I Own You

by Dawn McConnell

  ‘I’ll kill you if you leave!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll take Callum away. I’ll cut off your hair. I’ll throw acid in your face so no man will ever want you. Mark my words, I will destroy you, Dawn! If you go on this holiday you’ll never get back in this house. You will never see your baby again. Never!’

  It was utterly terrifying and yet, weirdly, Hannah, who had heard all this from her room upstairs, didn’t seem bothered by Stuart’s vile threats.

  ‘Oh, let him shout,’ she said blithely, as she packed all our things in two small cases. ‘He’s only got himself to blame.’

  Hannah’s father was one of Stuart’s oldest friends so she’d known him all her life and this familiarity meant she wasn’t frightened of him the way I was. I took comfort from her strength and resolved that I wouldn’t let Stuart scare me into staying. Even so, I shook uncontrollably all the way to the airport, sick with fear and worry.

  Once there, however, Hannah turned to me. ‘I can’t wait any longer,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’ And she handed me a card. There were penguins on the front and, inside, in Stuart’s handwriting, it read: ‘Sorry you’re leaving! I’ll see you when you get home. Enjoy your time in the sun!’ He’d also stuck in £100 cash.

  Oh, thank God! I kissed Hannah with relief! Now I could relax, knowing that my life wasn’t over. But as the hours passed, the card left a sour taste in my mouth. This wasn’t his gold seal of approval but the start of what were to be his mind games. There was no way in a million years he was happy with me being away. This card was for Hannah’s benefit and that was all.

  In fact, the three of us had a wonderful time in Albufeira. Hannah and I were so close in age, we were practically like sisters. It felt great to be away together. Between us we looked after Callum, went to water parks and sunbathed on the beach. It was bliss, my first adult holiday abroad, and a much-needed break from all the stress of the past three months.

  Only one cloud hovered on the horizon. Why had Stuart used Hannah to make his feelings known? I wondered. Why couldn’t he just tell me himself?

  ‘Oh, you know men!’ Hannah tutted when I asked her. ‘So full of pride. They can never admit when they’re wrong.’

  I lay on my sunlounger, thinking things over. I knew Hannah was my friend but an ugly thought suddenly went through my head that maybe Stuart was also using her as a spy, making sure I didn’t get up to any mischief while I was away. Oh no. I shook my head. That is surely too cynical. I breathed in the warm Portuguese air and let all my worries go.

  ‘So, what’s going to happen to The Queen’s Head?’ asked Hannah.

  ‘No idea,’ I said as I stretched out my long legs. I genuinely didn’t care anymore. ‘S’not my problem.’

  But it soon was. By the time we got back, the liquidators were in and Stuart’s special till had disappeared. He warned me not to talk to them and I knew what he meant by that: no word about his ‘skimming’. They kept me on for a few weeks to run the pub on their behalf and then I was let go. There were huge debts, apparently. Thirty thousand pounds were missing from the takings and Stuart was in big trouble with the brewers as he had failed to pay them any rent in the whole time we had been there. What a disaster! Between my inexperience and his stealing, we had run the business into the ground.

  It wouldn’t have been too bad, only Stuart and I had overstretched ourselves financially. It had all been Stuart’s idea, of course. Some months ago, he’d said the flat was too small for all of us and so he had found a nice four-bedroom house in need of renovation. He sold his flat and put the house into my name, explaining that all his assets were going to be seized by the Inland Revenue for unpaid taxes, which meant that he would be declared bankrupt. (Of course, most of his assets were already in Adam’s name anyway, but if the house was in my name, the Inland Revenue couldn’t touch that either.) He had bought the place with £40k cash, then he marched me to the bank to take out a £40k mortgage, in my name – which all went into Stuart’s pocket. So now he had his cash, and I had a huge mortgage.

  At the time, I’d been ecstatic at the move – my own home! What other eighteen-year-old could boast of owning a four-bedroom house? But once The Queen’s Head went bust I became terrified. How could I keep up the mortgage repayments now without an income? I didn’t know where my next pay cheque was coming from. And it wasn’t just the mortgage that concerned me. How could we pay the food bills, for the Sky TV, the electricity?

  And that’s when Stuart and Adam came up with a new plan. Between them, they bought a pub called The Old Bell – outright. This time, there were no brewers and no rent bills to pay. It was going cheap because it was in need of a complete refit and, worse, it was in a bad area. They laid out their idea: I was to borrow £100k from the bank to pay for refurbishments and then I’d lease the pub from the cousins, paying them a monthly rent, just as I might do if they were the brewers. But the advantage from my point of view was that I didn’t have to buy beer from a brewer at inflated prices, I could run the pub exactly as I wanted and, if I managed to make it a success, then everyone would win.

  ‘So I get all the debt, all the risk and all the work?’ If I sounded sceptical, it was because it seemed like a better deal for the cousins than it was for me. I had just taken on £40k of debt. Did I really want another £100k round my neck? I was still only eighteen and it seemed like a massive responsibility.

  ‘Yeah. That’s right!’ Stuart said firmly, with a nasty undertone in his voice. ‘You can have all of that. Or you can have nothing, Dawn. What do you think: something or nothing? Because if you’re going to take nothing, then I’ll need to know how you intend to pay your way. Tell me – how are you planning to keep up with the mortgage? How do you propose we keep the cash coming? Because I’m not doing it.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Dawn, I make my own money and I expect you to make yours. What else have you got going on at the moment? Anyone else offering you the lease of a pub? A business on a plate? No? Thought not.’ He sneered at me. ‘Now I’m offering you a chance to be part of something or nothing.’ He leaned over into my face, challenging me with his eyes. ‘What’s it going to be?’

  I ducked my head, cowed, as I always was, into submission. He knew what it was going to be, and so did I.

  Just as it had been since I’d very first been seduced by him, it seemed I didn’t have a choice.

  PART III

  GROWING UP

  Chapter 12

  My Bar

  What a miserable place, I thought, as I surveyed the practically empty bar. The only customers in The Old Bell this afternoon were a couple of dirty drunks but later on, I knew, the prostitutes would be in for a quick nip of whisky to warm themselves up. Stuart had told me the pub was in an area that was up-and-coming. New office blocks were opening round the corner and soon, he assured me, it would be teeming with young, trendy office workers. It was hard to believe – right now, it felt like the back of beyond, a run-down and lonely part of town where nobody wanted to hang out, least of all me!

  But, I told myself, this is only day three so there’s no need to panic. After all, I had to get a feel for the place before I made any drastic changes. Right now, I had my elbows on the bar as I scrutinized our food menu. Scampi and chips, pie and chips, gammon and chips. Urgh! Who eats all this deep-fried rubbish?

  Just then, the large double doors swung open and a pair of tall men in blazers and jeans sauntered in, both of them scanning the room as they approached the bar.

  ‘Two pints of lager, please,’ said the tallest one. They looked to be in their mid-forties, well turned out and with slicked-back blond hair.

  ‘Two pounds forty, please,’ I said as I placed the pints down on the counter.

  The first one looked at me, dead-eyed, and in a low monotone said: ‘We’re not paying for that.’

  ‘And why is that then?’

  ‘Because we don’t pay for drinks around here.’

  ‘Why?’

  I was confused and not
in the least bit intimidated, even though I was on my own today. I had the courage of a lion when it came to anyone but Stuart. He had taught me well. If you stand up to someone, they most likely back down. My association with him would scare most people off, and if they dared touch me they knew that any assault on his girl or property would not be taken lightly. I was protected and I knew it, but most importantly they knew it.

  ‘Surely you know who we are?’ said the second one, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘No, I don’t know who you are,’ I replied smartly. I wasn’t really in the mood for this game.

  ‘Who’s here then? Who else is working with you tonight, or are you on your own?’ said the first one again, taking a new tack.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘Okay, so this is what’s going to happen,’ he said. ‘I’m Jason Mead and this here is Len Hamilton and we ran this bar for years. We’re going to come round once a week and we’re going to collect everything you’ve got in the till.’

  He spoke calmly but the menace in his voice was clear. However, I wasn’t about to let myself get pushed around by this guy; I had enough of that at home. Who the hell did he think he was?

  ‘No, you’re not,’ I said, equally calmly. ‘Why would I let you do that?’

  ‘Well, look . . .’ He grinned, talking slowly, as if to an idiot. ‘You see these nice windows here? We’re going to smash them. We’re going to smash them every week and you’re going to give us money not to smash them.’

  At eighteen years old and with so little experience, I’d never even heard the word ‘extortion’. I didn’t know what a protection racket was. I had no idea that these were two of the biggest criminals on this side of Glasgow and that they were famous for shaking down all the local businesses. I didn’t know any of that. All I knew was that they were being rather unpleasant, and – unlike with Stuart, who had such power and sway over me – I wasn’t going to stand for it.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you just not smash them?’

  By now, the one called Len was fed up and asked impatiently: ‘Look, how much have you got in the till?’

  ‘Five pounds. You want that? Five pounds?’

  ‘I know you,’ said Jason suddenly. ‘You’re Stuart Kelly’s bird, aren’t you? Why don’t you get him on the phone, tell him Jason Mead’s here and we’ll see where we go from there, shall we?’

  I shrugged and went through to the kitchen, where I called Stuart and told him what was happening.

  ‘You’re not going to give them any money, are you?’ he said.

  ‘No, there’s no money to give them. Are you coming to help me here?’

  ‘Erm, no. I’m watching Family Fortunes. Anyway, I’ve had a bottle of wine so I can’t drive. You’ll just have to deal with it on your own.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll deal with it,’ I said. I hadn’t really expected him to help me; Stuart never did.

  So I walked back into the bar, my brain whirring, and said to the men: ‘Right, I’ve told Stuart and he told me to get the money from the safe, in the back office.’

  ‘Good girl! Well, off you go then . . .’

  And I did – I went to the back office and, from there, I called the police. Then I returned to the bar and shrugged. ‘Sorry, lads, there’s no money in the safe. We’ve only been open a week.’

  At that moment, Jason lunged over the bar and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, pulling me back over to his side of the bar with extreme violence, and snarled: ‘Get the fucking money!’

  Just then, two policemen walked in. Thank God! Not a moment too soon, I thought, as Jason quickly let go of me. I’d never been a huge fan of the boys in blue after my treatment at their hands when they’d tried to lock up Stuart (even then, I still didn’t think he’d done anything wrong in sleeping with me underage), but right at that moment, I couldn’t have been more pleased to see them.

  ‘Jason!’ the policeman shouted. ‘Jason, what the hell are you doing? You’ve not been out more than a month. I can’t believe you’re back here at your old haunt trying the same thing!’

  ‘You called the fucking police?’ Jason’s eyes bulged.

  ‘Yes,’ I said calmly. ‘And I’ll testify too.’

  That was the end of that.

  When I got home later that day, Stuart was lying on the sofa, pissed. He saluted me with a mock toast of his wine glass when I told him what had happened.

  ‘Great! I knew you’d handle it,’ he grinned, bleary-eyed. Hmm . . . no thanks to you, I thought crossly. Those guys could have seriously harmed me – yet he seemed completely unconcerned. I was beginning to learn that Stuart’s idea of protection was very different from mine. Well, that meant I had to toughen up and learn how to look after myself outside of this house.

  It was clear to me that The Old Bell didn’t just need a refit – it needed a whole new identity. So I started researching bars and pubs in the area. I realized that the ones I liked best were the real-ale pubs, the unusual, quirky pubs with character. We needed to look different, to stand out from the crowd and I’d had an idea of turning the pub into something that was desperately needed in Glasgow. A sports bar. So I started scouring the web for all sorts of memorabilia. I loved American sports and so the walls were adorned with baseball caps and bats, a Montreal Canadian ice hockey stick, a New York Ranger goalie helmet, basketball strips, you name it we had it. A Babe Ruth signed ball took centre stage behind the bar and we covered one wall in old cigarette sports cards.

  The lounge area was home to good old English sports memorabilia. I tried to stay away from showing support for Rangers or Celtic as that would be asking for trouble but instead I collected a Jimmy Connors tennis top, a signed Wimbledon McEnroe tennis ball and a Lendl tracksuit top. I even managed to acquire a Björn Borg tennis racket. Cricket stumps from when we lost the Ashes and Scottish rugby tops from when we beat the All Blacks sat above the old casks of real ale that we used as tables. An old replica Formula One car hung from the ceiling and a book case was filled with sports autobiographies and trophies.

  Before long, the place was transformed. People were amazed when they walked in for the first time and I could see that, visually, I had achieved the right look. I felt so proud of myself. Art had always been my passion and with The Old Bell I’d turned a blank canvas into my own personal work of art. But, still, the product itself wasn’t right.

  We had been open two months and there were no customers, thanks to our old-fashioned menu and standard beer. I was doing the same as every other pub in town. Why would anyone come to my pub to be served the same pre-packed crap that was bought in from suppliers, pretending it was home-made?

  When I examined the contents of our fridges, I was shocked. The eggs had a shelf life of three years! Sauces were bought from the cash-and-carry in gigantic tubs, all the fish was pre-battered and frozen, as were our pastry pie tops. The cheesecake lasted six months when defrosted and tasted of plastic. It was cheap, nasty rubbish and a huge con for the punters. I knew I had to shake things up, do things my way.

  So, I designed my own food menu. Firstly I kept on the basics, as there were still a few who loved their scampi and their steak pie, but then I created a special burger menu. With the American sports theme, what could be better than a mouthwatering burger menu. Nobody else was doing fresh home-made burgers at that time and so my only competition was McDonald’s.

  Oh, it was great fun – I worked together with the local butcher and Hannah and Callum helped me to taste-test all the different burgers. Before long, we’d thrown out all the frozen rubbish and had an attractive and appetizing menu full of fresh ingredients.

  My other big change was to move away for the mainstream brewers and use a real-ale brewery instead. This was a pretty radical move in our area – the men here only seemed to like Tennent’s and McEwan’s and I was warned by Stuart that if I didn’t serve these I was doomed. But I didn’t want those old customers anyway – I wanted young people, families, workers and trendy stud
ents: people with money. And I needed to entice them in.

  Fortunately, the brewers I chose were a young, ambitious company who wanted to be involved in new businesses like mine and they invested their own money in ripping out our old fonts and supplying a bank of eight new real-ale pumps. They sent me on training courses, so I learnt how to tap real ales and after six months of sweat and tears, throwing out lots of real ale that had gone off because no one was drinking it, my idea began to catch on.

  First, the students came, attracted by the drinks and our ‘giant nachos’ sharing plate. I’d also started live music afternoons with jazz musicians that attracted a fun, bright and young crowd. Then the families came in at the weekends for burgers, knowing their children would be happily distracted by all the curious wonders on our walls and ceiling. Finally, the businessmen came for the real ale. By the time the new offices in the area finally did open up, we were the hottest pub in town.

  Within a year, The Old Bell was transformed from a failing pub into a bustling, successful enterprise. We were now taking nearly £15k a week. I’d made all my mistakes with The Queen’s Head and this time I managed to get things right. I took on young, enthusiastic staff and paid them well, on time. Instead of cutting staff hours, I increased them so that we could cope with the rise in trade and I learned how to manage tricky customers instead of throwing them out. Now it was hard to get a table for Friday or Saturday lunch or dinner as they were all booked out.

  My confidence grew as the money started rolling in – I was thrilled my vision had taken off and motivated to keep working hard. So I spent almost every waking hour at the pub, working to make it a success. It was my name above the door now, and I wanted to build a strong reputation.

  Of course, my absence was hard on Callum and I always felt horribly guilty about having to leave him every day, but Stuart insisted that I was a natural at business and I had the knack, so I should run with it. He was still taking money from my till, once a week, but thankfully I was making enough money to keep him happy and still pay our bills.