The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3), Emmy Ellis [electric book reader txt] 📗

was in on it or not. Funny how your parent still influenced you, regardless of whether you were an adult. She’d trusted Mam’s judgement, but it had been foolhardy to put themselves in danger, especially on the Moor. While she was confident the car, the false plates, and their disguises would make things incredibly difficult for the police to track them, there was always the chance they’d get caught.

Not every pig was in their pay.

She sighed and turned into the squat’s driveway, again parking around the back. The snow hadn’t thinned out here, the front and rear gardens as thick as they’d been before, although a trodden-down patch by the kitchen door proved Jimmy had been coming out for his ciggies, hopefully before she’d warned him to remain inside. Perhaps by some unconscious decision, he hadn’t tossed the butts. In the light of her headlamps, no telltale signs of them spearing holes in the snow were evident.

She’d made the right choice choosing him, just needed to up his confidence, get him to believe in himself. And maybe he’d eventually become used to violence.

Cassie: I’m here.

Jimmy: Okay. Kitchen again.

She got out and collected what she needed from the boot. Checking the area, she walked down the side of the building, glad she’d put her boots on. The top layer of snow crackled then crumped beneath her feet as she flattened it, and it reminded her of Dad taking her up a big hill once, and they’d rolled down the snow to the bottom.

Her eyes stung. Was Yenay having similar thoughts, memories colliding in her head of Zhang Wei and the fun they must have had, what they could still have had if Mam hadn’t shot him, if he hadn’t pushed it and found himself at the end of Cassie’s and her mother’s frayed tethers?

I can’t change it. Move on.

She entered the squat and locked up behind her, dumping one item in the living room on the bookshelf, pausing at the eerie sensation she was being watched. Cassie turned to the back wall. Jason was awake, and he stared at her, so still she thought he was dead. She walked over to him and kicked his nailed leg.

He screamed.

Not dead then.

She strutted out, closing the door and taking the black bag into the kitchen. Jimmy stood by the kettle again, a cup of something already made, an empty mug beside it, one he must have got out when she’d texted. A good man, was Jimmy.

“You have no idea how much I need that drink,” she said and moved to the furnace. Repeating her actions like she had with Bob’s clothes, she set about feeding the fire.

“Bad day?” he asked.

“Depends on your perspective. Some would say it was a brilliant day, things getting done. Me? Not so sure.” She couldn’t divulge more than that. Wished she had a friend she could trust so much that she could chat about her weird life, although Doreen was fast becoming someone she wanted to confide in. Maybe Jimmy would become one of those people, too.

“Want to talk?” He smiled.

“I’d love to, but while I trust you, I don’t trust you enough.”

“I get it.”

She appreciated him not pushing it, either because he was too scared to, or he was genuinely not that kind of bloke.

“I won’t let you down,” he said. “I’ll prove it an’ all.”

“It’ll take time.” She threw the last piece of wood in the flames.

“Yeah.”

She closed the furnace door, hadn’t cared whether Jimmy copped any eyeful. Before, she’d wanted to hide Bob’s uniform, needing to keep Mr Plod’s death quiet, but now…now she’d made the decision it was okay to have the bodies out in the open, and a twinge of regret tweaked in her chest.

Too late to turn the clock back.

“Own your mistakes,” Dad whispered in her head.

What, like you owned yours? Like fuck, did you. You hid them from us.

She huffed at that, the cheek of it, and Jimmy stared at her as if he’d done something wrong, worrying a pimple with his fingertip.

“It’s not you I’m snorting about, just something I was thinking of.” She took the coffee from him, leaning on one of the cupboards. Funny how she’d picked the same spot to stand as before. Mind, there weren’t many places she could rest her backside in this place. Mam had an old table and chair set in the garage, a plastic one for the patio. Maybe Cassie would bring them here.

Jimmy picked the top off of a spot and winced.

Cassie had to say something. “The last thing I want to do is offend you, because you’re a decent bloke, but I’m saying this out of concern. Can’t you go to the doctor about those? It seems more of a problem than general acne. Get some steroid cream or whatever for them.”

Jimmy seemed to have a light-bulb moment. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Get it sorted. You’ll feel better once you have.” She patted his shoulder, the only sign of affection she was prepared to give, plus her old self felt guilty for bringing up something he was clearly embarrassed about. Once his face was healed, she reckoned his self-confidence would grow. She needed him stronger, with a bit of backbone to him. “How’s he been?” She jerked her head in the direction of the living room, getting ready for the bad—“good,” her monster whispered—stuff.

“Fucking weird.” Jimmy turned his back to the blind-down window, folded his arms, and leant on the unit beside the gap where a white-goods appliance would have stood. “He woke up and just stared. Like, I know he can’t help it because of what you did to his eyelids, but Christ, it freaked me out. That’s why I came in here to make a cuppa, to get away from him. There’s only so long