Family Betrayal

by Kitty Neale

  When they moved into their first tiny flat, Joan had been determined to be different, to make sure that her home was always immaculate. At first it had been easy, but as the babies came along it took every minute of her day to keep up. Then, just when she thought her child-bearing days were over, Petula had been born. Though she hated to admit it, Joan had been filled with resentment. She'd had enough of babies, dirty nappies, broken sleep – but she'd hidden her feelings and left most of Petula's welfare to her father and older brothers. That had been a mistake. Petula was fawned on, indulged, but it was too late to change things now. If Joan so much as opened her mouth in criticism, Danny shot her down in flames. His precious daughter was able to do no wrong.

  ‘We're back,’ Chris said, flinging open the door. ‘I can't stop. Dad wants me down the yard.’

  ‘I thought it was your Saturday off,’ Joan said.

  Chris looked surprised at her interest. ‘Yeah, but there's some sort of business meeting and Dad wants me there.’

  ‘It's the first I've heard of it.’

  ‘He mentioned it earlier. You obviously weren't listening.’

  ‘What's this meeting about?’

  Chris's eyes became veiled and Joan knew she was wasting her time. She was always kept in the dark when it came to the business. In truth, she preferred it that way, and berated herself now for asking questions.

  ‘I'm not sure what it's about, Mum, but no doubt Dad will put you in the picture.’

  ‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Joan told him.

  He grinned, turning to leave. ‘See you later, Mum. Bye, Petula.’

  ‘Don't call me Petula. You know I hate it.’

  ‘It was Mum who named you after Petula Clark, who was a child star before you were born, so don't blame me.’ On that note, Chris closed the street door behind him.

  ‘It's a daft name,’ Petula complained.

  Joan ignored her daughter and went through to the kitchen to boil a kettle of water. She would scrub the doorstep before getting the Brasso out to polish the letter box and door knocker. With any luck it might inspire her daughters-in-law to follow suit. Yvonne was the only one who had good standards. The rest were slovenly, and it was about time they pulled their socks up.

  She heard Petula thumping up the stairs, followed by the sound of her new record filling the house. Her youngest was growing up, and no doubt she was already interested in boys. Not that she'd have much luck meeting any, especially with her father and brothers keeping her under close guard. The day would come when Petula would rebel, and for the first time Joan felt a twinge of pity for her daughter. The girl would be fighting a losing battle. Any man who came near her would soon be chased off.

  By the time the kettle came to the boil, Petula was playing the song again, and Joan closed her eyes against the sound. Every time the girl got a new record it was played repeatedly until Joan felt like screaming. All right, Elvis Presley had a good voice, but by now she knew all his songs off by heart. Her ears pricked. What was this one? ‘Good Luck Charm’. Well, it wasn't bad, but Joan decided to get away from the racket. She took a bucket of hot water and soda outside to tackle her doorstep.

  ‘All right, Mum?’ a voice called, and Joan's eyes flicked sideways.

  Sue was standing on her doorstep, the third house in the row, and Joan hid a scowl. This was her least favourite daughter-in-law. Like her, Sue was diminutive, but the resemblance ended there. With peroxide-blonde hair and a huge bust, the girl looked a bit like the up-and-coming actress Barbara Windsor. Sue was aware of this and had taken to emulating the starlet's gyrating walk and style of dress. Joan shook her head against the sight of Sue's tight sheath dress, her bust thrust out in front as she wandered closer. Unlike Yvonne, she didn't look decent. She looked like a floozie and Joan had no idea what her son saw in her.

  ‘Bob left early for the yard,’ Sue said. ‘He said something about a meeting. Do you know what it's about?’

  ‘You know better than to ask me that,’ Joan snapped as she dipped her scrubbing brush into the water. ‘I'm cleaning my step and it's about time you had a go at yours.’

  ‘Why bother? The kids are in and out every five minutes and will only muck it up again.’

  Joan's eyes flicked along the alley. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘I gave them their pocket money so they've gone straight to the sweet shop to spend it.’

  No sooner had Sue spoken than the two lads came careering into the alley, skinny legs pumping, six-year-old Robby in pursuit of his younger brother.

  ‘Mum! Mum!’ Paul yelled. ‘Robby's trying to nick my sweets.’

  ‘No I'm not,’ Robby protested, skidding to a halt beside Joan.

  ‘He is, Gran,’ four-year-old Paul insisted, making sure that, though she was kneeling, his grandmother was between them. ‘He's got his own sweets, but he's after my gobstopper.’

  ‘Look, it's up to your mother to sort this out, not me,’ Joan protested. ‘Go away and leave me in peace. I've got work to do.’

  ‘Yes, come here, boys. After all, you can't come between your grandmother and her housework,’ Sue said sarcastically.

  Joan looked daggers at her daughter-in-law, but she ignored her, dragging the boys inside and slamming the door. Joan shrugged, unconcerned. When the boys had been born her daughter-in-law had expected her to baby-sit, but she'd soon nipped that in the bud. She'd told Sue that she had no intention of looking after her kids whilst she went out gallivanting – she'd done her stint, had six kids, and wasn't prepared to start all over again.

  Joan wrung out the cloth, her mouth grim. Sue resented it, didn't like her, but Joan didn't care. The feeling was reciprocated, but the two women held their animosity in check for Bob's sake. On the surface the marriage appeared fine, but Joan doubted her son was happy. With Sue for a wife and his house a tip, how could he be?

  Chapter Three

  Back at number three, Sue was grim-faced. Who the bloody hell did her mother-in-law think she was? All right, Sue's own step might be dirty, but there was more to life than flaming housework. When she had met Bob, she had loved the kudos of courting a local villain. She fancied being married to a bloke who had a few bob rather than having to work in a rotten factory, but once they'd tied the knot, things hadn't turned out quite as she'd expected. She had dreamed of being an actress, even a film star, stupidly hoping that being married to a Draper would open doors.

  So much for that dream. The Drapers didn't have any links to showbusiness. Bob had been so keen to have her on his arm that he'd lied, and now she was stuck in the alley, surrounded by his family. She hated it, especially being close to her sanctimonious mother-in-law, and that uppity cow next door. Yvonne was another one who was housework mad, and not only that, she was a crawler, always up Joan's arse. Not that she envied Yvonne her husband. Danny might be a good-looking bloke, but she wouldn't trust him as far as she could throw him.

  Sue thought about her own husband, and though Bob wasn't as handsome as Danny, she'd choose him any day. He was placid, amiable, and despite her disappointment, theirs was a happy marriage, with infrequent rows.

  ‘Mum! Mum, tell Robby,’ Paul cried. ‘For Gawd's sake, leave your brother alone,’ Sue yelled, glaring at her elder son. Robby was a handful and though he'd been at school for only a year, he was already in trouble for being a bully. As was tradition, she'd called her firstborn Robert after his father but although they were similar in looks, their natures were the exact opposite.

  ‘I only want a suck on his gobstopper,’ Robby wheedled.

  Sue sighed in exasperation. ‘Go on, Paul. Give him a suck.’

  ‘No, he won't give it back.’

  ‘Yes, he will – won't you, Robby?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  With reluctance, Paul handed the sticky, wet sweet over to his brother, watching in horror as Robby shoved it in his mouth, one cheek bulging like a hamster as he headed for the stairs.

  ‘Mum!’ Paul protested.

  ‘Robby, you
little sod! Come back here!’

  ‘See, Mum, I told you,’ whined Paul, his grey eyes filling with tears.

  Paul was a gentle, quiet child, and secretly he was Sue's favourite. When it came to Robby she felt helpless, unable to control her wilful elder son, and usually left any discipline to his father.

  ‘Look, don't cry, Paul,’ she placated. ‘It ain't the end of the world. I'll buy you another one.’

  ‘Now.’

  ‘No, not now, but we'll pop to the shop later.’

  Paul hung his head, his fair, coarse hair sticking up like a brush. Sue swept him into her arms, then, sitting down, she plonked him on her lap. ‘Who's my good boy then? I just wish your brother was more like you.’

  They sat like that for a while, Sue ignoring the state of the room as she cuddled her son. Her brown sofa was piled with the ironing she'd intended to tackle last night, but then hadn't bothered. The lino on the floor was dirty, the rug by the hearth grimy, yet none of it concerned Sue.

  There were footsteps on the stairs, and then Robby appeared, grinning cheekily as he held out the tiny remnants of the gobstopper. ‘Here you are, Paul. You can have it back now.’

  Paul jumped down, but as he approached his brother, Robby ran round him to take his place on Sue's lap. ‘Nah, nah,’ he mocked, shoving the sweet back in his mouth.

  Sue pushed Robby off, and as he landed with a thump on the lino she reared to her feet. ‘You little bugger! Wait till I tell your father. He'll give you a bloody good hiding.’

  ‘Don't care,’ said Robby, his chin tilted upwards, eyes defiant.

  Paul was crying now and Sue could feel the start of a headache coming on. ‘Don't cry, darling,’ she placated. ‘Look, I tell you what, how about we go next door? You can play with your cousin.’

  Paul nodded, mollified at the thought of seeing Oliver, who, though much older than he at nine, was his favourite playmate. ‘I don't want Robby to come.’

  ‘I can't leave him on his own, love,’ she said.

  Robby scrambled to his feet and Sue's voice was hard as she threatened, ‘You'd better behave yourself, Robby, and don't upset Oliver. You know Auntie Norma won't put up with any of your shenanigans.’

  ‘He's a sissy.’

  ‘No he isn't, he's just quiet, that's all. In fact, it wouldn't hurt you to take a leaf out of his book.’

  Robby scowled, but followed them next door, dragging his feet as they left the house. Sue glanced to her right, saw that her mother-in-law had returned inside, and hoped she'd stay there. She wouldn't put it past the woman to come round later to check up on her and as she hadn't done a scrap of housework, that was the last thing she wanted. Sue grimaced, but then shrugged. So what? If her mother-in-law didn't like the state of the place, she could just bugger off again.

  Sue's husband, Bob, was at the yard, resentful of the fact that he didn't have a car. He could have cadged a lift from his father, or eldest brother, Danny, but it was his job to open up today and he'd had to leave well before them.

  There was no denying that they were making good money, but by the time it was shared out between six families, it wasn't a fortune. It was all right for Danny. With no children, he could afford a car, and with a thrifty wife like Yvonne, he had a good few bob to spare.

  If only Sue was more like Danny's wife. Instead she was a spendthrift, buying stupid fripperies that he was sure they could do without. The mantelshelf was lined with animal ornaments, usually covered in dust. Every windowsill was the same. Dog ornaments, cat ornaments, some so garish and cheap they looked like prizes from a fairground.

  After his mother's obsession with housework he had at first found Sue's attitude refreshing. He'd enjoyed being able to relax in his own home without worrying if he so much as moved a cushion. Now, though, it was wearing thin, especially when it was hard to find a chair to sit on that wasn't piled high with rubbish.

  Bob shook his head. No, he was being stupid. He didn't want Sue to be like his mother, or Yvonne, who looked like a cold fish to him. Sue was a cracker, a real goer who liked nothing better than a bit of slap and tickle. He worried sometimes when he saw her looking at Danny, and now he ran a hand through his wispy, brown hair. He hated it, wishing it was thick and dark like Danny's. He envied his brother his height too. Though he had a similar, beefy build, he was a good four inches shorter. He was sure that Sue fancied Danny, and no wonder, but he made sure he kept her happy in bed, well satisfied, something that took a bit of doing at times. Yes, she was a goer all right, but if Danny so much as looked at her the wrong way …

  An early customer broke Bob out of his reveries, and then a couple more turned up before he saw his father's car pulling into the yard. As Dan Draper climbed out, Bob frowned, noticing that his father was showing his age. His large build still looked intimidating, but there was a slight stoop to his shoulders and a beer belly hung over his trousers. Blimey, when did he get old? He knew his father wanted to retire and was salting cash away by taking the biggest cut, but unless they drew in more money, his retirement would be a long way off.

  ‘Morning, Robert. Are the others here?’

  ‘No, you're the first to show,’ Bob replied, wishing his father wouldn't call him by his full name, but knowing better than to complain.

  ‘Shit. This meeting was Danny's idea so he'd better show his face soon. There's racing at Sandown and I want to be away by one o'clock.’

  Bob hid a smile. So, the number-one son was in his father's bad books. Good. ‘What has Danny got in mind?’

  A black Jaguar screeched into the yard, cutting off his father's answer. Danny climbed out of the car, his face dark with annoyance as he walked towards them. ‘I told Yvonne I had to get up this morning, but the silly cow forgot to wake me.’

  ‘Another late night, was it?’ Bob asked, hoping to stir trouble.

  Danny ignored him, saying only, ‘I'm sorry I'm late, Dad.’

  Dan wrapped an arm around his son's shoulder. ‘Never mind. You're here now, and I'd like to go over the finer details of this plan before the others arrive.’

  They moved away and Bob followed, but he was halted in his tracks when his father said, ‘Look after the business for now. We'll shut up shop as soon as the other boys arrive.’

  Bob stayed behind, inwardly seething. It was always the same. Danny and his father were thick as thieves, whilst the rest of them were left out of the loop until they were good and ready to allow them in. Bob chewed on his lower lip, wondering why his father was blind to Danny's faults. All right, they were all villains, but Danny was more than that. He was a nasty piece of work and a womaniser, but so far had been clever enough to keep his antics from their father.

  As Bob walked behind the counter he was wondering if he should put his father in the picture, but then shivered. No, if Danny found out he'd opened his mouth, he'd go ballistic. And you didn't upset Danny, even if he was your brother, not if you wanted to stay in one piece.

  Dan sat behind an old desk that was littered with paperwork, receipts, and an ashtray overflowing with dog-ends. ‘Your mother would have a fit if she saw the state of this office. Mind you, it's just as well that she stays out of the way or we'd never find a thing. Make the tea, son, and then tell me more about this plan of yours.’

  Danny junior switched on the kettle, then eagerly launched straight into his plan. ‘There's more money to be made if we diversify into hard porn, a lot more.’

  ‘Yeah, you told me, but have you thought about the risks? If we muscle in on that side of the business we'd be treading on Garston territory, for one thing.’

  ‘We can deal with Jack Garston.’

  ‘I ain't so sure. If the money's as big as you say, he ain't gonna take a competitor lightly. He's got a fair bit of muscle behind him too. So far we only peddle soft porn and we can deal with the small fry in the same game, but Garston's mob … well …’

  ‘You said it, Dad, small fry. That's all we are too. Yeah, we're making money, but it's peanuts compared to wh
at we could rake in.’ The kettle began to whistle and Danny turned to make two mugs of tea, handing one to his father.

  Dan pursed his lips. He didn't like being called small fry and had to admit he wanted to be up amongst the big boys. He had a reputation as a decent safe breaker and had pulled off a few big jobs in the past, but this porn game was new to him. They had started it up a couple of years ago, still using the yard as a front, and as it was doing well he couldn't see the sense of rocking the boat.

  ‘I'm not sure, son. For a start, what about distribution?’

  ‘I've already put out feelers and there's a demand – a big one.’

  ‘I'm not sure the girls we use now would be willing to take it up a notch, let alone the blokes. Just what sort of photographs and films have you got in mind?’

  ‘All sorts. They want everything. Bondage, three-somes, queers. A couple of outlets asked for kids and they're willing to pay big money too.’

  Unable to believe his ears, Dan's voice rose in anger. ‘Do what? Kids! I ain't getting into that.’

  ‘It pays the most.’

  ‘I don't give a fuck what it pays! Christ, son, we're talking about children here! Ain't you got any morals?’

  ‘Dad, we deal in porn so it's a bit late to talk about morals. If the demand's there, we should capitalise on it.’

  ‘No!’ Dan yelled, slamming his mug down, regardless that tea slopped onto the desk. ‘Our girls and their partners are willing participants, and that's fine with me. They do their act, get paid, but you won't be able to say the same about children. They'd have to be forced! Have you even thought about that?’

  The office door opened and Bob poked his head inside. ‘What's going on? What's all the shouting about?’

  ‘Get out!’ Dan bellowed.

  Bob swiftly disappeared, and Danny turned to his father. ‘Calm down, Dad.’