The Lipstick Killers

her,’ he would sob. ‘I don’t mean to hurt you. Sometimes I wish it had been you that died.’
    Those words had been worse than the punches, and Frankie kept them locked away in a part of her mind she didn’t often visit.
    ‘We’ll get them through it,’ was all she said. ‘I’m going for a smoke.’ She wanted to be alone for a while.

5
     
     
     
    Outside in the back garden, Frankie lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, pulling a face at the taste, and Mags’ words. Of course she remembered. How could she ever forget those last months of her mother’s life, and what followed? The cancer that had gripped the woman she loved most in the world. The weeks on the wards where she learned to hate the stink of them, so the memories came flooding back last night as she and Sharon entered Guildford hospital. The bad food left uneaten as Queenie’s chemo shrank her appetite to nothing. Helping her mother to the toilet where the blood covered stools made her want to vomit. Her father, just sitting holding his wife’s hand stone-faced, unable to articulate his feelings. The other three girls, not believing what was happening, and in Roxie’s case, hardly knowing. Frankie grew up overnight as she was forced to take on the responsibilities of the household. Cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, looking after the girls and her father with little or no help, although Mags tried her hardest, and even little Roxie, helped out – or tried to. Frankie still remembered how her attempt to make breakfast one Sunday almost burned the house down when the toast caught fire.
    No, Frankie would never forget how a home had changed into a prison where she strived to do her school work as well as look after everyone. Social workers hovered, determined to split up the family but her dad had succeeded in keeping them together with help from the Doyles’ extended family – coming close to violence several times – until the social left them alone, and Frankie became queen of the house. But not the real queen. She could never be replaced.
    ‘Course I remember,’ she said to herself. ‘Hard not to.’

6
     
     
     
    Dawn had well and truly broken and the sisters were back sitting at the kitchen table when they heard a sound outside the door and a sleepy headed Peter stuck his head round the door. ‘Why is mummy asleep in the lounge?’ he asked, then, ‘Aunty Mags, is that you?’ he said, his smile beaming wide with delight.
    Margaret got to her feet and went to the boy. ‘Hello Peter,’ she said.
    ‘Hello. I didn’t know you were coming.’ he said excitedly . ‘Where’s dad? He’s not in bed.’
    Margaret hugged the boy, and looked round at her sister for guidance. ‘Frankie,’ she said, not knowing what to say to the boy.
    Frankie got up from her seat. ‘Peter,’ she said softly. ‘Come here, lovey.’
    He went to his other aunt, looking even more bewildered .
    Frankie led him to a chair at the kitchen table and sat him down. ‘Dad’s gone away for a bit,’ she said, wishing Sharon was there. ‘We’ve all had a late night and mum’s very tired.’
    ‘Gone where?’ the boy asked. ‘Where did you go last night? We were scared.’
    ‘We’ll explain later. Now be a good big boy, and don’t ask questions. Do you want some breakfast?’
    Peter nodded, but he was smart and sensed that something was wrong. ‘Shall I go and wake Susan?’ he asked his aunts.
    ‘Leave her for now,’ said Frankie.
    ‘What about school?’ he insisted. ‘It’s my turn to feed the guinea pig today.’
    ‘You’re having a day off. A holiday,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ll go and wake your mum.’
    She left the room, glad to be away from her nephew and his questions. Ever since he’d been able to understand what she did for a living, he’d hero-worshipped her. He loved watching crime series on TV, although Sharon put her foot down on letting him look at the ones containing sex and violence. But even so he managed to watch as many as he was allowed, and was sure that Aunty Mags was a mixture of Wonder Woman, Cagney and Lacey and Miss Marple, all rolled into one. Mags wished she could have lived up to his ideas about her, but she knew this was just the beginning. She reached the lounge where Sharon was still asleep and Margaret hated to wake her to the worst day of her life, but the children would need her. She shook her sister and Sharon jumped, suddenly wide awake. ‘Mags,’ she said, the memory of what happened last