The Lipstick Killers Read Free

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 herjob 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 can do here ‘til the morning.’
    ‘That policeman said…’
    ‘He said he’d come round and see you. I’ll be there, and Mags will know what to do.’
    ‘I suppose so,’ said Sharon, slowly. As she got up she stumbled, and her sister righted her. Still holding Sharon, Frankie led them slowly out of the building, towards the car park.
    It seemed to Frankie that she had spent most of her life supporting one or more members of her family since Queenie’s death. Driving back to Sharon’s house, her sister sobbing in the passenger seat, Frankie felt the years drop away one by one as the street lights phasedacross the bonnet of the car. First it was Mickey. The good father the girls had always known, quick with a joke, generous with money and slow to anger, changed that dreadful first winter. First it was the booze. He started drinking when he got up at noon, and stayed pissed until he fell into bed in the early hours after playing Queenie’s favourite records on the stereo in the basement. Even then, sometimes he didn’t make it as far as his bed, and Frankie would find him curled up on the stairs when she got up at six in order to get the other girls ready for school. She’d wake him and help him to his room, but often he’d turn on her, and sometimes even became violent, a secret she managed to keep from her sisters for years. Other times she’d discover him in a pool of vomit, which she quietly cleaned up, then simply covered him with a blanket and went back to her other chores.
    Then there were the girls themselves. Sharon was easy. No trouble. Although Frankie knew she missed her mother dreadfully. But Mags and Roxie were a handful. The Soho incident being just one of Mags’ misdemeanours . Then Roxie began to grow up, and she followed Mags’ example. Mags would stay out all night clubbing, and Roxie did exactly the same as she matured into a teenager. Which left Frankie as the stay at home skivvie. Mickey’s behaviour had got worse and he used to vanish for days on end. Often