The Lipstick Killers

deafening between the buildings. Frankie jumped out of the car and screamed at Mags – the two boys took one look at the situation and melted away down a narrow alley. Frankie snatched the cigarette from between Mags’ fingers and threw it into the gutter, then dragged her sister into the police car where she sat stone-faced in the back seat between her and the female officer. Once back at the station, Frankie pushed Mags into a cab, and they headed home in silence. Bitch, thought Frankie, as she had so many times before.
    Dragging her mind back to the present day, and the tragic situation that was unfolding, Frankie entered the hospital building again. Sharon was sitting alone in an orange plastic chair in the main reception and Frankie’s heart went out to her. Her sister, four years her junior, was leaning forward, white faced, elbows on knees with a crumpled tissue held tightly in her hand. Frankie sank into the hard plastic seat next to her, as the business of the hospital – frantic even at that late hour – went on around them. Frankie put one hand on Sharon’s clenched fist. ‘We should get back to the house love,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot to do, and Mags is coming down from London.’
    Sharon shook her head. ‘Why?’ she asked in a voice made husky from grief. ‘Why Monty?’
    ‘Don’t ask me duck,’ said Frankie, using Queenie’s pet name for all the girls. ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘He looked so peaceful, just like he was asleep,’ said Sharon, the words disappearing into a sob.
    ‘I know.’
    ‘What am I going to tell Peter and Susan?’
    ‘The truth. That’s all you can do. I know it’s going to be hard for you. I’ll help.’ Frankie thought of the children she had doted on since they were tiny babies.
    ‘But they’re so young, and now no dad.’ Peter was nine, Susan seven.
    ‘It was like that for us when mum went,’ Frankie said. ‘Worse, what with Roxie being so young, and poor dad left alone with the four of us.’
    ‘He had you.’
    ‘I was thirteen, remember.’
    ‘Thirteen going on thirty-three. You looked after all of us, dad included.’
    And lost my teenage years, thought Frankie, and my chance of a university education – although she held no bitterness towards her family. At least, not much. After her mother’s death she’d adapted to caring for her sisters and her father, who had lapsed into a sadness that he’d never recovered from. Frankie had quickly become head of the household. She’d persevered at school, taken some exams, but moving away was out of the question. Her A-levels were good enough, but instead of a carefree time with her peers, she’d applied to a local bank and ended up behind a counter, a name tag pinned to her chest.
    Their father had gone into a decline, and died of heart failure – or more likely a broken heart – when Frankie was nineteen and Roxie was twelve. The firm had splintered without Queenie’s leadership, and Frankie became a wage slave just to keep the house going. Her youngest sister had lived with her for a few years, before Frankie’s marriage. Roxie trained as a beautician in central London and worked in a few salons servicing pampered yummy mummies, before getting a job on a luxury cruise ship until finally, she bought a small beauty salon in Spain. Frankie had never forgiven herself for taking the easy way out and marrying the first bloke who’d asked her. It had been an unhappy marriage from day one, and her husband, John Foster had made it clear that he came first, not the family. After a period when Frankie had been out of touch with her sisters, she dumped her job and her husband, and ended up back in the bosom of her family.
    ‘And I’ll look after you now. You’ve got me and Mags here,’ said Frankie, trying to reassure her.
    ‘Mags will be a fat lot of good, knowing her.’
    ‘You might be surprised when push comes to shove.’
    ‘After what’s happened?’
    ‘Let’s not talk about that now. Let’s get you home and get some rest.’
    ‘ Rest ,’ Sharon almost shouted. ‘How can I rest with Monty here?’
    ‘You have to. There’s arrangements to be made,’ said Frankie. ‘I’m sorry but there are. I’ll help, and so will Mags I know.’
    ‘They’re going to cut him up,’ sobbed Sharon.
    ‘Try not to think about it,’ said Frankie.
    ‘I can’t help it,’ said Sharon. ‘I know it’s the law. It’s just not fair,’ wailed Sharon.
    ‘Come on sis. There’s nothing more we