Free The Villain’s Daughter by Roberta Kray Page B

Danny advanced on him again, a new, even more violent pain spread suddenly through Albert’s chest. With a choking sound, he jerked back and crumpled. He could feel his knees buckling as he slowly collapsed on to the floor. The room was starting to dissolve.
    Danny Street leaned over, his eyes wild and angry. He began to shake him. ‘What are you doing? Wake up, you fuckin’ bastard! Wake up!’

Chapter Ten
    Iris unlocked the door and stepped into the flat. It was dark and silent. She flicked on the light in the hall. No Luke. He was late home again. Was she relieved or resentful? A bit of both, she decided, as she went through to the kitchen and plucked the bottle of brandy from the cupboard. She didn’t usually drink spirits, but this counted as medicinal; her teeth were still chattering from the cold.
    She took a hefty gulp, screwing up her face as the strong brandy slid down her throat. Then she poured another stiff measure into a glass. She felt utterly deflated. Jenks had raised her hopes before cruelly dashing them again. Sitting down, she placed her elbows on the table, closed her eyes and groaned. Why hadn’t he shown up? Perhaps Chris Street had been right: Jenks wasn’t all there. But, on the other hand, he was ‘there’ enough to know that her father was missing.
    The phone began to ring. Thinking it could be him, she leapt up and snatched the phone from the cradle. ‘Hello?’
    Her mother’s voice floated down the line. ‘Hello, darling.’
    Of course it wasn’t Jenks. He didn’t even have her number. Iris tried to hide her disappointment. ‘Hi, Mum. How are you?’
    ‘I’m all right. What’s wrong?’
    ‘Why should anything be wrong?’
    But Kathleen O’Donnell had a sixth sense for trouble, especially when it came to her daughter. ‘Is it Luke?’
    ‘No, it’s nothing to do with Luke. I was just . . . just thinking about something.’ She paused, but decided there wasn’t any point in lying. ‘Well, about Dad, actually.’
    ‘Oh.’
    Iris could tell from her tone that she wasn’t best pleased about the subject matter. Wincing, she sat down again and took a swig from the glass. She tried to think of a diplomatic way of putting it, but couldn’t come up with one. ‘Why do you think he disappeared? ’
    Kathleen gave an exasperated sigh. ‘He didn’t disappear, darling. There wasn’t anything mysterious about it. We split up. He simply packed his bags and left.’
    ‘And never came back.’
    ‘No,’ she said shortly.
    ‘Except people don’t just do that, Mum.’ Even as she said it, Iris knew it wasn’t true. Every year thousands of people walked out of their homes never to be seen again. But she didn’t want her dad to be one of them. She couldn’t bear the thought of it. ‘There’s more to it than that. There has to be.’
    ‘Why do you want to dig all this up again, Iris?’
    But Iris didn’t see it as digging. She hated the expression. She had a right to know the truth, didn’t she? ‘Was he in some kind of trouble?’
    There was a brief hesitation followed by a laugh that sounded false. ‘For heaven’s sake! What are you talking about?’ Her voice grew tighter. ‘Has Michael been saying something?’
    ‘No, he hasn’t.’ Iris raised her eyes to the ceiling. Her mother, for reasons she had yet to fathom, didn’t like Michael O’Donnell and was never slow in sharing the fact. ‘Why should he?’
    ‘Because I know what he’s like. He’s full of tall stories. You can’t believe a word he says. I hope he hasn’t been—’
    ‘He hasn’t,’ Iris said swiftly, not wanting to add to the ill feeling her mother already harboured. ‘This has nothing to do with Michael.’
    ‘Someone’s been putting ideas into your head.’
    Iris thought of the old man in the grubby raincoat. ‘No one,’ she lied. ‘I’ve just been wondering why you’re so sure that he’s . . . that he’s dead.’
    There was a long pause and then her mother’s voice grew softer.