Prologue The Prediction

Who wants to know the future if there isn't one? That's the good thing about not knowing, there's always hope. I have to take control, keep my head, think one step ahead and be ready for whatever comes or I'll wind up like Danny Vickers. I'm as guilty as sin but the law is the least of my worries, get it wrong and I'll be praying for death to be my closest friend. It's all there, written in black and white, printed on the fortune card:

Prediction

YOU HAVE NO FUTURE

If you let others control your destiny.

Why you might ask should I take an old arcade slot machine's advice on such a serious matter? The answer's simple, it rings absolutely true to me, I have no stomach for this. It's completely out of my league. I play poker, I'm quite good if I do say so myself, but no poker game compares. I need every precious ounce of confidence and every thread of steely nerve. The countdown has started and what choice do I have? Absolutely none. So I have to believe the Diabolical is right and that maybe, just maybe, I do have a future and can still get away with this. If only I'd met Reggie before Frankie and if only I'd flipped over that fortune card.

Chapter 1 Lock, stock

I don't believe in the spiritual. Despite all the stories, I never thought Diabolical's Horror Scope cabinet was anything other than a mechanical Edwardian fairground attraction, but it gave me the impetus and the opportunity. However I wish I'd known before exactly why its macabre predictions had such a diabolical reputation. Nevertheless what's done is done, the slot machine's advice still makes perfect sense, and how was I to know that right out of the blue, opportunity would knock just like that. Anyway I really didn't have much choice, I had to think fast, pluck up courage, be decisive and take the risk because time was running out. One thing was for sure; such an odd chance was never going to come along again.

Don't ask why I married Frankie, I admit I went against all advice. It was a stupid whirlwind marriage and not my first. However I'd just turned twenty-nine and kissed too many frogs that had turned into toads. You'd think I'd have learnt. I'd had enough of selfish, stupid losers and had enough of looking, I wanted security, I needed to find my prince and settle down. All I knew was Frankie had four pubs, a couple of arcades, a security company and a reputation as something of a villain but I swear I never realised just how much of one he was.

It was Saturday lunchtime in May 2010. I'd been in New York for a year and only popped back to London to lick my wounds and see old friends at Pattie Lambert's thirtieth birthday reunion. We were down the Riverside Hotel, all girls, most single, some divorced, drinks in hand, standing outside in the sun nibbling sandwiches. Not wishing to boast, they were all good-looking Essex girls, long legs, platform stilettos, done up to the nines with false eyelashes, designer handbags and an eye out for the main chance but I was the standout one.

Well we were taking turns with the Paris Hilton sampler and Billy-the-Fence was taking orders. Don't ask me Billy's real name and I can't remember which perfume it was because I've had so many from Billy over the years, maybe 'Just Me'. Still it was pink and for a fiver it was deal so they all coughed up except me because mine's free for tipping Billy off about Pattie's party. Billy's good like that, he always gives me a little present, perfume or a designer something-or-other as a thank you. Anyway he was about to go off and get the gear from his car when Frankie comes over all swagger and smiles.

"Allo ladies, allo Billy."

"Allo Frankie," says Billy, seeming in awe you might say, even afraid… no how's it going Frankie, or anything."

"Don't just stand there Billy, introduce me to these lovely ladies." Well I'm the only one Billy knows so I'm the only one he can.

"Fiona meet Frankie, Frankie meet Fiona," I went to introduce the others but before I could, Frankie comes out with,

"Excuse us girls," and takes my hand. No lie, there I was, glass in hand, teetering after him on my pins and smiling back at the girls as he whisks me off inside to the bar! What else could I do? It wasn't as if he was that good-looking either, not like his younger brother Reggie, it was Frankie's sheer front. I swear he pulled me just like that.

He showered me with gifts, like a Rolex with diamonds, all bling around the bezel and I admit I was naive but I swear I had no idea what I was getting into. Frankie's dangerous and possessive, commands respect, puts me in my place like a naughty schoolgirl any time he feels like it and back then I loved it. He's sixteen years older than me and having turned grey, looks even older but it gives him that distinguished, don't mess with me look. I guess I saw him as a father figure, someone to look up to, because I could never look up to mine. Anyway it took Frankie just three weeks to pop the question,

"I'm not getting any younger girl, you're the one, what do you say?" It was so unexpected, I thrilled to my toes and what girl could refuse the bling he pulled out of his pocket, a three-carat diamond solitaire. Six weeks after my divorce came through I married Frankie on the 4th of September 2010.

At first his power was an aphrodisiac creating a lust, which was all part of the attraction. However like most things, once the novelty wears off and you see things for what they are so does the shine, just like the one below my eye. Therefore I was never in any doubt that when playing around with his younger brother Reggie I was playing around with fire.

To tell the truth, after Reggie had me there was no going back. I played up to them both of course, they both loved to see me in suspender belt and stockings, rather silly today and so uncomfortable but all part of the get up, the illusion that gives me that feeling of power when I walk into a room and feel male x-ray eyes examining my everything. Still it was a dangerous game, I needed a future and had come to realise I didn't want one with Frankie.

Who can possibly foresee the future? Certainly not me and certainly not Giorgos and Markos Fourakis, two property developers, they had absolutely no idea how 9/11 would affect them. Frankie was different, he consulted the stars regularly and Reggie told me recently that when those Twin Towers tumbled, Frankie was absolutely sure the ramifications would be huge. However like all those who study astrology Frankie was never that clear about what would actually happen, he just knew something big would. In that respect he was right and never ceased reminding everybody.

When I married Frankie I didn't want to know how he made, his villainy was none of my concern, but pretty soon I realised the recession was taking its toll on his business. The arcades were down, not helped by the weather. Pubs were closing everywhere due to the smoking ban and cheap supermarket booze, you couldn't give a pub away but the mortgage still needed paying. Banks weren't lending and creditors were foreclosing, not that I'd fancy being a bailiff trying to collect from Frankie.

Reggie said that even as a kid, Frankie was into Nostradamus and mad about fortunetelling. So with things the way they were, Frankie was consulting Old Moore's Almanac and reading the stars daily, hoping for a sign. Unfortunately that was not the only thing he was doing, he'd stepped up the villainy to a new level and now he'd got a taste for it there was no stopping him. Lately he's been going in bold as brass, team handed, lock, stock and barrel pumping in broad daylight! I ask you. Ok he got away with it but it was a recipe for disaster if ever there was one. When I found out I was livid and wasn't too scared to tell him either.

"Frankie," I said, "it doesn't matter if it's smoking or not, it's just asking for trouble, it's not like not paying a parking fine or one of your low-lifes going missing, for heaven's sakes see sense, the law takes armed robbery very seriously."

"Leave it out Fiona!"

"There's villainy and villainy Frankie, but armed robbery? You leave it out!" I made the mistake of issuing this outburst in front of his colleagues, which was unforgivable and got a back-hander right across the face to prove it, sending me crashing to the floor. Half dazed, the next thing I knew was being picked up, thrown over Frankie's shoulder and dumped in the bedroom with instructions to be ready for him later. I heard him apologizing for my behaviour as he saw his guests out and when he finally came to bed said,

"Don't you dare criticise me again in front of the boys you tart, now open your legs if you know what's good for you or I'll open them for you."

Frankie is six foot three and sixteen stone, I'm five foot six and half his weight so I know better than not to do what I'm told, particularly when Frankie's drunk. Frankie's a big boy and when he's pissed thinks only of himself and forgets about foreplay, so as far as getting ready for Frankie is concerned, I make sure I'm well lubed, I can do without cystitis. I wasn't expecting much and as it turned out I didn't get it, he just stuck it in and pumped away, pounding his flesh into me. I just lay there, not resisting, giving him as little satisfaction as possible. Yes it was a sort of rape if you like but what can you do? Whether he noticed my lack of response I have absolutely no idea. He reeked of whisky and when he was done, simply rolled over and snored his head off, so I went and slept in the spare bedroom. Next day, when Frankie saw the bruise on my face, he was full of apologies,

"I'm sorry Fiona, I'll never do it again, I promise you, just don't cross me in front of the boys." That night he came home with another diamond encrusted Rolex but how many does a girl need? Answer: as many diamond encrusted Rolexes as she can get without being beaten up. I was hurt but acted more hurt than I really was. I gave him the silent treatment to milk the situation and make the most of the high ground while he was sober and full of remorse.

Once Frankie hit me that was really the end of it as far as I was concerned. I guessed that was just a taster of worse to come, it wasn't going to stop like Frankie promised and I was right. I bumped into Maureen McGuiness, one of Frankie's old girlfriends who confirmed Frankie's way of dealing with a domestic. It was only a matter of time before Frankie got wound up and I would be on the receiving end. The trouble was, I wasn't some bimbo who would just sit there and take it and what's more Frankie knew it. This made things twice as dangerous because ultimately when push came to shove I was in no doubt of my fate should Frankie discover what I'd been getting up to and I had no intention of winding up next to Danny Vickers.

It was time to look out for number one and take control of my own future or pretty soon I wouldn't have one. You might ask why didn't I simply divorce or shop Frankie? Well an investigation would have discovered that my hands were far from clean and I had no intention of taking up residence in Holloway. I had also found a gravy train, ok it was an express and it was out of control but pulling the chord would have only resulted in a wreck with gravy all over the place and I needed to find a way of getting off the train with all the gravy.

Reggie's an actor and was away on location when I met Frankie so the first time I met Reggie was on my wedding day when he was Frankie's best man. Reggie's caring, kind and thoughtful, quite unlike Frankie and his looks are to die for. All I regret is not meeting Reggie first, that and the fact I smoke. I wish I could stop but you know how it is. My Auntie Mary was right,

"Love is blind, you deserve better than Frankie." Well it didn't take long before I suspected Frankie was being unfaithful but I said nothing because I didn't have any proof and to tell the truth Frankie was meaning less and less. I had my sights set on Reggie and if Frankie could be unfaithful why shouldn't I? However I knew full well Frankie would never see it that way.

My take on life is you can't know the future and if things can go wrong they will, so it's best to second guess and be prepared. Well things have gone wrong, very wrong indeed but it's still not too late to put things right. My stomach feels hollow and my throat's turned dry, I've gone through all the possibilities over and over again. I now just need to keep one-step ahead and if push comes to shove make sure I'm charged up and ready. If not, whichever way the fortune cookie crumbles, I'll be wishing I was back there enjoying the party on the banks of the Thames, before I ever let Reggie take me up the river in that cool, shiny, slipper boat on that warm, sunny, summer afternoon.

This is a tale of terror and domination only suitable for mature adults 18+ MA Certificate,