but had heard through the grapevine he was married and lived in Barking with his wife and two kids. Alexander didn’t want to turn up at Terry’s door in case the wife chucked him out. That would only push him and Valerie closer together.
Alexander punched his steering wheel in frustration. ‘Slag.’
Valerie Boyle put the Party Susan on the dining table. ‘Supper’s ready, kids. Would you like me to bring a plate of sandwiches in the lounge to you, Alex?’ she shouted out. Her husband was sitting in his favourite armchair, knocking back the Scotch like it was going out of style.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Alexander replied.
‘Whassa matter with Dad, Mum?’ Linda asked. It was clear to all three children that after dropping their nan off their father had arrived home in a foul mood.
‘He’s probably just tired and winding down from work. Why don’t you three take your sandwiches and pickles upstairs, eat them in your bedrooms. You don’t have to go to sleep yet. You can play with your toys upstairs too.’ Valerie was a protective mother, would hate her children to witness any more violence. She had always tried to hide that from them.
‘No. I’m staying downstairs with you,’ Tommy replied. He was determined not to leave his mother alone with his father. That thought scared him.
The girls went to their bedroom and Tommy sat next to his mother on the sofa. His dad had a film on, but Tommy could tell he wasn’t really watching it. His mood was tense and you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. ‘What’s this film about, Dad?’ Tommy asked.
‘It’s about a slag, son. A slag who has affairs while her old man is working away.’
Valerie felt her heart lurch. ‘Please don’t say such things to Tommy, Alex. I have done nothing wrong. I told you that last night.’
‘That isn’t what Irish Tony says. He’s seen you out with your fancy man, holding hands. How often does your mother go out of a night, Tommy?’
‘Not much. Once a week usually, to the bingo,’ Tommy lied.
‘Hazel, Linda, get down here a minute,’ Alexander bellowed.
‘For goodness’ sake, Alex. Please don’t do this, not on Christmas Day. If you want to argue with me, then fine. But leave the children out of it,’ Valerie urged.
Hazel precariously poked her head around the lounge door. ‘What’s up?’
‘Come in the room properly,’ Alexander ordered. ‘Stand in front of me and look me in the eyes, love.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to ask you something.’
‘Me too?’ Linda enquired, looking at Tommy, who stared at her, willing her not to put her foot in anything.
Alexander held his eldest daughter’s hand. ‘Don’t you dare lie to me, Hazel, this is important. I want to know how often your mother goes out of a night?’
Hazel didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to get her mum into trouble but neither did she want to lie to her dad. ‘Sometimes she goes out,’ Hazel mumbled.
‘Yes, but how many times? Think back to, say, last week. You can remember that clearly, can’t you?’
Hazel nodded.
‘How many times did your mother go out of an evening last week? Mind, I will check with the neighbours and if I find out you’ve fibbed to me, you’ll get no pocket money for a whole year. Do you understand?’
Valerie squeezed Tommy’s trembling hand. ‘Please stop this nonsense, Alex. The children don’t deserve it.’
Hazel chewed nervously on her lower lip. She got far more pocket money than any of her friends and she would hate not to be able to buy her records, favourite magazines and sweets. ‘Five times, Dad. Mum went out five times last week in the evening.’
‘Thank you, Hazel. You and Linda can go back upstairs now.’
Alexander waited until the front-room door was shut, then leapt up and whacked Tommy hard around the head. ‘That’s for fucking lying to me. Now get your arse up them stairs and I won’t be taking you to football tomorrow either.’
Tommy burst into tears and ran from the room. He had been so excited about attending his first ever proper football match, had been bragging about it at school before he broke up. What was he meant to say to his pals now?
Valerie winced as Alexander moved closer to her. She knew what was coming next and had little choice but to take it.
Alexander punched his wife in the side of the head, then pinned her to the carpet. His breath smelled of Scotch, his face etched in a sneer. ‘You’re my woman. Nobody else’s. You belong to me,’ he spat as he ripped her knickers off. Seconds later he raped her, brutally.
The rest of the festive season went quite quickly with no more major drama. Tommy had heard his parents doing naughties as his bedroom was next to theirs, so he guessed they must have made up.
On 3 January, Alexander hugged his family and said his goodbyes. ‘I meant what I said, Valerie. I am paying someone to watch you,’ he warned before strolling down the path with his case.
‘You OK, Mum?’ Tommy asked, as his father disappeared in the distance.
‘I am now. Go and let Rex in, love.’
‘You look nice, Mum. You going out?’ Linda asked, later that afternoon. Her mum was wearing a pretty green flowery frock she hadn’t seen before.
‘Yes. Only popping round Lisa’s. I haven’t seen her all over Christmas and want to give her her present. I won’t be late. Don’t forget to get all your stuff ready for school. I’ll be back before you go to bed.’
‘You not going bingo?’ Hazel asked suspiciously.
‘Not sure. We might.’
Tommy gave his mother a hug. ‘Me and Rex will look after the girls. Have a nice time.’
‘I’m the oldest. So it’s me who looks after you,’ Hazel argued.
Valerie kissed her son on the forehead. ‘Be good. Love you.’
As Tommy waved his mother goodbye at the front door, he had no idea he would never see her again.
Terry Fletcher opened a Babycham for Valerie and a can of bitter for himself. He didn’t have a lot of spare cash, especially at Christmas, but he’d scraped together enough to book himself and Valerie a hotel room today. Usually they would do the deed in the back of his Ford Cortina, but it was bloody freezing and Terry had wanted to treat the woman he loved.
‘So, how was your Christmas?’ Valerie asked. She’d just been telling Terry what a dreadful time she’d had with Alexander.
