Freddie was more than aware of his failings, and he wanted to put this night, and this son, as far away from him as he could, but he was responsible for Little Freddie.
He knew he should do what he had promised, but it was easier said than done. This was his legal flesh and blood, and he wasn't so sure he could dump him now.
It wasn't just his face and the fear it was displaying, though. He could feel the genuine terror coming off his only son in waves. It was also because Little Freddie was his only son, and he knew how it felt to be ignored, knew how it felt to be unwanted, seen as nothing more than a bind. Freddie's mother too had used him and made him the be all and end all of her married life. Like Jackie, Maddie had known that his father would have gone on the trot. It had been left to Freddie to make sure he finally did the right thing, and he had. Freddie had been there for his father from the beginning to the end of his chequered and pointless life.
So he wasn't sure he could turn this child away now the anger had subsided and the knee-jerk reaction of earlier in the day had all but worn off.
He had a duty to his only son. He should be standing by him, trying to make sense of what had happened and try to stop it happening ever again.
He wanted to wash his hands of Little Freddie and punish him for his actions, and until now he had been determined to do just that. But now, looking at him and seeing the child's deep unhappiness he really was not so sure he should give up on him. Jimmy Junior was gone, but this boy was still here.
His mobile went off and cursing silently to himself he answered it.
Lena and Joe had come back to the hospital because they didn't really know what else to do. They felt so guilty, so responsible. Their daughter was prostrate with grief and they decided they should be beside her no matter what.
Joe, especially, felt the full force of what had happened. He felt it so acutely that he wondered if he would survive this feeling he was carrying around in his chest like a lead weight. It wasn't just that the boy had died, it was also because he knew it was not the accident everyone thought it was.
He should have opened his mouth as soon as he had realised what had really gone on. That mad bastard Freddie had finally killed someone, and he had killed the dearest, the most important person in their lives.
But, for all that, and as big a fucker as that child was, Joe's natural loyalty made him unsure about bringing this into the public domain. Little Freddie was his flesh and blood, and Joe was also worried about Jackie's reaction.
In his heart he was worried about Freddie knowing the score, though he was even more worried about Maggie finding out. It would bring his whole family down in an instant.
He also knew, or rather guessed, that Jimmy knew far more about this than he was letting on. So he sat with his wife and son-in-law by the bedside of his lovely daughter, who he knew would never recover from this tragedy.
Jackie snorted her line of coke, sniffing noisily as she brought the white powder through her nose and into the back of her throat. The bitter taste made her gag but she brought her head forward and sniffed loudly once more to make sure she got the full monty inside her head. Then she looked into the dirty mirror that adorned the wall of the pub toilet and for the first time in years saw herself as others saw her.
She was yellow, not yet jaundiced, but well on her way. 'Sallow skinned' was how her mother described her.
Her hair was lank and greasy, her eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and her body was aching and bloated. She had waited for her Freddie, and she had longed for her Freddie, and when he had finally emerged from his prison cell he had looked younger than ever and fitter than ever.
That was when she had really needed a drink.
Deep inside, her condition frightened her, but like many an alcoholic before her, until the symptoms were up and running and kicking her arse she would ignore them. What else could she do? Drink made the days bearable and the nights pass.
Freddie didn't want her, he wanted the Pats of this world and the young girls, and she couldn't compete with them. She was too far gone now. Since Kimberley's birth she had been ruined. Her belly was saggy and she was marked all over. Even the backs of her knees and the backs of her arms had been stretched. The little confidence she had possessed had deserted her like her husband had.
Jackie hadn't had the advice that was given out these days – use a lotion, don't put on too much weight. She had been told she was eating for two! No one was expected to look like a fucking beauty queen when they were in the club, no one had told you then how to avoid the wrecking of your body. Magazines were not read for those kind of tips. She had only ever bought True Crime, sometimes a Woman's Own. When the recipes had been the hook, and she had not even known about healthy eating until it was all too late.
The first birth had ruined her all right, and when you had someone like Freddie, you were more than aware that there were trollops lining up to be on his arm, the villain's arm. Freddie, like most of his counterparts, needed the approbation those girls afforded him, needed to be seen with those young girls. Her father had been the same, but in a much smaller league of course.
Freddie had broken her heart and she had never recovered from it.
So stopping drinking was not an option for her. With a few drinks inside her, she could pretend her life was great, convince herself that her husband loved her really, and with a few shots in the morning her hands stopped shaking long enough for her to light a cigarette.
It was so easy for everyone else to condemn her, talk about her drink problem. Especially her girls, who were still relative virgins where men were concerned and still believed in happy ever after. But they would learn, as all women learned eventually. Life took its toll on women far quicker than it did on the men.
Jackie had a few drinks because without the crutch of alcohol, her life and all it entailed absolutely terrified her. It had helped her sleep when Freddie had been banged up, when the utter loneliness had been more than she could bear. A couple of shots had brightened her day when the pressure of being alone with three kids had been so intense, and the need of her husband had been so acute, she had felt as if she would die from the want of him.
When a man was sentenced to prison, the judge, the lawyers, barristers, whoever was involved in the court process, never realised that a whole family was often sentenced along with them. The bad man was put away, and so he should be, he had broken the law. Society could sleep easier at night, but what about the mothers and the wives and the kids that were left behind, mourning someone they loved who was gone for a lifetime, but who was not dead? What about the love they had for them? The person being accused in the courts was often like a stranger to their family members, and was often made to look far worse than they actually were by over-zealous policemen and the Crown Prosecution Service. So the family didn't think that justice had actually been done, because they missed the person they knew, the person who had loved them, and who they loved in return, the person who had always stood by them, or who had walked the floor with them when they were babies, sat beside them when they were ill. Loved them whatever.
No one thought of people like her, whose whole life was over in minutes because of a jury verdict, who had two little girls and a belly full of arms and legs when her husband had been placed so far away from her. Who had been left on her own and without any kind of support whatsoever. Who had given birth alone, and with tears running down her face because the baby would not see her father for months, and could only be parented from afar, on visits, and by a man who she didn't know from Adam. So a drink had been her salvation in the end, had been the one thing that could stop the ache inside her and ensure she slept at night.