Mickey’s sixth birthday. Lily had baked him a cake, all the neighbours had chipped in to buy him a second-hand bike and a party was planned for him that afternoon. Hearing the front door open and slam shut, June thought it was Lily bringing the cake in.
‘I’m in the kitchen, Lil.’
To her horror, it wasn’t Lily at all. It was a drunken, unkempt, old-looking Johnny carrying a bin liner full of belongings in his hand.
‘I’m home, darlin’,’ he slurred. ‘For good this time, there’s no more work up North.’
Life got a lot worse for June from that moment on. Nursing a broken heart and an alcohol addiction, Johnny drank for England, refused to work, and took out all his frustration on her and the boy.
The beatings started within weeks. First it was just the odd clump here and there, but within months he was knocking seven colours of shit out of her.
June hated him, wished he was dead, but she was trapped.
Due to his drink problem, he’d stopped wanting regular sex but she dreaded the nights he beat her. It wasn’t the pain, she could handle that, it was the aftermath. The violence seemed to arouse him and he’d then force himself upon her. It was on one of these nights that Debbie was conceived.
A couple of weeks after June’s pregnancy was confirmed, Johnny did another disappearing act. Money was still tight and life was tough, but once again the neighbours helped out and June began to smile again.
Debbie was just over a year old when her father returned from his last jaunt. This time his behaviour was worse than ever and the beatings became more frequent. Things came to a head a few months later when, instead of just knocking his wife about, he started beating the living daylights out of Mickey boy as well. After a particular vicious attack on her son, June confided in her neighbour Lily, who knew exactly what to do. The lad was rushed to hospital and the police were called.
June did not clap eyes on Johnny Fuller again from that day onwards. A year later she met Peter at a wedding and had not looked back since. He had loved her, supported her, and made her financially and emotionally secure. Which was why, whatever happened, she had to stick by him. He had rescued her from a living hell and she would always be indebted to him for that.
‘Are you all right, my darling?’
Peter wiped his muddy boots on the mat and sat down opposite his wife. Taking her hands in his, he spoke softly.
‘Everything will be okay, June, trust me. Debbie will come to her senses. But meanwhile we have to stick to our guns, be strong. What’s meant to be is meant to be, my love.’
June looked into his eyes. He was so sincere, so sure of himself. Squeezing his hands, she smiled. ‘I hope you’re right, Peter, I really do.’
Her husband kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Believe me, darling, I’m always right.’
Billy carried Debbie’s case as they walked towards the tower block on the Gascoigne Estate. Gagging as she stepped into the lift, Debbie held her nose to block out the smell. She had been in the same lift plenty of times before, but the stench seemed far worse now that she was pregnant.
Billy lived thirteen floors up, which gave Debbie plenty of time to study her surroundings. They consisted of graffiti, spit, fag butts and stale urine. Noticing her expression, Billy smiled.
‘Aye, lassie, you’ll get used to the smell after a bit, you will.’
Debbie pretended to agree, but made a mental note to use the stairs whenever possible.
‘Now, make yourself at home, hen. I have to pop out for a wee bit, to pick some money up. I willnae be long.’
Debbie took a good long look at her new abode and felt increasingly depressed. ‘An absolute shit-hole’ was the best way to describe it. She’d been here before, lots of times, but always after a drink and of an evening. Her mum and Peter had never let her stay out all night, so she’d never had a chance to see the place in daylight. The flat itself was okay, quite big for a council place, it was just so bare and desperately in need of decorating and some furniture.
Debbie looked into the bedroom and found there was nowhere for her to put her clothes. The one small wardrobe was full of Billy’s stuff. As she sat down on the mattress on the bare floor, which served as the bed, Debbie started to sob. She would have to have a serious chat with Billy, she told herself. She wasn’t coming round here once a week now, bladdered like before. She was a pregnant woman and needed comfort, a proper home.
Billy arrived back two hours later. Listening to Debbie talking between her sobs, he hugged her tightly.
‘Shhh, now. Hey, come on, everything will be okay. I’ve got plenty of money. We’ll get some paint tomorrow, spruce the place up a bit. There’s a second-hand furniture place down the road – I’ll take you there and we’ll kit the place out. I didnae bother with all that shit before, living here on my own, but now you’re here it’s different. Now come on, stop crying, we’ll get it sorted, I promise.’
Billy woke up early the next morning. Debs had been tossing and turning all night, she’d kept him awake for bloody hours. He glanced at her, and was surprised to see that she was now fast asleep. He hoped he’d made the right decision, letting her move in with him. Her performance last night, with all the tears and shit, wasn’t his scene – dramatics had never been his game. He’d thought Debs was different, a laugh. He’d never seen her cry before, she’d always been so happy-go-lucky. He really hoped she wasn’t about to change. For some reason or other, he always attracted nutty women. The last three had been all right until he’d moved in with them. Within weeks they all seemed to turn psycho on him.
Sighing, Billy slung his arm round Debs. ‘Wakey, wakey.’
As he rubbed his erection against her leg, he willed her to respond. He was fucked if he was going to stand painting for hours, buy furniture he didn’t want, and get nothing in return.
Stirring, Debbie reciprocated his kisses. She’d been silly last night, all emotional. This was her new life now. She loved Billy and was determined to make it work.
Billy was as good as his word. He bought a couple of tins of paint and then took Debbie to a tut shop where she chose a sofa, coffee table, small wardrobe, lamp and a chest of drawers. She refused to sleep in a second-hand bed, which pissed him off as he had to fork out for a brand new one. She also demanded saucepans, utensils and a big shop at Tesco.
‘Fucking women,’ Billy muttered, as soon as she was out of earshot. Three hundred and sixty pounds today had bloody well cost him! He just hoped Debs was worth it because if she wasn’t she’d go the same way as all the others had.
Billy took a deep breath as he fought to keep his temper in check. In the past he’d made the mistake of lashing out at women, but he was determined to put all that shit behind him now and make a fresh start.
He really loved Debbie, but prayed she didn’t push him too far. The others had all taken the piss out of him and he wasn’t the type of geezer to take shit off anyone, especially a woman. His mum was to blame for the way he was, he knew that. She had fucked him up. He had tried desperately to forget his damaged childhood, but sometimes when women pissed him off, it came back to him. As he terrorised them, all he could think of was his whore of a mother.
Billy put the last of the Tesco bags in the kitchen,
