sat herself on the bed and waited until her younger son slipped into the room. 'Why did you grab him there? What have you been told about that?'
He stared into her eyes and, for the first time ever, she saw wariness and fear.
'I didn't…' The whine was in his voice now. The poor-me whine that had Annie running around like a blue-arsed fly.
She pushed her face close to his and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. 'Don't you lie to me, boy. Now, get the belt.'
'Please, Mum, please.' He was shaking his head, the shock and terror evident from the whiteness of his face.
She slapped him once more across his cheek, the force snapping his head to the side with a sickening crunch. 'Get the belt, boy, and get it now.'
Lance stumbled from the room, his face already awash with tears.
She watched him go. He was heavier than Pat, similar-looking, but with a tendency to flabbiness. It was because her mother gave him whatever he asked for. Well, he was going to get what he was asking for today, she was determined on that much.
Pat was in Brixton. He pulled up outside a terraced house in Ballater Road and, before turning off the engine, he sat back on the plush leather seats and listened to the radio for a few minutes. He needed a second to calm himself down before he went inside.
The house was small, a three-bedroom semi, nothing to write home about; it blended in with the other dilapidated properties in the road. But Pat knew that inside this house was the information he needed.
As he walked up the small pathway, the door was discreetly opened by a tall black man with dreadlocks and bloodshot eyes. Spider Block was a mate, and they nodded to each other cautiously. 'He expecting you, man.'
Pat grinned then. 'He fucking better be, Spider.'
As Pat slipped inside the small hallway, he nodded a greeting to another large black man and walked straight into the parlour. The place was as dilapidated inside as it was on the outside. There were a few bits of furniture, no floor covering, not even linoleum; just brown tiles caked with years of grime and paint drips. The smell consisted mainly of Dwyer's body odour and mouse droppings; the decay and stench of neglect was a familiar odour to Patrick Brodie. It was what he had grown up with, and it was for that reason he loathed it so much. It reminded him of what he had come from, reminded him of the hunger and the despair that had spurred him on to make something of himself. He breathed it in deeply to make sure he never forgot it because if he ever did, he would be finished in his world and he knew that. These people smelt weakness like other people smelt their own shit; it wasn't nice, but it was a necessary part of life.