guessed he was getting hold of cheap booze and fags. Every time he visited, he turned up with bundles of the stuff.
With Mickey in and out of the country, the only contact Debbie had had with her mother recently was via the phone. This suited her down to the ground, as whenever June was due to visit Debbie flew into a flustered panic and would spend hours tidying the flat up before her mother arrived. Problem was, no matter how much she vacced, dusted and tried to make the place look presentable, within five minutes of arriving her mother always found fault with it. Many times she’d heard the words, ‘Debs, bring in a dustpan and brush, love, you forgot to do under the sofa,’ or, ‘Get us a cloth, Debbie love, your skirting needs a good wipe.’
Charlie’s behaviour in front of his nan hadn’t exactly helped their relationship. Mickey didn’t seem to take much notice of her son’s naughtiness, but her mum was a different kettle of fish.
‘Hello, Charlie, does Nanny get a kiss?’ her mum would ask.
‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks,’ Charlie would reply as he galloped around the room.
More than once, June had pulled her aside about this. ‘I swear, Debs, that’s not normal behaviour. Whether you like it or not, I’m telling you, love, there is something terribly wrong with that child!’
Luckily Mickey always came to her rescue. ‘He’s all right, Mum. He’s just a proper little boy. He’s got the Dawson spirit, that’s all.’
‘Mmm,’ replied June, with a disdainful look on her face.
‘Mummy!’
Debbie’s thoughts of her family were interrupted by her son’s frantic scream. Charlie had bounced so high he’d gone head first into his wardrobe and was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.
Shit, Debbie thought. She’d just been about to prepare dinner and do a few jobs. She knew from past experience that once Charlie demanded her attention, she got very little else done. Chucking the chicken and potatoes into the oven, she went into his room, picked him up and carried him into the lounge.
‘Are you gonna help Mummy cook Daddy’s dinner?’
‘Nooooo,’ Charlie screamed. ‘Wanna play games.’
‘Okay,’ Debbie said. The veg would have to wait until Billy got home. Luckily, it was no more than fifteen minutes later that she heard his key in the door.
‘Daddy!’ Charlie yelled as he ran to greet him.
Debbie gave Billy a peck on the cheek, and told him to amuse their son while she sorted out the dinner. Cooking had never been her thing until she’d moved in with Billy and she was still no Delia Smith. Somehow, though, she’d managed to teach herself the basics and now did a mean roast, which was Billy’s favourite.
Billy tucked into his grub with a smile on his face. As he listened to the story of his son being excluded from nursery, he almost fell out of his seat with laughter. Hearing about Charlie showing the whole class his willy, Billy roared, put his plate on the carpet, sat his son on his knee and ruffled his hair. He opened a can of cider with one hand as he tickled his pride and joy with the other.
‘You’re such a top boy, Charlie. At least you went out in style, eh, wee man?’ Charlie laughed. ‘Do you wannae know a secret? Your daddy used to flash his willy at the teacher too.’
Watching father and son giggling together on the sofa, Debbie was seriously fuming.
‘You’re meant to be telling him off, Billy, not encouraging him to be naughty. It’s not funny, you know, when he behaves like that. It’s not you who has to go through the embarrassment of it every day, is it?’
‘Willy, willy, willy,’ Charlie shouted.
As he looked at Debbie’s serious expression, Billy’s laughter grew louder. He was well pissed by now. He had been in the boozer since lunchtime and consequently thought Charlie’s antics hilarious. In fact, he couldn’t wait to tell all the lads in the pub that his boy had flashed his cock at the teacher. How funny was that?
Debbie picked up the dirty plates, stormed out into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. No wonder her son had behaviour problems with a father who encouraged his every bit of wrongdoing. Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened to her mother and Peter and chosen a better partner to have kids with? It was at that precise moment that she knew she was gonna have to do something, and soon. The longer she stayed with Billy, the fewer chances in life her son was going to have.
Going back to her mother’s wasn’t an option; Perfect Peter would strangle Charlie in five minutes flat. Deciding that her brother was her best bet, Debbie resolved to get Christmas and New Year out the way, then get in touch with Mickey and ask him to help her. Rubbing her tired eyes, she picked up the tea-towel and dried the last of the plates. She was nervous about her future, but convinced that she was making the right decision.
Debbie wasn’t a religious girl. As she put the plates away in the cupboard, she had no idea that Him up above had already dealt her hand. Getting away from Billy wasn’t destined to be easy. Downright impossible, maybe. But easy … no fucking way!
DEBBIE WAS AWOKEN early on Christmas morning by an excited Charlie who’d decided to jump up and down on top of her.
‘Presents, Mum, presents!’ he screamed. Nudging Billy, so that he wouldn’t miss out, Debbie got out of bed, chucked on her old pink dressing gown, and shuffled out into the kitchen to make a coffee.
Three o’clock she’d finally got to bed that morning. It had taken her till that time to wrap all of Charlie’s presents. Thirty-two they’d bought him in total and she’d had to hide the bloody things next door in Sharon’s. Her son was a nosy little sod and would have found them weeks ago if she hadn’t kept them well hidden away.
Billy had brought over half of them home from the many pubs he frequented. Apparently, at this time of year the junkies and lowlifes were out thieving on a daily basis, and toy shops were an easy target for their thieving little hands. They would then go round the local pubs selling their hooky wares for cheap and cheerful prices. The likes of Billy would offer them puff, whizz or cash in exchange.
Hearing a commotion in the front room, Debbie rushed in and was dismayed to see that Charlie had already opened half of his gifts and chucked them to one side.
‘Now stop it,’ she scolded him as he lobbed a football across the room, sending the Christmas tree flying. ‘I told you to wait for Mummy, you naughty boy. Let Daddy get out of bed before you open the rest.’
Ten minutes later, a bleary-eyed Billy sat on the sofa in his boxer shorts, feeling as rough as old boots. He’d intended on having an early one last night, so he’d be nice and fresh for his fatherly duties today, but he’d ended up doing the exact opposite and hadn’t rolled home till four o’clock this morning.
As soon as the final presents were opened, Billy thanked Debbie for the jumper and jeans she’d bought him, slung his clothes on, and announced he was popping down to Andy’s to get her presents and another big one he’d brought for Charlie last night.
He returned over an hour later and handed her a fake Cartier watch, a bottle of hooky perfume
