‘You know what, Lils? You still look bloody good.’ Then she grinned. ‘Forty’s the new twenty, y’know.’
Lily sighed. She’d always looked younger than her years. ‘I’m not forty yet. Not till next April.’
‘Mine hits next June,’ said Becks. ‘Scary, or what?’
Silence.
Then Lily said: ‘Si and Maeve. They still living with the girls at The Fort?’
Becks shook her head. ‘When Oli turned eighteen back in February, they moved out–back to their own place just up the road. The girls are still there, though.’ Becks felt uncomfortable talking about this. Lily had lost her home. A con couldn’t profit from their crime, so her share of the house–which would have been the full share had Leo died peacefully in his bed–had passed into a trust for the girls, administered by Leo’s brother Si and his wife Maeve, who were appointed trustees and guardians of the girls by the courts.
Lily sipped her wine, but it tasted sour to her now. She was remembering all those frantic, tearful times when she had phoned out from prison. The very first time she had phoned The Fort, thinking that the cleaner or someone would pick up, Si had answered the phone, told her to fuck off, and put the phone down on her.
Becks was darting furtive looks at Lily.
‘Now what?’ Lily asked.
Becks shook her head. ‘No, it don’t matter.’
‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Becks, spit it out,’ sighed Lily. She looked tired all of a sudden, tired and irritable.
Becks sighed. She knew she ought to listen more to Joe and what he told her. Joe was the epitome of sensible. For instance, he’d kicked off about Lily coming here, but Becks had insisted. And now she could see the error of her ways, because with Lily in such close proximity she found that she just couldn’t keep this huge secret from her. It wasn’t fair. Lily had been through enough.
She couldn’t help remembering Lily standing there outside the prison gates, looking lost, her eyes blank, her expression hopeless. Her old mate, Lily. She’d stuck with her, because for God’s sake this was Lily. They’d known each other all their lives. And if Lily–of all people–had blown Leo away, then she must have been goaded beyond all reason. So she owed the poor cow the truth, at least. Didn’t she?
‘I wasn’t supposed to tell you,’ said Becks.
‘Tell me what?’ asked Lily.
‘About Saz’s wedding.’
‘You what?’ Lily shot upright, slopping wine over the arm of the chair.
Saz! Her baby girl. She hadn’t seen her or heard a word from her in twelve years. And now…
‘Wedding? What the fuck’re you talking about?’
‘She’s getting married. Tomorrow. And I’m not supposed to tell you that, you didn’t hear that from me, okay?’
Lily sat there, gobsmacked. When she had last seen Saz, she had been nine years old. Now she was twenty-one. A fully grown woman. And she was getting married. Her eldest daughter. Her lovely girl.
‘Where?’ asked Lily. ‘What time?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Becks, shaking her head. ‘No, Lils. Don’t even think about it. The King boys see you within ten miles of that, they’ll go apeshit.’
‘There’s nothing in my licence that says I can’t contact the girls–or anyone else, come to that.’
‘No! Lils, don’t. The Kings…’
‘Hey,’ said Lily with sudden sharpness, ‘I’m a King. Remember?’
Becks was taken aback. The Lily she’d known had never snapped like that. I guess becoming a murderess changes a person, she thought with a shudder. And what the hell was she doing, helping a murderess out like this? Joe was right. She was mental to get involved. And now she’d opened her fat gob and put her foot straight in it. As usual.
‘Freddy King said he’d kill you if he ever clapped eyes on you again,’ Becks reminded her. ‘He was outside the sodding jail, Lils. Think about this. He drove all that way and waited, just so that he could scare you.’
Freddy was hot-headed and stupid, Lily had always thought that. Not like Si. Si was a thinker. Leo had been smart too–but not, as it turned out, quite smart enough.
‘Freddy King’s full of crap,’ said Lily.
‘He’ll do for you if you go there,’ warned Becks seriously.
Lily shrugged and glugged back the last of the wine. She turned and looked Becks dead in the eye. ‘Like I care,’ she said. ‘And Becks…?’
‘What?’
‘I didn’t kill Leo.’
Becks gulped. ‘You what?’
‘I didn’t kill him. I know you all thought I did. Everyone did. Including the police who investigated the case. Including the judge. No one bought that shit about him beating me up and me killing him being justifiable. People knew he was screwing Adrienne Thomson. They were convinced I cracked and killed him for it. But I didn’t.’
Becks took a long swallow of her wine. She needed it. Was Lily bullshitting her? But why would she do that? She’d done her time, what would it profit her to start spinning fairy tales?
‘So who the hell…?’ she asked Lily.
Lily shrugged. ‘Dunno,’ she said.
She looked straight at Becks and Becks felt dread take hold of her. ‘But I’m going to start with Adrienne. She was all over Leo’s bits like a dose of the clap, ever since school days. She was Matt Thomson’s missus, but he didn’t do it for her, did he? We all knew that. Apart from firing blanks, poor bastard, she went round telling everyone he had a tiny dick.’ Lily emptied her glass and grimaced. ‘Yeah. I’ll start with her.’
And after Adrienne, I’ll go on to anyone else who might have done it, she thought. And when I find them, when I finally find out who did this to me, then God help them.
1997
Lily King was twenty-seven years old and standing in number one court in the Old Bailey. 1997, and no one believed that the Millennium Dome would ever come in on budget or that Princess Diana was going to be dead within months. Everyone, however, believed that one day soon Tim Henman would win Wimbledon, and for sure everyone believed that Lily King, wife of ‘entrepreneur’ Leo King, was guilty of his murder.
The jury were filing back into the court, and now here came the judge. A low, excited murmur buzzed around the jam-packed courtroom. Lily stared straight ahead, willing herself not to break down, not to cry. Terror gripped her, and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. Not to her.
The jury had reached their conclusion after just forty minutes of deliberation. Her brief had been reassuring when they’d spoken before the trial, but now when she tried to catch his eye, he was looking away. She’d put her blonde hair back in a French pleat and dressed in a sober black suit for the trial, on his recommendation.
‘Don’t look too glamorous. Keep it plain, keep it simple,’ he’d said.
But Lily had the strong feeling that she could have been wearing spangles and a leotard, and she’d still