by Martina Cole
Lil was already back in bed, her long hair spread across the pillows and her white breasts straining against her nightdress. She looked good enough to eat and Patrick fought down the urge to take her there and then. He knew she was not on top form and he was sorry for that in more ways than one.
As he lay beside Lil, he snuggled into her and she laughed at the erection pushing against her thigh.
‘You are like those batteries they advertise on the telly. Everreadies!’
‘You know me, girl. Shag a fence I would!’
Patrick grinned and grabbed at her playfully. Lil pushed him away, good-naturedly but firmly.
‘I’m sorry, Patrick. I am just about cream crackered.’
He yawned and kissed her gently. She knew he had a hard-on that was so rock-solid it could stop a speeding bus, but the fact that he didn’t push it made her love him even more. She was bone-weary and hadn’t been sleeping because she was worried about where he was. Now he was beside her and she could settle down and drift away in peace. If only men understood how vulnerable women felt when they were heavily pregnant, especially when it wasn’t the blooming and exciting kind of pregnancy the first few had been. This one was bad enough to make sure this child would be the last. She had no intention of going through all this again.
‘Night, darlin’. Sleep well.’
Lil smiled in the darkness at his soft words; now that he was beside her, that was exactly what she was going to do.
Pat was thinking about a little redhead who had been giving him the come-on for a while now. He needed to slake his urge and she was just the girl to do it.
‘Babe, I might be late again tomorrow night, OK?’
Lil was half-asleep. ‘What about the party, I thought we would start sorting that out?’
Patrick tutted at her and Lil realised she had annoyed him with her domestic chat. But it was her son’s tenth birthday and she wanted it marked properly.
‘Who are you fucking tutting at?’
She was wide awake now and Patrick could have kicked himself. He felt guilty enough as it was because he was already planning what he was going to do to the redhead.
‘I wasn’t tutting. I’m tired, that’s all.’ He was trying to sound hurt to stop any kind of argument because now he really was dog-tired and his Lil could row for England when the fancy took her.
‘I want you to help me make the boy’s day a bit special, Pat. If that’s too much for you, then you let me know and, as per usual, I will do it on me own.’ She was steaming now; she knew that he was wrong-footed and she was making the most of it. The sleep had left her faster than a bank robber in Barclays Bank.
‘Look, Lil, for fuck’s sake . . .’
She punched him none too gently in the shoulder. ‘No, you look, Patrick. I spend my days here with the kids while you swan around being the big fucking I am. And I want your eldest son’s tenth birthday to be something to remember all his life. I never had one party, not fucking one, and you were all for it until tonight. Well, fuck you. If you have more important things to do, then do them.’
She lay back down. Her breathing was heavy and his conscience was even heavier. He was wide awake now and she knew it.
‘Please, Lil. I was just tired, that’s all. You can do what you like for the boy; you know I’m useless at all that party stuff . . .’
Lil leant up on her elbow and he could see her in the dim light from the lamppost outside their window. She was stunning in her anger; when she defended her kids she was like an Amazon to him. But at this moment in time she was being a pain in the fucking ring. He forced a smile as he said, with as much aplomb as he could muster, ‘You know the shit I have had to deal with this week . . .’
She turned away from him and sighed heavily; a calculated sigh that she knew would make him feel guiltier than ever. She knew what he was up to when he wasn’t with her and tonight she didn’t even care about that any more. If someone else was giving him his due, then good luck to them. At this moment in time all she wanted was a good night’s sleep and for her son’s party to go off with a bang. Anything else was not on her radar. He was beneath her notice but she was not going to let him off without a fight.
‘Fuck you. Do you know what my life is like, Pat? Backache, a weak bladder and four kids who can’t fucking sleep through the night without a bastard drama. On top of that, I have a husband who stays out all night on a regular basis and I am expected to believe that it’s work even though I worked the clubs with him and I know the score better than he does. I just asked you a perfectly simple question, that is all. I wanted to know about our son’s birthday, but I forgot that we ain’t interesting enough for you any more, are we? Oh no, you are more interested in what you get up to, night after fucking night, while I stagnate here like a fucking pet monkey!’
Patrick would not have even attempted to interrupt or argue with her until she brought up about the clubs and now he was as angry as she was. Guilt was eating at him and he was determined to throw her off the scent. Attack was the best form of defence; his old man had proved the truth of that one.
‘What are you trying to insinuate, Lil? That I am dipping my wick elsewhere?’ It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it even as he was saying it.
She was out of the bed with the lamp on quicker than a pimp in a power cut.
‘You said that, not me. What’s the matter, your conscience playing you up, is it? I am here day in and day out with four kids and another one cooking inside me and you are like a fucking single bloke. You waltz in and out of your children’s lives like a fucking ghost. All I ask is that you be here for one bastard night to sort out your son’s birthday and you act like I am trying to pin you down for a court date. Well, fuck you, I will do it meself, as I do everything by meself lately.’
In the lamplight she looked demonic and Patrick was sorry that the night had deteriorated into this. But he was also wondering if this was a good opportunity to go on the trot and hunt down his redhead. Lil was getting him going again; her anger made him want her all the more. He knew she had every right to confront him. He had been out a lot lately and he could have come home except he had been enjoying himself, but he had been sorting out a lot of aggravation too. Her condition made her stroppy for the slightest reason and, not for the first time, he was going to exploit that. Looking at her now though, like a woman demented, he saw his chance. Climbing out of bed, Patrick started to get himself dressed. He was all subdued anger and righteous dignity. Every action was exaggerated and overdone.
It was an act and they both knew it. Patrick was wide awake and he had an itch that had to be scratched and his wife had just given him the perfect excuse to leave the house and get it scratched thoroughly by a little redhead with a pretty mouth.
‘What do you think you are doing?’
It was a question she knew he had no intention of answering with any kind of truthfulness.
He sneered at her instead.
‘What does it look like, Lil? You’re the expert, you tell me.’
He pulled on his socks and, slipping his feet into his shoes, he carried on in the same sarcastic tone.
‘I am going back out because it is obvious to me that you ain’t going to let me sleep tonight so I might as well be out on the fucking town. I might as well give you something to moan about.’
Lil was nearly in tears, not because she was upset, but because her anger was overwhelming her.
‘You are going to walk out because I asked you about your son’s birthday and you think that is reason enough to go to your whore?’
Patrick’s anger abated at her words. ‘What whore? I ain’t got a bird, Lil, not a real one, and you know that. I take a flier now and again, but that is it.’
He walked around the bed half dressed, running his hands through his hair in consternation, and, pulling her into his arms, said softly, ‘You are one fucking awkward bastard, Lil, when you are cooking a chavvy. I am tired of this. You know what has been happening lately wi
th the Williams brothers.’
He was looking into her eyes and his sensible head was telling him to stay home and make her happy, but his cock and his new-found energy were telling him to go out and have a good fuck. Get all the tension out of his body that only a faceless, uncomplicated fuck could do for a man.
Women didn’t understand men and strange: it was nothing personal, it was about shagging, that was all. They were there for the taking, and you took. Simple as that; it wasn’t rocket science. With strange you just did it. You didn’t worry about them enjoying it too much and you didn’t have to be nice to them before or after, though he was; you just bought them a few drinks and had a laugh. If you saw them again you smiled and that was just about the extent of the relationship. If they had delusions of grandeur, you put them in their place with a few choice words and a gentle hand on their backs as you walked them out the door. Now Patrick had the scent of strange in his nostrils and his wife was making him feel like a fucking intruder in his own home: a perfect recipe for him to justify going back out and not feeling too much remorse for his philandering.
‘Look, Lil. Of course I want the boy to have a great day but, no matter what I say, you will decide it all in the end anyway. You want a row and I ain’t going to let you have one.’
Lily knew exactly what he was trying to do and the knowledge depressed her. She could indeed start a row in an empty house, he was right about that much. But she was right about him and his other life as well. He called them fliers, she called them the reason she couldn’t sleep.
‘Get back into bed.’
She allowed him to tuck her in, fighting the urge to cry. She ached all over and she was tired and irritable. The twins would be up at six and she would have to be up with them no matter what she felt like. This was the edge he always had over her. She wondered what he would do if she fucked off one night and left him there wondering where she was, who she was with and when she would be back. That would never happen though, and they both knew it.
‘Get a bit of sleep, Lil, you need it. I am only making you upset by being here and neither of us want that, do we?’
As Lil lay back against the pillows once more, she was amazed to see her husband finish dressing himself. She watched as he checked his pockets for his wallet and keys and then, kissing her lightly, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She stretched out in the bed then and the sleep that had eluded her finally overcame her; this was a milestone in their marriage and she knew it. For the first time ever, she was glad he was gone from her. She knew he had come home the conquering hero and she had pissed all over the fireworks. The knowledge saddened her.
Chapter Nine
‘What are you doing, boy?’
Pat Junior grinned as he poured the tea out and he basked in his mother’s pretend annoyance. He loved it when she acted like he was still too young to do things for himself or for the others.
‘Making the breakfast, Mum. Sit down and have a rest.’
Lil laughed happily. ‘Have a rest, I only just got up!’
Since his birthday invitations had gone out and his cake had been ordered, Patrick Junior had been like a dog with six lampposts. He was a good kid anyway; he would go to the ends of the earth for her or his sisters and brother but, since the party had been organised and authenticated with hand written invitations, he had been like something from a Hollywood film. He could not do enough for her. Her contretemps with his father had, as always, blown over. She blamed herself for it because she should have had the sense to keep her trap shut and her opinions to herself. She knew that her husband had more temptation before him than most men, and she knew that now and again, he was going to succumb. What he didn’t need was her giving him the green light by nagging him out of the door.
She was sipping her tea and nibbling on the toast her son had made her, when she saw Lance’s face. It was bruised and scratched. ‘What’s wrong with your face, mate?’
Lance shrugged. His deep-blue eyes were, as always, devoid of any real emotion; at least that was how they looked to her. She hated herself for thinking it.
Pat stood behind his chair and she realised that his eyes were exactly the same as his brother’s, except that she enjoyed looking into her older son’s eyes.
‘He had a fight at school, Mum.’
Lil sighed. Her frustration at her youngest son’s bored demeanour was putting her on edge.
‘What are you, Pat? His fucking parrot? Let him answer for himself. He ain’t deaf, is he?’
She was sorry for her words and her anger immediately; Pat Junior was crushed by what she had said and the way she had said it. He had always been the buffer between her and his brother and she loved that about him. She felt the usual pang of guilt about her reactions to her younger son and prayed once more that she might find it in her heart to love him like she did all the others. She played the part of the doting mother so well that she believed it herself at times. But seeing Lance bruised and scratched made her feel guiltier than ever because she had not noticed it the night before.
Pat Junior stood behind his brother with one hand on his shoulder, and the other hand shielding eyes that were filled with tears. His head sank on to his chest and Lil knew he was trying not to break down in front of his siblings. She pulled him into her arms.
‘I’m sorry, darling. You know I ain’t myself lately. You are such a good boy, Pat, and I depend on you, which is wrong.’ He hugged her tightly and she felt the solidness of his body; he was becoming a young man. Although Lance was bigger and heavier, he didn’t have the tight muscles of Patrick Junior. Lance looked like the older brother but he didn’t have Pat’s sense or intellect.
‘Now, Lance, come here.’
Lil held out her free arm to her second son and felt his hesitation before he moved towards her. She hugged them both to her tightly and Lance squeezed her back as if his life depended on it.
‘So, who hurt you, Lance? Tell me.’
He stepped back from her and shrugged like he always did when questioned about anything he was the cause of.
‘It wasn’t his fault, Mum. It was the bigger lads; they pick on him because of his size.’
Lil held up her hand to silence Pat Junior. He was always trying to keep the peace but she knew that Lance was the one causing fights; it was in his nature and the school had just about had enough of him. Lance was on his last warning, and he knew it.
‘Who were you fighting, Lance? Tell me and I’ll let it go. But if you lie to me, I’ll be angry. Now, answer me truthfully. Were you fighting again?’
He nodded and she sighed. It was pointless going on about it; he never listened to her anyway.
‘Have I got to go to the school?’
Patrick Junior shook his head. ‘It was outside of school, Mum, on our way home. Honest, it’s all sorted, really.’
Lil nodded and lit another cigarette. As long as she wasn’t going to be dragged up to the school she didn’t really care.
Pat Junior was subdued now and she wished she had left it. After all, Pat had always looked out for his brother and that was never going to change. She worried that Lance’s big mouth and knack of picking fights would one day land his older brother in trouble that he couldn’t handle. So far he had bailed him out regularly and with the minimum of fuss, but she knew that as they got older it would not be so easy for him. Patrick could call on a lot of friends if he needed to, but Lance didn’t make friends; he only had Patrick. She instinctively knew that in the years to come, Pat Junior would still be clearing up after his little brother. Lance depended on him too much and she blamed herself for that.
She smiled at the boys then, to show she was over it all, and they smiled back.
It occurred to Pat that his mother had not attempted to dress his brother’s wounds like other mothers would have done and, as always, he felt the burden of Lance falling on to his shoulders.
Dave was sitting in his mother’s house waiting for Bernie to bring Dennis back fro
m the hospital. He was still bad, by all accounts, but he was better than anyone had expected him to be. Dave had left him there for three weeks without once going to see him. At first he had left it because he was so upset. Then he had left it too long to go without having to explain his absence. Now though, he had to face him and sort this thing out once and for all. Bernie would be here with him any minute and he had made sure that they would be alone.
He was nervous, but he didn’t regret what he had done any more. It had been on the cards, the pressure had got to them all and he had blown, simple as that. Dennis was such a handful he could start a fight in a monastery. It had been inevitable they would come head to head at some point.
Dave glanced around his mother’s lounge: the Yorkstone fireplace and shagpile carpet were stained and dilapidated and he was once more reminded of the money they had spunked up without a second’s thought. As Pat had once pointed out, he had helped them make it and he was not obliged to tell them how to spend it. But he had tried. He had warned Dave about the way he was spending, had told him that until you line your pockets properly, keep your money in your pockets. Never let anyone know what you’ve got, had been another one of his favourite sayings; once people were aware that they knew too much about you, they wouldn’t be comfortable with you ever again.
How true those words had been, and how Dave wished he could turn back the clock. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. That was another of Brodie’s sayings that he wished he had listened to.
Pat had more or less told him that he was still on the firm but not in the capacity he had been before. Now he was on the pay-roll, on a wage, and he knew he had to swallow that. The fact he had even contemplated trying to force his way into Patrick’s and Spider’s business arrangement was enough to see him six-feet under so he was more than aware that he had been given a second chance.