When Shirley eventually retired to the living room, relief flooded through Adele, who sneaked out through the back door and dumped the remainder of her tea in the dustbin. Peter followed her into the garden and did the same. She covered the food with some empty tin cans so that it wouldn’t be spotted, then returned to the kitchen and washed the dishes.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asked Peter as she passed him a plate to wipe dry.
‘That Anthony’s a cheat,’ he muttered.
‘Why, what’s he done?’
‘He cheats at football. The ball went outside the line but he wouldn’t have it. Then he went off in a huff and took his ball home. I’m gonna get him.’
‘What are you gonna do to him?’
‘I’m gonna batter him. He called me a liar!’
‘Don’t! You’ll get in trouble again and you know what will happen if Dad finds out.’
‘I don’t care. He deserves it.’
Adele tried and tried to dissuade Peter from fighting with Anthony Hampson and by the time they’d finished their chores, she thought she had succeeded. For a while they stayed indoors watching TV, but when the news programmes came on, Adele grew bored and read a book. She was a few pages in when she noticed that Peter had sneaked out of the house. That could only mean he was up to no good. Knowing that anything could happen when Peter was in a bad mood, she threw down her book and dashed out of the house after him.
Chapter 4
Tommy was having a bad day. His boss had sent him to work on a house in Cheadle where they were building an extension. It was in a tree-lined street of large, detached properties, which were in contrast to Tommy’s modest council house in Gorton. As soon as Tommy arrived, the householder made it clear that she resented his presence.
‘Go round the back,’ she instructed, when she answered the door. Then, eying him from head to toe with a look of unconcealed contempt across her face, she added, ‘I won’t have you traipsing your muck all over my nice clean carpets.’
She opened the side gate of her substantial property and directed Tommy to the area at the back where the extension was being built. Then she left him to it after issuing strict instructions that he wasn’t to enter the rest of the house under any circumstances. The stuck-up bitch! She hadn’t even offered him a cuppa.
Throughout the day he noticed her hovering close to the kitchen window as she watched him working. Every so often she would come to the back door to complain about something she wasn’t happy with. He could still hear her shrill, nagging voice echoing in his ears, ‘Don’t put that there!’ ‘I hope you haven’t damaged the azaleas.’ ‘Keep the noise levels down!’
She even refused to let him use her toilet and told him to go elsewhere. So he went to the pub at dinner, sank a couple of pints and used the toilet there. When he arrived back at the house, she came to the back door to speak to him.
‘Where do you think you’ve been till this time?’ she asked.
‘Having my dinner,’ he grumbled. ‘Why, what’s wrong?’
‘You’ve been gone almost two hours! Does your manager mind you taking so long for your lunch break?’
‘As long as the job gets done, what’s the problem?’ he asked, annoyed at having to kowtow to a woman.
‘We’ll see about that. I shall be keeping a close eye on you to make sure the work does get done! And I want it completed to my satisfaction, otherwise there will be repercussions.’
Snobby cow! If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed the work, he would have told her where to shove her extension. And to make matters worse, he had to go there again tomorrow, and every day after that until the job was finished. He couldn’t ask to be put on another job either. He was lucky to have this one after he had upset his boss a few weeks previously.
Taking flak from people like Mrs Heston, and not being able to retaliate, didn’t suit Tommy at all. As he worked in silence, his resentment grew. To add to his woes, the two pints he’d drunk at dinner had worked their way through to his bladder and he was bursting to have another piss.
When Mrs Heston declared in a self-important manner that she was nipping out to do some errands, Tommy saw it as an opportunity to exact some revenge. He waited till she was well away from the house. Then he unzipped his flies and pointed his penis towards her herbaceous border, sending a spray of urine all over one of Mrs Heston’s precious azalea bushes. He’d have a go at the heather tomorrow.
Despite this act of defiance, he was still annoyed when he stepped off the bus on Hyde Road, so he decided to stop off at his local. A couple of beers before tea should help, he thought.
The dusty cement had given him a thirst and it wasn’t long before he’d sunk a few pints. He was sitting with two of his cronies, who listened patiently while he let off steam about the shit job he’d been given. They even bought him a couple of drinks to cheer him up. But Tommy Robinson always stood his round. So he got up and made his way over to the bar to return the favour.
‘Three pints of bitter, Rosie, and one for yourself,’ he said to the barmaid.
When she served him, he grabbed hold of the three pint glasses with his large, calloused hands, wedging the third pint between the other two to hold it in place and gripping it with his fingertips. Men like Tommy didn’t take two trips to the bar to collect one round of drinks. He could comfortably manage three pints at once.
Well he could when he hadn’t already drunk a few. He swung around, eager to return to his friends and get started on his beer, but before he could complete the turn, his arm connected with another customer, and one of the pints slipped from his grasp. It crashed to the ground, showering the grimy pub carpet with fragments of glass. The spilt beer soaked through Tommy’s work boots and jeans as well as those of the other man.
Tommy slammed the remaining two pints back down on the bar and swivelled to face the man. ‘You clumsy bastard!’ he shouted as he jabbed the man sharply in his shoulder, ‘Why don’t you watch what you’re fuckin’ doing?’
The man had a reputation to rival Tommy’s and he immediately retaliated, landing a punch squarely on Tommy’s chin. Tommy didn’t have chance to hit back. Customers dashed between them to stop a full-on fight.
‘Turn it in or you’ll be out the door!’ shouted the landlord.
For several seconds, both men tried to reach beyond the customers who were holding them back. When Tommy’s adversary realised it was a waste of time, he gave up and stepped back.
But Tommy wasn’t so easily pacified.
Unable to reach the other man, he aimed blows at anybody who tried to hold him back. ‘Let me at the bastard!’ he yelled.
‘I’m warning you, Tommy! Turn it in or you’re out on your arse,’ shouted the landlord.
Tommy’s drinking buddies tried to calm him down but Tommy was past caring. All the frustrations of his day spilled out of him in a stream of profanity and wanton punches.
‘Right, that’s it. Get him out!’ ordered the landlord.
Tommy took one last swipe at the two pints of beer that stood on the bar. The glasses flew past the landlord before striking the back of the bar area then ricocheting and finally shattering on the ground, drenching the landlord with beer and spraying him with broken glass.
‘I’ll fuckin’ have you!’ shouted Tommy as several men hauled him through the crowded pub. He glared at the customers who sank their heads into their pints, aware of Tommy’s reputation as a fighter. ‘If anyone else wants a go, just step outside and I’ll sort the fuckin’ lot of you!’
Tommy landed outside on the pavement and heard the bolt sliding across the pub door. He kicked the door in frustration before spending a few minutes hurling abuse at all those inside. Eventually, he gave up and went home.
*
While Tommy was causing upset in his local pub, his son was also letting his temper get the better of him. All through tea he thought about what had happened earlier. Anthony Hampson was in the wrong and he knew it. But he was also the owner of a
leather Casey football, which put the balance of power in his favour.
Peter was sick of Anthony getting all his own way just because he had a Casey. If he had one of his own then things would have been different but, despite pleading with his mother to buy him one, he always received the same answer: ‘We can’t afford it.’
As Peter thought about the injustice of it all, he became increasingly angry. Finally, determined to confront Anthony Hampson and have things out with him, Peter sneaked out of the house.
He couldn’t see anybody outside at first so he walked to the top of the street to have a look around. Once there he scoured the adjacent street, looking to the left and right. Nothing. So he decided to venture further. He crossed the road and made his way towards the pathway which ran down the back of Anthony’s home.
When Peter reached the top of the path, he saw Anthony up ahead. He began to approach him, but Anthony walked further away, towards his back garden. Peter continued in Anthony’s direction. Then Anthony spotted him and increased his speed, so Peter speeded up too, determined to catch up with him before he reached his home.
When they were a few metres away from Anthony’s back garden, Peter finally caught up with him, grabbing the back of his coat and forcing Anthony to turn around.
‘Gotcha, you dirty cheat!’ announced Peter in triumph as he saw the look of fear on Anthony’s face.
‘Get off me!’ shouted Anthony.
‘No, I won’t. You’re a dirty cheat, and I don’t like cheats. Now you’re gonna pay for it.’
While clutching Anthony’s coat to stop him running away, Peter gave him a sharp kick in the shins. He was set to continue. But, unknown to Peter, Anthony had been playing in his back garden with two of his friends. On hearing the commotion, the two friends ran out of the garden and jumped to Anthony’s defence, punching and kicking at Peter. Although Peter was two years older than them, he was outnumbered. Within seconds they had him on the ground and had surrounded him, ready to take revenge.
Chapter 5
Adele was eager to stop Peter getting into trouble. Once outside she spotted him in the distance, turning into the pathway that ran along the back of the adjacent street and heading in the direction of the Hampsons’ home. When he was out of sight, she sprinted to catch up with him.
As she approached the path, she called out his name but he didn’t seem to hear her. Undeterred, she carried on running until she saw something up ahead. Before she could stop to catch her breath she spotted a group of boys kicking someone who was lying on the ground, hunched up trying to protect himself.
It was only as she drew nearer and spotted the vivid blue of Peter’s coat that she knew for sure the boy on the ground was him.
‘Get off him!’ she yelled. ‘Or I’ll batter you.’
The boys ignored her but the sight of her brother being set upon made Adele so furious that she acted without caution and raced up to them. She pushed the first boy she reached, sending him sprawling onto the ground. The shock halted him temporarily, giving her chance to set about the next boy: Anthony Hampson.
Adele towered above him and she grasped the back of his hair, tugging him away from Peter who got up off the ground. Not content with merely stopping Anthony, with her free hand Adele punched and slapped him repeatedly.
Witnessing her fury, the third boy didn’t want to be next, and he ran away. Meanwhile, the boy who Adele had pushed was still trying to stand back up but Peter lunged at him before he had a chance to gain his balance. Being bigger, Peter was easily able to overpower the boy and he soon left him with a bloody nose and his face red and swollen.
‘Leave him!’ ordered Adele. ‘He’s had enough.’
‘It’s not him I came for anyway,’ said Peter, petulantly.
He turned towards Anthony Hampson who Adele was still holding onto. Despite the hiding that he had already received from Adele, Peter aimed a few last punches at Anthony to ‘teach him a lesson’ before they walked away triumphantly.
But Anthony Hampson hadn’t learnt his lesson from the hiding he had received and he called out to them from the safety of his garden gate. ‘I’m gonna tell my mam and dad what you’ve done,’ he sobbed. ‘And I’ll tell our Janet about you too, Adele Robinson. She won’t want a big bully for a friend.’
Adele ignored him but she was worried. Janet was her best friend, and she loved going around with her. Apart from acting a bit spoilt at times, Janet was a good friend. She often let Adele come round to her house. There, Adele would spend hours engrossed in Janet’s Spirograph, Etch-a-Sketch and other art materials. She also enjoyed playing in Janet’s bedroom. It was in complete contrast to hers, which had lino on the floor and an old shabby wardrobe, and was always cold. Janet’s bedroom was tidy with a plush carpet and matching furniture, including her own dressing table. Taking pride of place on the dressing table was a beautiful brush, comb and mirror set which Janet said was silver-plated. It had roses carved into the metal and, although Janet wouldn’t let Adele use that set, she did let her use her older, plastic one.
‘Take no notice of him,’ said Peter. ‘He won’t tell his mam and dad.’
But Adele was as annoyed with Peter for putting her in that position as she was with the boys for setting about her brother.
‘You don’t know that, Peter! We’ll be in loads of trouble if Dad finds out. You should have left it! I told you to leave it, didn’t I?’
‘Don’t be daft. Even if he tells his mam and dad, they wouldn’t dare come round to our house. They’re all too scared of Dad. Anthony’s just narked ’cos we beat him. Serves himself right, haha. Did you see his face when I smacked him one?’
‘It might be funny for you but what about me? Janet’s my friend.’
‘I don’t know what you’re worried about. You’ve got loads of other friends. Anyway, she’s boring. She never goes climbing or anything. She’s too scared of ruining her nice clothes.’
‘Shut it, Peter!’ shouted Adele and, to her surprise, he did.
For the remainder of the walk home Peter didn’t say another word. Adele didn’t know whether it was out of guilt for putting her in this position or gratitude that she had rescued him from a beating, but nevertheless she was glad he kept quiet. Her temper was still raging, and she didn’t know how she would react if he continued to goad her.
Eventually they arrived at their front door, which stood out from the rest of the street because of the dent two thirds of the way up and the faded, peeling paint. Adele could hear her father shouting even before they got inside the house. As they walked into the lounge, they heard his voice coming from the kitchen.
‘Do you honestly expect me to eat this fuckin’ shite? I come home after a hard day’s work, and this is all you can fuckin’ manage!’
Adele then heard the sound of crockery being slammed.
Peter was just about to switch on the TV when their mother rushed into the living room.
‘Go upstairs while I try to calm him down,’ she whispered before dashing back into the kitchen.
Adele and Peter did as they were told. Although Adele was curious about what had prompted her father’s current rage, she was too frightened to go against her mother’s instructions.
‘Wonder what’s wrong with him,’ muttered Peter as they mounted the stairs.
‘Shush, he might hear you.’
The sound of their father’s shouting continued. Adele could also hear the faint sound of her mother’s voice, but it was drowned out by her father’s angry cursing. A torrent of abuse and profanities carried up the stairs. As his voice increased in volume, she could also hear more crockery being smashed and the scraping of furniture on the floor as though it was being pushed about the room.
Then, all went quiet.
A few seconds later, she heard her mother speak – the sound a mere murmur, pleading with him. ‘Do you want some toast, Tommy love? I can soon make you some toast if you don’t fancy your tea.’
‘Fuck off! You stupid bitch.’
Again his cursing was accompanied by the sound of crashing furniture, and Adele thought she heard her mother let out a suppressed yelp. But it was so slight that she couldn’t be sure.
Adele’s earlier feelings of anger had now turned to fear; her adrenalin redirected to serve this new purpose. As her heart thundered in her chest, Adele wrestled with her conscience, unsure whether to go to help her mother. She wanted to. She really did. But she was scared. Scared of her father’s wrath. Scared she might make matters worse.
But what if her mother was hurt?
‘Should we do something?’ she asked Peter.
‘No chance. I’m keeping away from him while he’s like that.’
‘But what if our Mam’s hurt?’
‘Nah, she’ll be all right. They’re always at it.’
Adele wished she could be so sure. She stayed for a while longer, her hands clammy and the muscles in her shoulders tense. Each time her father shouted, and every time she heard the clatter of crockery and furniture, her heart beat even faster. She also had a strange feeling in her head, which felt like her scalp was prickling as the blood surged in response to her increased heartbeat.
When she heard the heavy tread of her father’s work boots at the bottom of the stairs, she felt as though her heart would burst through her ribcage. She breathed in sharply, anticipating his approach. But his footsteps became fainter. He was heading back towards the living room. The sound of the living room door bouncing forcefully back on its hinges verified this. Then she heard the television.
For several minutes she remained listening, but all seemed to have gone calm. The only noise she could hear was coming from the TV.
‘Sounds like it’s over,’ said Peter.
‘Shhh, I’m listening.’
‘For what?’
‘I want to make sure before I go downstairs.’
‘What d’you want to go down there for? You must be mad!’ said Peter. ‘I’m staying here till the morning.’
Born Bad Page 3