Born Evil (17 page)

Debbie topped up her glass and stared at the bottle. She’d had the day from bloody hell. The trips to the psychiatrist had been a complete and utter waste of time. She was no nearer to understanding her son than she ever had been.

Debbie sat up thinking into the early hours that night, more worried about Charlie than before. Momentarily she had felt such relief when Dr Foster had said there was nothing wrong with him, but deep down she had known she was only kidding herself.

‘How can a five-year-old child con a professional, with over thirty years’ experience?’ she muttered as she tried to fathom the impossible.

Even as she said it, she realised that it was because her child was cleverer than the psychiatrist. Unlikely, but true. And despite her annoyance with him, she felt suddenly proud of her son. Giving birth to her Charlie had been the best day of her life, Debbie told herself firmly. She would rather die than give up on him now.

MICKEY DAWSON WALKED BACK
from the bar with a pint in each hand and two packets of peanuts dangling from his mouth. Sitting down opposite his pal, he opened his jaws and let the nuts fall gracefully on to the table.

‘Right, come on, Steve me old mucker, let’s have it. What’s bothering ya?’

Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to look Mickey in the eye.

‘What you on about? I’m fine,’ he mumbled unconvincingly.

‘Come on, it’s me you’re talking to, you soppy bastard. You can tell me anything, you know that, Steve.’

Wiping the beads of sweat off his forehead with his arm, Steve knew it was now or never to bring up the subject that had been plaguing him for the last few weeks.

‘Well, it’s a bit awkward, Mickey. I don’t really know where to start … ’

Mickey smiled at his pal’s embarassment and decided to wind him up a bit more. Pointing at Steve’s groin area, he tried to keep the humour from his voice.

‘You ain’t got trouble with the old meat and two veg, have you, son?’

‘No, I fucking well ain’t,’ Steve said angrily.

Enjoying himself immensely, Mickey carried on. ‘Only, if you’ve caught a dose or your old pecker’s packed up, I know a good cock doctor. I’ll book an appointment for you if you want. I’ll even go with you, if you can’t face going alone.’

‘Fuck off, Mick, there’s nothing wrong with me cock,’ Steve replied, agitated.

‘Well, what is it then?’ Mickey asked, laughing out loud.

Steve took a deep breath. ‘You know me and your Debs have been seeing quite a bit of each other? We get on well, and to be honest, Mick, I really like her. Well, I was thinking of asking her out on a proper date, but I didn’t know if you’d approve. What with all the shit she’s been through and her being your sister, I dunno if it’s the done thing. I don’t wanna make things awkward between me and you.’

Mickey sipped his beer and smiled. ‘After watching Debs waste her life with McDaid, I’d be pleased if she told me she was going out with Adolf Hitler, let alone you, you tosser. Go ahead and ask her, Steve. I’d be more than happy if you and our Debs got it together.’

‘Cheers, mate,’ Steve said, relieved that his big secret was now out in the open. ‘Do you think she’ll go on a date with me, Mick? She’s always inviting me round for dinner and that, but a date’s different, innit?’

Mickey handed him a fag. ‘Look, if she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t be asking you round there all the time. Whenever I go round there, she’s always “Steve this” and “Steve that”. In this life, you’ve gotta take your chances, mate. If you don’t ask, you don’t get. Now get your arse in gear and get me another drink. I’ve gotta mouth like a nun’s crotch.’

As he looked at his pal’s lumbering physique, Mickey smiled to himself. Steve would be a great bloke for Debbie. He was a big old lump with a heart of gold and Mickey just hoped that Debs didn’t knock him back. Steve was great with blokes, a typical man’s man, but around women he seemed to lack confidence. He and Debs would be a match made in heaven.

Debbie carefully put the mashed potato on top of the mince and popped the shepherd’s pie into the preheated oven. Hearing a racket coming from the living room, she stopped in her tracks.

‘What are you doing in there, Charlie?’

‘Just watching telly, Mummy.’

Knowing he was doing no such thing, Debbie went to inspect. ‘You naughty boy, why have you done that?’ she asked, noticing that he’d ruined her carefully laid arrangement on the dining table.

Charlie giggled.

‘Right, bath and bedtime for you, I think.’

‘Nooooo,’ Charlie screamed, as he lay on the floor and refused to budge.

As Debbie tried to repair the damage, she was furious to see that he’d also drawn in crayon over her fresh white tablecloth. That was the final straw. Grabbing him by the arm, she dragged him kicking and screaming up the stairs, then locked him in his bedroom.

‘I want my daddy. I hate you!’ he shouted through the door.

Determined not to let Charlie spoil her night, Debbie went into her bedroom to get changed. She’d bathed and washed her hair earlier, and all she needed was a bit of slap and a change of clothes. As she looked in the mirror, she smiled. She looked passable now. She’d tanned up well, the garden had seen to that. The recent dentistry work which had repaired her two front teeth, kindly paid for by Mickey, had added to her confidence no end. The only hang-up she still had was about her wonky nose, but she could live with that, if the rest of her features looked okay. Even her hair had grown back and been trimmed in a trendy layered cut.

Realising that the shouting and swearing in Charlie’s room had stopped, she quietly opened the door and was relieved to find him sleeping peacefully. Curled up on top of the quilt in his Batman pyjamas, he looked almost angelic. It was hard to believe that this was the same child who spewed out vulgar words, morning, noon and night. Where he got them from was a mystery. He swore more now than when Billy had been around.

Tiptoeing down the stairs, Debbie went to check on the shepherd’s pie.

Steven Arthur Roberts tried on his third and final shirt. Realising he’d put on weight and couldn’t do up the buttons, he took it off and put on the first one again. It was almost three years since Steve had last worn a shirt and that had been for a funeral. Noticing he was running late, he grabbed the keys to his pick-up truck and steamed out of the door.

Debbie re-laid the table and sat twiddling her fingers. Nerves getting the better of her, she headed to the fridge to pour herself a glass of wine. She didn’t really know why she felt the way she did. Big Steve had been a good mate for a few months now. At first she would never have believed that she could feel anything other than friendship for the hulking, muscular, shaven-headed sort who happened to be her brother’s best friend. But lately her feelings had changed. The more time she spent in Steve’s company, the more she liked him. For some reason or other, he made her feel safe, secure and womanly, and all of a sudden she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

‘All right, Debs?’ Steve greeted her gruffly when he arrived on her doorstep. He handed her a cold bottle of Chardonnay.

‘You look nice, Steve. I’ve never seen you in a shirt before.’

Embarrassed but quick witted, he replied, ‘I thought I’d make the effort. Anyway, you can talk … you’ve got a skirt on. I didn’t know you had legs!’

Thrusting a beer at him, Debbie burst out laughing. ‘Get your arse in there and sit at the table, you tosser.’

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Steve wolfed down his own dinner and finished off Debbie’s. The pair of them drank plenty and didn’t stop bantering and laughing, throughout the meal and afterwards.

Charlie woke up just the once, but Debbie managed to settle him down again quickly.

She then stuck on the video of
An Officer and a Gentleman
and Steve took the piss all the way through it. As the credits rolled he glanced at his watch. It was one in the morning and he knew he had to say something. It was now or never.

‘Better make a move, Debs,’ he said, picking up his keys.

‘All right. Thanks for coming round, I really enjoyed it,’ she replied, meaning every word.

Steve hovered awkwardly by the door. He was sweating like a pig. He stuttered and stammered as he tried to find the right words. ‘Debs, can we go out? You know, on a proper date, like? I’ll take you somewhere really nice. If you don’t wanna go, I’ll understand and still be your mate.’

Debbie looked at the gentle giant standing three feet away from her and felt nothing but admiration for him. ‘Of course I’ll come. I thought you’d never ask me, you silly sod.’

Overjoyed by her response, but not used to being in this situation, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. It was the type of kiss you’d give to an aunt you didn’t like. He promised to ring her the next morning, then shot out of the door like a greyhound leaving the traps at Romford.

Giggling at his shyness, Debbie poured herself the last drop of wine left in the bottle. She’d had a wonderful night and being asked out was the icing on the cake. Steve was such a nice guy and looked out for her like her brother always had. Billy she had found physically attractive, but with Steve it was different. Over the months he’d been coming round she’d fallen for him as a person. He was kind, generous and extremely funny. Debbie finished her drink and went happily to bed.

Steve opened the front door and was relieved to see that Mickey wasn’t there. He wanted to think over all that had happened tonight and didn’t need his best pal winding him up.

Unable to stop smiling, he cracked open a can of Foster’s and flicked through the TV channels. He was ecstatic that Debs had agreed to go on a date with him. He couldn’t wait to take her out properly and decided he would treat her like a queen; she deserved it, and he would never let her down.

Steven Arthur Roberts, aka Big Steve, had been born in a tiny flat above a hardware shop along the Bethnal Green Road. The eldest of two boys, Steve had been extremely close to his mum, Maureen. Big Mo, as she was known, had brought up him and his brother on her own and he was devastated when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and cruelly taken from them. At sixteen years old, determined that his younger brother Lee would not fall into the hands of Social Services, Steve took up the reins. With the help of his Auntie Doll, he brought up his brother himself and did a bloody good job of it.

Apart from his mum and Auntie Doll, Steve had had very little to do with women, though. At school he’d ignored the girls. He was more interested in making a few bob and boxing than in messing about with birds. After leaving school, he met a girl called Sandra in a pub one night. Forward, and as rough as old boots, Sandra seduced him and he lost his virginity to her. He was gutted when he found out she was the local bike and had only shagged him for a bet.

Put off women for a long, long time after that, he was twenty-two when he met Julie. She was a lively one, a bit of a party girl with bleached blonde hair and a thing for Spandau Ballet. Steve treated her really well and spent all his hard-earned money on her. He worked hard, running a shoe stall for a geezer in Roman Road Market.

Julie spent all her spare time on the stall with him. Steve thought it was because of her love for shoes as well as him, but unfortunately it turned out she was shagging the geezer opposite who had a stall selling discount handbags. Once he had found out the truth, Steve went to work the following Saturday morning and beat the object of her affections into next week. The market inspector and the police were called, and so was Steve’s guv’nor who had no choice but to sack him on the spot.

Jobless and loveless, Steve decided women were nothing but fucking trouble. He started ducking and diving for a living, someone had to put food on the table for his little brother. It was around this time that he met Mickey, only a kid then himself and also working on the market. A couple of dodgy deals later, Mickey jacked in the Roman and the pair of them set up in business. With Steve’s brawn and Mickey’s brain, they worked well together and had never looked back since, apart from Mickey’s short spell inside. Steve was not involved in that. He hadn’t liked the set-up and had opted out, urging his pal to do the same, but Mickey being Mickey had learned the hard way.

Finishing his beer, Steve turned the telly off and happily climbed the stairs. He was in love and it felt great. Being older and wiser now, he knew this time was different. Debbie was nothing like the Sandras and Julies of this world and he was determined, given a chance, to make her the happiest girl alive.

Grinning, he jumped into his pit. Third time lucky, as the old saying goes. She was the one, he knew it. He could feel it in his bones.

STEVE RANG, AS
promised, the next day and the big date was arranged for the following Saturday evening. June was overjoyed and booked herself in to baby-sit.

That morning, Debbie jumped on a 103 bus and dragged her whingeing son to Romford where she intended to purchase a new outfit for her big night out. She hadn’t bought anything new for ages, partly because of money worries, and partly because she rarely went out and didn’t see the point in wasting what little spare cash she had on herself when she could spend it on Charlie instead.

Her mum was living and breathing Debbie’s news, though, and slipped fifty quid into her bag, telling her to treat herself to something nice to wear for the big occasion.

Shopping with Charlie was an ordeal, however. By the time she hit the third shop, Jane Norman, Debbie had had a gutful and wanted to get home.

As she picked up a top, she heard a commotion behind her, turned around and found Charlie lying on the floor amongst a pile of clothes. Unfortunately, he’d swung on a rail and toppled the bloody thing over. Embarrassed, Debbie picked up the only thing she even remotely liked, an army-green safari dress. She apologised profusely to the young shop assistant, hurriedly paid for the item and left the shop red-faced, hoping against hope that the bloody thing fitted.

Later on that evening, she was pleasantly surprised with the results. The dress clung to her and the style suited her to a tee. She’d already made her mind up that if it looked like shit, she’d wear her old faithful black dress and take the new one back on Monday morning. Thankfully, now she wouldn’t have to.