Yet she loved him, and in her own way she protected him, because he was hers, she had birthed him. He was her responsibility and, unlike her mother who had left her to her own devices, she was determined that none of her children would ever feel abandoned, unwanted or unloved. They were hers, and she would die for them.
As she bent to kiss Lance's head, his peculiar smell of baby sweat and urine once more made her shudder. She couldn't figure out why he made her feel so uncomfortable and the feelings that he engendered made her question her role as a mother.
Pat Junior was lying in the other bed smiling at her, and his smile lifted her heart. This was a child she could really love. He was happy, healthy and, unlike Lance, he talked to her and reacted with her. Lance said few words, and it wasn't because he couldn't, he just didn't want to.
'Night, Mum.'
She smiled at her eldest child, and her heart swelled with pride. His dark good looks and startling blue eyes mark a winning combination. He looked Irish, and he had the blarney, as Pat was always joking.
He was all for cuddling his sweet-smelling mother and she, as always, obliged.
'Off to sleep now, baby, and I'll bring you back a Caramac.'
He was thrilled, his sweets were assured and his eyes were already closing as she snuck from the room.
Annie was making a cup of tea and Lil, as always, felt the burden of her. She felt responsible for people, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that it wasn't her job. Her mother had treated her worse than a dog all her life. Pat questioned her about it constantly but, as she tried to explain, her mother was the only mother she was ever going to get. Like with Lance, no matter what she felt inside, they were her family and she would never ever let them down. No one really guessed about her feelings for her younger son and if it was left to her no one ever would.
As Annie laced her tea liberally with a bottle of Bushmills whiskey, Lil forced a smile and said gaily, 'I'm off, Mum.'
'You're looking more and more like the women you are supposed to be earning from.' It was supposed to be funny, but the underlying sarcasm was there all the same.
Lil looked into the faded eyes so like her own and felt a sudden urge to scream. She felt stifled, suffocated and, like Patrick Brodie, she wondered why she put herself through all this day after day. Her mother was like a snake, dripping her venom into her sons' ears. Guilt was a strange thing, a destructive thing.
As Lil walked from the house, the silence was deafening and the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken thoughts and unwanted emotions.
In the cool evening air, she was finally able to breathe easily once more. She gulped it into her lungs as if her life depended on it.
Ruby Tyler smiled at Pat as he looked over the club; he was searching for someone in particular though no one would have guessed that from his demeanour.
He saw Ruby's eyes on him and he wished he had not been so drunk the night before. Ruby had ambitions for the big time, and now she had serviced him she was expecting some kind of reward. She saw him as a step-up, as a wage packet for the foreseeable future. She was not, he realised, a woman who would be shrugged off easily; in fact, she was already looking decidedly piqued at his lack of interest in her. Ruby, unfortunately for them both, had a very high opinion of herself.
As Pat walked through the club into his small office, he knew she would not be far behind him.
He was pouring himself a Scotch when he heard her enter the room: the door closed quietly and he took a deep breath before saying, 'What can I do you for?'
As he turned to face her, he marvelled at the stupidity of women. Especially women like Ruby. She was a sort, an earner. That was her prerogative of course, but it was also a good reason for her to realise that he wouldn't be looking for a long relationship with her just because she had blown him off once.
Ruby, for her part, was well aware that she was a good-looking girl, but she also saw herself as a bit of a shrewdie. She thought she had enough nous and enough body to tame the wildest of men. Patrick Brodie was a prize by anyone's estimation and she saw herself as the new contender for his affections. He had a couple of kids with his wife so he must be getting bored, and he was a Face. In her book, he was in line for the full Ruby Tyler treatment. She wanted the notoriety that being his pull would bring, and she wanted an easy ride in the club as would be her right as his bird. Ruby saw herself as a realist: she knew he would never marry her, or live with her. She would be strictly his outside bird. And she was content with that and all it would bring her. He had singled her out, she had obliged and now she was determined to make the most of the opportunity he had afforded her. As she had remarked to her best friend, she was not letting this one go without a fucking good fight.
Patrick stared at her for long moments and she felt the sheer magnetism that dangerous men seemed to have in abundance. He was a handsome fuck, no doubt about that and, coupled with his rep and his financial status, he was the answer to every hostess's dreams. A man with a bit of clout was what she wanted; she had no interest in his loyalty, no interest in anything pertaining to him and his married life. Not yet anyway. All she wanted was a piece of the action, her fifteen minutes of fame.
'Well?'
His blue eyes were cold and for a split second she faltered.
She smiled then, showing her perfect teeth. Ruby had a lovely smile and she had paid a fortune to guarantee that it stayed that way. All her body maintenance was about the long term and making sure she didn't end up like her mother. Old before her time and acting twenty years older than she actually was because her life had ended abruptly with the unfortunate acceptance of a plain gold wedding band.
'Are you a bit fucking thick?'
Ruby stared at him, unsure what to say, the smile still on her thickly painted face.
He walked towards her: he wasn't rushing, he didn't seem angry so she wasn't too bothered until he grabbed her round the throat and pushed her up against the door. 'You listen to me and you listen good. If I ever see you within three foot of me again I'll break your fucking neck. Now, do you understand me or shall I tattoo it on your fucking fat arse?'
Pat's voice was low, and she realised then that she had completely misread the situation.
Ruby Tyler was now terrified of the man she had so recently seen as an easy mark.
He looked into her eyes and then, hawking deeply in his throat, he spat into her face. The globule of phlegm hit her on the cheek, the residue sprayed her eyes and she closed them instinctively, expecting the worst.
'You ever fucking come near me again, girl, and you'll regret it for the rest of your life. A blow job gains you nothing from me except my disgust. Now out! Get your coat and anything else you have here and don't come back, you hear me?'