Born Evil (10 page)

Mickey glanced at his watch and stood up. ‘The choice is yours, sis. I can’t make you come with me. I do worry about you living here, though, especially with that cunt. But I’m afraid I’m gonna have to be making tracks now. I’ve got a new bird on the scene, Danielle, and I’ve been invited round for Christmas to meet the parents. Between me and you, I don’t do families and I’m dreading it!’

Debbie hugged him. ‘They’ll love you, Mickey. How could they not?’

‘Now are you sure you’re gonna be all right, Debs? You’ve got me mobile number. If that tosser comes in and starts, you ring me, okay? Danielle only lives on the Isle of Dogs. I can be here in quarter of an hour if you have any grief.’

‘I’m fine, Mick, honestly. You go and enjoy yourself. As soon as I’m ready to leave Billy, I’ll give you a ring, okay?’

Mickey winked at her. ‘’Bye, Charlie,’ he shouted as he opened the front door.

‘Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,’ was his nephew’s reply.

Mickey gave his sister a sympathetic smile. ‘That kid has something severely wrong with him. The quicker you get him away from this dump and his scumbag of a father, the better. If you don’t, sis, you’re gonna have agg … major, major agg … trust me.’

Debbie nodded and they said goodbye.

Mickey thought he was giving her good advice, but all he’d done was tell her what she already knew. Monster … terror … horror … Debbie knew exactly what the world thought of her son. Family, friends, teachers, strangers – she’d seen their shocked expressions, clocked their sly glances and heard their snide comments. Difference was, Charlie didn’t belong to them. He belonged to her. She’d created him, carried him and brought him into the world. He was her responsibility. No matter what became of him, she knew she would always love him unconditionally.

AS SHE LOOKED
at the dried-up turkey and stone cold veg lying on top of the clapped out oven, Debbie knew she was in Shit Street and wished she had taken up her brother’s earlier offer.

It was now nine p.m. and she still hadn’t heard a dickie bird from Billy. She had guessed he had a strop on when he stormed out earlier, but she’d fully expected him to come back with Andy for his dinner. Debbie knew from past experience that silence from Billy was a bad omen. Worried, she reached for her purse, took out the screwed up bit of paper and dialled her brother’s number.

‘It has not been possible to connect your call,’ a woman’s voice announced. Unable to think straight, Debbie headed for the fridge and opened the bottle of Liebfraumilch that was to have accompanied their completely ruined festive dinner. She hadn’t touched a drink all day, but now needed one desperately.

Should she stay in the flat or should she get the hell out of here? Debbie repeated the same question over and over to herself.

‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!’ Her child’s screams prompted her to make a decision. She picked up the telephone and dialled Sharon’s number. With a bit of luck her friend would let her stay there.

‘Shal, I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’ve got company, but I’m petrified. Me brother upset Billy earlier, he stormed out and I haven’t seen him since. I’ve got a really bad feeling. I think he’s gonna come in and start on me again. What am I gonna do?’

Sharon sighed. She was sick of the Billy/Debbie saga and, as much as she loved and felt sorry for her friend, wasn’t going to have her own Christmas spoilt. Over and over again she’d told Debbie that Billy was an arsehole. She should never have gone back after he’d put her in hospital. Debbie had chosen her own bed, and if it wasn’t comfortable enough, it was her own bloody fault!

‘Look, Debs, any other time you could come and stay here, you know you could, but not tonight, mate. I’ve got my mum, my cousin Tracey and my Aunt Ivy here, and there’s no room, love. The best thing you can do is put yourself to bed and I’ll listen out for Billy coming home. If I hear any shouting or banging or anything untoward, I’ll be there like a shot, I promise.’

Debbie thanked her and said goodbye. She had little choice now other than to stay in the flat. Her other neighbour, Donna, was away for the holiday at her mum’s house, and with no other close friends in the tower block, Debbie’s options were limited.

It was just before midnight when she heard the front door slam shut. She lay shivering nervously under the cheap, thin quilt. She’d been thinking hard all night and had reached the decision that she would contact her brother first thing tomorrow and ask him to come and collect her and Charlie as soon as possible.

As Debbie lay still, she heard grunting and gulping noises coming from the kitchen. She knew her partner’s grotesque habits off by heart, and guessed he was shoving his dinner down his throat and washing it down with cider. The loud belch that followed confirmed her suspicions.

Billy aimed a half-eaten turkey leg for the rubbish bag and missed. He had stuffed his face, felt as sick as a pig and could eat no more. Wiping his greasy mouth on the sleeve of his new jumper, he staggered into the living room and fell on to the sofa.

He had left the pub at lunchtime. Twelve until two were the strictly observed opening hours on Christmas morning, and guv’nors shut their bars promptly so they could enjoy the day with their families. With none of their local haunts open, he and Andy had been at a loose end. Not exactly laden with invitations from any of their pals, they had bought a couple of crates from the pub and headed off towards Andy’s flat to drown their sorrows. Two minutes from their destination, they’d bumped into Dave the Druggie who’d popped out of his notorious address to buy some fags.

‘Fuck Christmas! It’s a load of old bollocks. Come back to mine, I’ve got a right old assortment indoors,’ he’d insisted. Dave had no family and was desperate for some company and someone to get high with.

Although he sold bundles of gear, Billy wasn’t usually the biggest user in the world. He liked a joint here and there, and a bit of speed to liven him up on a night out, but apart from that, after what had happened to his brother Charlie, he’d steered clear of any heavy shit. Today, though, was different. He was wound up, fucked off and desperate to get out of his nut.

The day had now taken its toll on him. He’d puffed, dropped some acid, and downed numerous snakebites. He’d also dabbled in needles for the first time in his life, injecting himself with speed to put him on a high and then Temazepan to bring him back down. Now he felt fucking rotten – and it was all Mickey Bigshot’s fault. If that cunt hadn’t turned up this morning, none of this would have happened. Billy would have had a nice Christmas with his bird and son, and not spent it jacking up round some junkie’s flat.

Off his face, he decided it was time to sort out the problem. He would ring Mickey fucking Big Bollocks immediately and bar him from coming anywhere near his family ever again. He staggered into the bedroom, ripped the quilt off Debbie and smacked her round the face.

‘Right, bitch, give us your brother’s phone number. Now!’

As Debbie looked up into Billy’s glazed eyes, she shook like a leaf. ‘I don’t know where it is offhand,’ she lied.

Billy put his hands around her throat. ‘You willnae lie to me, you fucking whore!’

‘I-It’s in the zip compartment of my h-handbag,’ Debbie stammered. ‘G-give it here and I’ll find it for you.’

Billy leapt off the bed, grabbed the black handbag and clumsily tipped it upside down on the floor. As he rummaged through the contents, which included a lipstick, baby wipes and box of Tampax, he could feel himself getting angrier and angrier.

‘It’s in the zip bit, Billy.’ Debbie was by now desperate to be helpful. His mad expression left her with no choice.

As he tugged at the zip, Billy noticed it was stuck. Fuming, he ripped the lining with both hands. He shook the bag upside down and was shocked to see a packet of pills and a diary fall out. Now, Billy was no genius when it came to women’s shit, but in seconds he realised the pills were of the birth control kind and had been purposely hidden there away from his prying eyes. Face reddening with anger, he checked the day of the week on the packet before he threw them at Debbie.

‘Have you been taking these, you cunt? No wonder you havenae fell pregnant, you lying fucking slag!’

Debbie said nothing. What could she say? Billy had her diary in his hand and she was too nervous to open her mouth. How could she have been so stupid? What had possessed her to keep a written account of all her thoughts, fears and dreams?

As Billy flicked through the pages, he started to laugh hysterically. His eyes bulged as he mimicked Debbie’s voice: ‘“Charlie bad today, played up in supermarket. Billy laughed as usual. Need to get Charlie away from him.”’ He frowned and read on. ‘“Spoke to Sharon today, told her I was seriously thinking of leaving Billy. She said she couldn’t believe I was still with him and should have left ages ago.”’

The last extract had been written on Christmas Eve. Billy read it slowly, his voice filled with sarcasm. ‘“Really pissed off today. Charlie worse than ever, Billy no help getting stuff ready for Xmas. Def. decided am going to get New Year over and leave him.”’

Sobbing with fear, Debbie lay paralysed in bed. The sheet beneath her felt damp and she knew without looking that she’d wet herself.

Billy sat on the edge of the mattress with his head in his hands. His first instinct was to sob like a baby. His second was to stand up and repeatedly punch the wall. Losing it completely, he trashed the bedroom before lunging at Debbie. ‘You fucking bitch … you whore! You think you’re taking my kid and leaving me, do you? Over my dead body, you fucking cunt!’

Dragging her from the bed by her brother’s cross and chain, Billy slammed her against the wardrobe. He picked up the alarm clock then and battered her round the face and head with it, over and over again.

‘If I cannae have yer, I’ll make damn sure no one else will want yer, you fucking slut!’ he screamed.

Woken by the commotion, Charlie picked up Mr Teddy and toddled out of his bedroom. As he watched Daddy hitting Mummy with the alarm clock, he began to giggle.

Debbie lay on the floor with two of her teeth on the bare boards beside her. When Billy saw his son, he dropped the alarm clock and froze. As injured as she was, Debbie spat out a mouthful of blood and managed to say, ‘Go back to your room, Charlie.’

Unsettled by his son’s presence, Billy ran out of the room. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ he shouted as he head-butted the fridge.

Charlie picked up his mother’s teeth and tried to fit them into Mr Teddy’s mouth. ‘Mummy ill,’ he giggled.

Debbie tried to sit up, but was unable to. Her poor, poor baby. No child should ever have to witness what he had just seen. ‘Please, Charlie, be a good boy. Give Mummy the teeth and go to your room.’

‘Nooooo,’ Charlie screamed. He was enjoying himself far too much to go back to bed. Sitting down next to his mum, he stared at the puddle of blood by her head. Smiling, he picked up Mr Teddy and rubbed his face in it. ‘Mummy bleed, Teddy bleed.’

Debbie took one look at her son’s gloating expression and finally burst into tears.

Sharon was dancing around the living room with her eldest kid and her Aunt Ivy to Wizard’s ‘I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day’, when she heard the bangs and crashes coming from next-door. Guessing that Billy was home and it had kicked off, she picked up her phone and calmly dialled 999. She wouldn’t dream of intervening personally. She knew exactly what Billy McDaid was capable of.

Billy paced up and down the kitchen, talking to himself like a madman. Spotting his son, he picked him up, held him in one arm and lit a fag with the other hand.

‘Can I watch Mummy die?’ Charlie asked.

Billy smiled, ‘Okay, wee man.’

Debbie squinted. Her head was banging and she was unable to focus properly. ‘Take Charlie into the other room, Billy, don’t let him see me like this,’ she whispered.

‘Fuck off,’ he said, aiming a sly kick at her swollen face. ‘He’s my son and I’ll do what I want with him, you stupid bitch.’

Charlie giggled. ‘I’m hungry, Daddy.’

‘Shall Daddy make us some sandwiches?’

Charlie nodded. Billy aimed one more kick at Debbie and, with his son hugging him tightly around the neck, strolled out into the kitchen to butter the bread.

By now, Debbie was too weak to move. She was sure her leg was broken, and was having trouble keeping her eyes open. ‘Please God, help me,’ she whispered.

Sharon let the police into the block and gave them the lowdown. ‘Look, it might be nothing, but you have to check on her. There was a terrible commotion earlier and now it’s gone deathly quiet. He’s beaten her to a pulp before. Could you just check to see if she’s all right?’

Debbie could feel herself drifting off to sleep. The knock on the door woke her up.

‘Open up, it’s the police!’

‘Help,’ Debbie tried to say. Her mouth opened, but her voice failed her.

‘Ner, ner, ner, ner, ner, ner, ner, ner,’ Charlie screamed, as he jumped up and down excitedly. He had a real thing about blue flashing lights.

‘Shhh, be quiet,’ whispered Billy.

The old bill smiled when they heard the child’s voice. ‘Open up, McDaid. We know you’re in there.’

DC Longman had had a lot of dealings with Billy in the past and despised the fucking scumbag. To nick him tonight would be the best present he could wish for. Far better than anything Santa had brought him.

‘You’ve got one minute to open this door, McDaid, else I’ll break it down.’

Billy stood frozen to the spot. He was fucked now, well and truly, and he knew it.

As the front door began to splinter, he panicked. Grabbing his son, he ran into the living room and opened the main window. ‘Nooooo, daddy, nooooo!’ Charlie screamed as he was dangled head first out of it.

Out of his head on drugs, Billy smiled as he eyed the plod. ‘You move one step nearer and the kid’s a goner.’

‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!’

A semi-conscious Debbie was dimly aware of her son calling for her. The realisation of why he was doing so made her lose consciousness completely.

AS SHE PLACED
the last of the buffet on to the serving trolley, June stood back, admired her handiwork and smiled tenderly at Peter. ‘Well, what do you think?’