Born Bad

by Born Bad (retail) (epub)

  When Adele joined the crowd around the table again, their enthusiastic chatter dulled and the volume dropped. It was as though there was a swift change in topic as soon as she was within earshot.

  ‘I tell you what,’ said David, ‘if you ever need a solicitor for your “kosher” business, Pete, maybe big sis can sort you out.’ Then, turning to Adele, he added, ‘Bet you know some big-shot solicitors where you work, don’t you? Maybe they could help us out if we ever get in a bit of bother.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Adele. ‘The accounts department is in a separate office. Anyway, it’s not that kind of solicitors. They deal in conveyancing mainly.’

  ‘Oooh, get you,’ taunted David.

  Adele had had enough. ‘What is your fuckin’ problem?’ she snapped. ‘Just because I work for a living, it doesn’t make me a snob! You wanna fuckin’ try it sometime instead of being a complete waster.’ She scowled at David who jumped back in his chair. His movement was dramatic and exaggerated; another taunt.

  ‘She bites,’ he sniggered and the group joined in his laughter.

  Adele stood up, scraping her chair across the floor. ‘Fuck off, tosser!’ she shouted before pouring her drink all over David’s head and storming out of the bar to the sound of jeers and laughter.

  *

  Shirley sat sobbing in her living room. She knew she was becoming maudlin but she couldn’t help it. She missed her kids and her mother even though she had been gone for a few years now. She stared up at the mantelpiece, admiring the porcelain figurine, which looked so out of place in her living room. It had been her mother’s until she died, and Shirley treasured it. In fact, the figurine was one of the few ornaments she bothered dusting. That and the large brass cat, which decorated the hearth, were the only ornaments that Shirley lavished with any attention. She’d inherited both of them from her mother. Every time she stared at the figurine she was comforted. It seemed to reflect her mother’s personality, standing proudly amidst the clutter.

  When Tommy came home, Shirley sensed that he was in a mood straightaway. It was in his stance, the look on his face and the stomping of his feet. He was also drunk. Shirley quickly dried her eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed. But he had.

  ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Nothing, just having a moment. That’s all.’

  ‘No wonder you don’t get any fuckin’ housework done when you’re sat scriking all the time. Your mam’s been gone years, for fuck’s sake! It’s about time you pulled yourself together.’

  Normally Shirley would keep her mouth shut but the mention of her mother annoyed her. ‘You don’t know what it’s like!’ she complained. ‘It’s never happened to you and, even if it did, you probably wouldn’t bother.’

  ‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean’ he asked, lumbering over towards her.

  His rigid posture and glaring eyes were enough to quash Shirley, who began to backtrack. ‘Nothing. I just mean that you’re not that close to your mam and dad.’

  ‘None of your bleedin’ business,’ he said, walking over to the fireplace.

  He was carrying a lit cigarette, which had burnt down so far that the lit end was almost touching his fingers. He hovered against the mantelpiece, searching for the ashtray, which was concealed beneath the clutter. Shirley was up out of her chair anticipating his next move. She was ready to shift some of the mess so that the ashtray was visible. But she was too late.

  ‘Fuckin’ shite!’ yelled Tommy, swiping at the items that crowded the mantelpiece.

  Shirley’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the figurine tumble down to the ground. ‘No!’ she yelled, bending to pick it up.

  Its arm was missing and the rest of it was covered in cracks. For seconds she stood, speechless, nursing her precious figurine while the tears flowed.

  She was upset but she was also angry. ‘You bastard!’ she shouted at Tommy in an uncharacteristic display of courage. ‘Look what you’ve done to my mam’s ornament,’ she said, holding it up for him to see the damage.

  Tommy swung his fist at Shirley’s hand, launching the figurine across the living room. It landed in the corner and smashed into tiny pieces.

  ‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare speak to me like that!’ he yelled, gripping his hands tightly around Shirley’s throat.

  Shirley retaliated. ‘Get off me!’ she stormed, bashing his arms with her fists to try to loosen his grip. His hands continued to tighten around her throat until she was unable to speak. So she dug her nails into his hands.

  Tommy drew his hands away in shock. He was still holding the cigarette and, as he pulled his hands away, the lit end singed his fingers. He dropped it instantaneously, howling from the stinging pain.

  ‘I’ll fuckin’ teach you!’ he screeched as he started raining blows on Shirley’s face and torso.

  Shirley held up her arms to protect her face but this incensed him more. As Tommy unleashed his full fury, Shirley was helpless. After a torrent of punches, she crumpled to the floor. Tommy wasn’t finished. No longer able to thump her, he used his feet instead. His sturdy work boots were perilous and Shirley cried out in pain as blow after blow assailed her body.

  When he had finished, he straightened himself up, panting for breath with spittle leaching from his angry mouth. Then he grabbed her hair, forcing her to face him.

  ‘Fuckin’ bitch,’ he cursed then spat into her face before walking away.

  Shirley lay on the floor in pain. She glanced up through eyes that were already beginning to swell. There in a corner of the room she could just about make out the shattered remains of her treasured figurine.

  Chapter 41

  It had been several weeks since John had left for London, and Adele was still finding it difficult. Even though she was now in touch with him, and he had forgiven her rash behaviour, it wasn’t the same as having him here with her.

  At work she coped by pouring herself into her new supervisory role, which helped to take her mind off things. But the nights were the most difficult. As she glanced at the clock, she dreaded the long evening that stretched ahead of her.

  She was presently occupying herself by listening to more sad ballads, but at least she wasn’t drinking as much. Instead she consoled herself by eating. She’d always had a sweet tooth, which she had managed to keep under control until now. Shortbread, chocolate and cream cakes were now a nightly indulgence. To hell with the few pounds she’d gained; she had nobody to look good for now.

  While she listened to her music, she relived the break-up again in her mind. All the whys and wherefores were never far from her thoughts. She couldn’t help but beat herself up over it, and was almost relieved when the ringing phone gave her a change of focus. That was, until she found out who it was and what had happened.

  ‘Adele, it’s yer mam. I’m in hospital, love.’

  Her mother’s voice sounded weak and shaky, sending Adele into an immediate panic. ‘What is it, Mam? What’s happened?’

  ‘I… I’ve had an accident. I fell down the stairs. I’m all right. There’s nothing to worry about but I need some things from home.’

  ‘Oh my God! Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, just a few bruises, that’s all. But they won’t let me go home till the doctor’s seen me tomorrow morning so I’m going to need some stuff.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Adele. ‘What is it you need?’

  Adele knew immediately that the story about falling down the stairs was fabricated, probably for the benefit of eavesdroppers. While she took a note of the things her mother needed, the thought occurred to her that her father should have been taking her mother’s things into hospital. This convinced her even more that something must have happened between her parents although she doubted whether he would have been that helpful anyway. He wasn’t like normal husbands.

  ‘What ward are you in and what time is visiting?’ asked Adele. She wrote the details down on a piece of paper. ‘OK,’ she added. ‘I’ll bring your things tomorrow wh
en I’ve had a chance to collect them but I can come and visit you tonight as well if you like.’

  ‘No, it’s OK, love. It’s getting a bit late now. You won’t have long by the time you get here.’

  Adele looked at the clock. Ten past seven. She did a quick calculation in her head; five minutes to freshen up and a short drive that would only take fifteen minutes at this time of night. That meant she should have at least half an hour with her mother before visiting finished at eight o’clock.

  ‘No, I’ll come,’ said Adele. ‘I’ve got nothing else on and I can be there in no time.’

  Adele was curious. She wanted to see for herself what sort of state her mother was in and the fact that she was trying to put her off didn’t sound good. She guessed that if her mother hadn’t wanted her to fetch some things then she would probably have tried to conceal her injuries from her altogether. The way her mother always tried to cover up for her father still puzzled Adele.

  She raced around the house, and within just over five minutes she was ready to go and assess the latest damage her father had inflicted.

  *

  It took a while to find Ward 13 and, by the time Adele had traipsed through the extensive hospital grounds, it was twenty to eight. She rushed through the ward, passing beds surrounded by the families and friends of patients.

  When Adele reached the end of the ward she still hadn’t found her mother. She checked the details she had written down again. Yes, definitely Ward 13. She wondered whether she might have taken it down incorrectly but she was fairly certain that her mother had said thirteen. She remembered the irony of that particular number. Unlucky for some.

  Adele decided to walk back down the ward and take it slowly this time. With all the visitors around, it was difficult to see the patients. But something told her that her mother probably wouldn’t have any visitors.

  There had been one patient without visitors but she’d passed her by. It couldn’t be her. Surely? But what if it was? Adele felt a sense of doom. She made a point of looking at that patient as she approached.

  Adele stopped at the end of the bed, trying to take in the woman’s features. It was difficult to tell whether it was her mother or not; the injuries were so bad. In the end it was her mother’s straggly hair that gave her away. When Adele was within a metre of her, she gasped in shock. Shirley attempted a lopsided smile from her swollen, misshapen lips.

  ‘Oh, Mam,’ said Adele, rushing towards her.

  As Adele put her arms around her mother, she could feel tears of distress cloud her eyes. She forced the tears back, not wanting to upset her. She held her gently, careful to avoid the bruising to her arms and trying not to press too hard on the arm that was in plaster. Shirley’s face was so full of bruises and red welts that there was hardly any unblemished flesh visible, and her lips were split and puffy. Her eyes were both swollen and coloured black and blue. It was no wonder she hadn’t called out when Adele walked past; she probably couldn’t see to the end of the bed.

  She was wearing a flimsy hospital gown with a wide neckline, and Adele could see that the bruising also extended to her throat and shoulders. The marks on her throat looked like angry fingerprints and Adele baulked at the thought that her father had tried to strangle her.

  Adele had a flashback to a few years previously when her father had given Peter a savage beating. She could relive the event even now. The fear coursing through her. A desperate need to help her brother. The blood spattering. Her brother’s face a mask of pain and the stinging blows she received as she tried to form a human shield. Adele’s breath caught in her throat. She could picture the scene only too well.

  ‘What brought this on?’ she asked.

  Shirley’s eyes flitted across to the visitors sitting around the neighbouring bed. ‘I told you, I fell down the stairs,’ she said.

  Adele knew that her mother wouldn’t confide in her while other people could overhear so she dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Why, Mam? I thought he wasn’t as bad these days.’

  Shirley glanced across at a woman who was watching them and shrugged her shoulders. The movement caused her to wince in pain.

  ‘What about your arm?’ whispered Adele. ‘Is it broken?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Shirley replied. Then, noticing that the woman’s eyes were still on them, she added loudly, ‘That must have happened because I fell funny.’

  There was nothing funny about this situation, Adele thought, sardonically, but before they had chance to discuss the matter any further a nurse announced that visiting time was over. Adele would have to wait until the next day to hear the horrifying truth.

  Chapter 42

  Adele called at her parents’ home once visiting had finished so that she would have her mother’s things ready to take to hospital the following day. As she still had a key, she let herself in. She was surprised to find her father there as the pubs were still open. He was sitting in his armchair slurping from a can of beer.

  As Adele walked into the living room, he glanced at her, grunted then carried on watching TV. Adele was incensed.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask how my mam is?’ she demanded.

  ‘Oh, you’ve been to see her, have you?’ he asked.

  Adele noticed the way he refused to make eye contact with her. But he disguised his guilt with a display of apathy, which annoyed her even more.

  ‘Yes, I have. And you should have been visiting her too! Or maybe you feel too guilty for what you’ve done.’

  ‘What yer talking about? She fell down the stairs.’

  ‘That’s a load of crap, and you know it!’ yelled Adele.

  ‘Don’t you speak to me like that, young lady, or I’ll give you what for.’

  ‘Oh, here we go again. You can’t face up to what you’ve done so you resort to threats and intimidation.’

  ‘Don’t come here with yer big fancy words. I’ve done nowt wrong,’ he said then he turned his head towards the TV screen again, ignoring Adele.

  She was becoming increasingly furious. How dare he just brush it off! She’d make him face up to it. It was about time he answered for his behaviour. Acting in anger, she stepped in front of the TV, blocking it from his view. ‘If you’re so bleedin’ innocent then why aren’t you at the hospital?’ she challenged. ‘You haven’t even had the decency to ask how she is!’

  ‘I’m warning you!’ he shouted. ‘If you don’t fuckin’ shift from that TV, I’ll come and shift you.’

  But Adele was beyond fear. Rage had taken over. ‘You don’t scare me anymore!’ she yelled. ‘You’re just a good-for-nothing bully.’

  ‘Right!’ he bawled, rising from his chair and lunging at Adele.

  She anticipated his move, sidestepping him so that she was now standing next to the fireplace. Before she could use her kickboxing skills, he was upon her, slapping her on the side of her head. She drew backwards, trying to recover from the blow. Then she advanced on him with a roundhouse kick. But he was fast despite his bulk. He grabbed her leg, sending her off balance.

  Adele fell to the ground, her head hitting the stone hearth. Ignoring the dizziness that made her head swim, she swiped viciously at his leg till it went beneath him. He landed on top of her, his weight pinning her to the ground. Before she could wriggle free, he had his hands around her throat.

  ‘I’ll teach you, you stuck-up little bitch!’ he cursed. ‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare come in my house shouting the odds at me! She deserved it. She’s nowt but a useless, lazy cow. And you’re not much better. That boyfriend soon pissed off when he found out what you were like, didn’t he?’

  She gasped for breath, her feelings of terror battling with the fury that raged within her. How dare he use John against her!

  Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, he released his hold. ‘That’ll fuckin’ teach you!’ he sneered.

  Adele struggled to throw him off but he was too powerful. He laughed at her failed attempts; he was toying with her.

  ‘You bastard!’ she
cursed.

  Adele glared at her despotic father and clawed at his face. He reacted by grabbing her hair with one hand while he slapped her hard across the face with the other. The stinging blow brought tears to her eyes. But she wouldn’t let him beat her!

  Her determination sent angry waves of adrenalin pulsing through her body. Adele’s fight mechanism kicked in. She reached for something with which to hit him. Her hand settled on the smooth, hard surface of the brass cat. Adele raised it and brought it down forcefully onto his head and he collapsed on top of her. But she carried on pummelling him.

  Hatred! Anger! Fear! They all combined. Driving her on.

  Smash!

  Years of neglect and abuse.

  Bash!

  A lifetime of terror and pain.

  Smack!

  Over and over she kept hitting him with the brass cat. Again and again.

  Blood oozed from a gaping wound at the side of his head but still she kept going. Until she was exhausted. And her rage was assuaged. She dropped the heavy ornament and pushed him away from her. For a few seconds she sat back, panting. Relieved to have beaten him off.

  But her relief soon turned to panic. She looked at her tyrannical father lying still. No longer a tyrant. His body was limp, his eyes dead inside a battered head that rested in a pool of blood.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she wept. ‘Oh my God!’

  She stayed rooted to the spot; too shocked to move for several minutes as she stared at the lifeless form of her tormentor. It was over.

  *

  Peter couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There on his doorstep was his sister in an obvious state of shock. Her eyes looked like saucers; wide open, the pupils dilated. Her face was pale and drawn. She was breathing heavily and had a sheen of sweat on her brow.