Bad Blood

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Also available in the Notorious Hudson Family series (#litres_trial_promo)

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Poem (#u1d9f07eb-8571-5f7f-9ac4-ab585437e615)

Would you turn back time if you had the chance?

Would you run away or stay?

Like the smoker who thinks his time is up,

Then gets news of a clear X-ray.

His promises to God are forgotten then,

He dodged another bullet,

He continues to play Russian roulette,

Trigger finger poised to pull it.

Cross the line, step into the abyss,

Now there’s no going back,

You’ve lost control, you’ve gone too far,

There’s no defence, so attack.

You are no longer you, and you no longer care,

Join the ranks of the depraved.

One thing is sure from this moment on,

The pathway ahead is paved.

But would you change things if you could?

Can you see where it all went awry?

Would you not do that thing that set this course?

Would you really even try?

The past can’t be changed, but the future can,

Starting right here, right now,

You don’t have a lifetime to turn it around,

And no one can teach you how.

Chapter 1 (#u1d9f07eb-8571-5f7f-9ac4-ab585437e615)

Bradford, July 1981

Christine squinted as her eyes met the bright July sunshine, and shuffled awkwardly down the front path to the car waiting in the road. Of all the cabbies in Bradford who could have picked them up, today of all days, it just had to be Imran. Imran who, in the absence of a female to leer at, would probably chat up a pot plant.

‘Lovely day for it, innit, ladies?’ he shouted conversationally, as Christine clambered awkwardly into the back. He had no choice. He was currently competing with a warbling Shakin’ Stevens, because, as was usual, he had his car stereo turned up loud enough to wake the dead.

Not to mention the soon to be born, Christine thought wretchedly, as the next contraction began to build. It was like a giant elastic band, gripping vice-like around her middle, and the panic began engulfing her again. Why hadn’t anyone told her how much it would hurt? Her own mum, for instance. The thought made her tearful. She’d never felt pain like this in her life. Ever.

‘Lovely day for what?’ her friend Josie snapped, as she climbed in beside her and slammed the door. ‘And, Christ, Im, turn that frigging shit down, will you?’

Imran beamed at the pair of them through the rear-view mirror. ‘Keep yer ’air on!’ he said. ‘I was only being friendly. Anyway,’ he added, leaning forward to turn the volume down a fraction, ‘where we off to today, girls? Somewhere nice?’

‘St Luke’s Hospital,’ Josie snapped. ‘And put your foot down as well. Seriously,’ she added, as Christine began to wail. ‘Or there’ll be more than our Christine and bloody Shaky making a racket. Get a move on! She’s already trying to push!’

It was only now, having twisted a hundred and eighty degrees in his seat, that Imran seemed to understand what was happening.