Family Betrayal

by Kitty Neale

  ‘Mum, I'm just popping along to see Sue.’

  There was only a grunt in reply, but Pet was used to this – used to her mother's distant manner and lack of affection. She also knew that her mother disapproved of Sue and thought she was a tart, but Pet liked her.

  In no time she was outside, giving Sue's letter box a rap before poking her head inside. ‘Hello, can I come in?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ Sue said, but unusually there wasn't a smile on her face.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Nah, not really, it's just that I've had a falling-out with Norma. Honestly, I don't know who she thinks she is, but she's getting as uppity as Yvonne.’

  ‘What did you fall out about?’

  ‘She was really nasty to my Robby. The poor kid thought rabbits could fly and launched Shaker. All right, it was a daft thing to do, but he didn't mean to hurt the bloody thing.’

  Petula hid her thoughts. Robby was her least favourite nephew, the boy already a bully who picked on his brother and cousins mercilessly. There had been many occasions when she had seen the kids playing outside, and it was always Robby who was the troublemaker, with one of the others usually running home crying. Ivy's boys had taken to staying out of Robby's way, and she didn't blame them, but now, acting the role of peacemaker, Pet said, ‘Never mind. You know how protective Norma is of Oliver. I'm sure she'll come round.’

  ‘I don't bloody care if she doesn't. Oh, sod it, forget Norma. How are you doing, love?’

  ‘I'm fine, but I wanted to ask if you'd show me how to put make-up on.’

  ‘Leave it out, Pet. Your dad would go mad.’

  ‘He doesn't need to know.’

  ‘You'll never be allowed to wear it.’

  ‘Not now, maybe, but I'll be fifteen in December and leaving school. It would be nice to know how to apply make-up for when I start looking for a job.’ Pet held her breath, hoping that Sue would agree. There were girls at school who already wore powder and lipstick when they went out, and she'd been invited to join three of them at the local youth club that evening. She wanted to go, but couldn't face the embarrassment of being met by one of her brothers. Oh, why couldn't her dad see that she was old enough to walk herself home?

  ‘With the way you speak, I expect you'll be going for an office job, but even when you leave school, I can't see your dad letting you wear make-up.’

  ‘I didn't try hard enough to pass my eleven plus, so I doubt I'll get an office job. I hated it when Dad sent me for elocution lessons too, but now realise they might help. I'm thinking of applying for a job in an upmarket shop, you see, perhaps in Knightsbridge.’

  ‘Good idea, but you'll have to look the part too and a bit of slap would make all the difference. Mind you, I still think your dad won't stand for it.’

  ‘I'm sick of being overprotected, Sue. I'm not a child now and I'm determined to have it out with him.’

  ‘Well, rather you than me, but all right, I'll show you how to apply make-up. The kids have gone out to play so we've got the place to ourselves for a while. Just make sure you keep it to yourself, and you'll have to wash it off before you leave.’ With her head cocked to one side, Sue studied Pet's face. ‘With your looks, I reckon you could be a model. I always wanted to be an actress, and you could even try that.’

  ‘Oh, no, I'd be too shy to go on stage. I didn't know you wanted to be an actress. What stopped you?’

  ‘Marriage and kids. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love Bob, but having kids has ruined my figure.’

  ‘No, surely not? I'd love to have a figure like yours.’

  ‘Leave it out, Pet. My boobs have drooped something rotten.’

  Sue got out her make-up bag and Pet smiled with delight, amazed at the array of cosmetics. There was panstick, face powder, eye shadows and lipsticks.

  ‘Right, let's get on with it,’ said Sue.

  To begin, Pet was shown how to apply foundation, followed by powder and blusher. When it came to eye make-up, Pet found it harder than she'd expected. She spat on the block of mascara before coating the small brush, but when she tried to apply it to her lashes, the brush went into her eye. ‘Ouch!’ she cried, her eyes streaming.

  ‘Don't rub it!’ Sue cried. ‘Dab it. Oh, blimey, too late – now you look like a bleedin’ clown. Wash it off, love. We'll have to start again.'

  Now that the stinging had eased, Petula had to laugh. It was true, with black mascara ringing her eyes, she did look funny. She rose to her feet, still giggling as she went to the bathroom, but the makeup was hard to get off, her eyes now stinging with soap.

  At last, with the last vestiges of mascara removed, Petula was rubbing her face dry when she heard voices. She hung the towel on the rack, leaving the bathroom to find that Bob was home.

  ‘Hello, Pet,’ he said, but then frowned. ‘Your eyes look red. Have you been crying?’

  Pet felt a blush stain her cheeks and stuttered, ‘No … no, of course not.’

  ‘Are you sure you're all right?’

  ‘Yes, I'm fine,’ and grasping for a change of subject, she blurted, ‘You're home early. I thought there was a meeting at the yard.’

  ‘It was a short one.’

  ‘What was it about?’ she asked.

  ‘It was nothing,’ Bob said dismissively.

  ‘You all had to be there, so it must have been something.’

  ‘We're just thinking of expanding, that's all.’

  Petula had no interest in the business, but her tactics had worked. Sue had now shoved the make-up back into the large satin bag, and thankfully Bob hadn't put two and two together. She loved all of her brothers, but they were overprotective, just like her father, and still treated her like a child. If any of the locals so much as gave her a funny look, they would rush to sort them out, so much so that over the years she had learned to keep her mouth shut. She thought that this would help her find friends, but it only made things worse and she was more avoided than ever.

  The door flew open and Paul ran in, with Robby close behind. ‘Dad,’ he cried, throwing his arms around his father's leg, ‘Robby kicked me.’

  ‘Did he now?’ said Bob, his eyes hardening as he looked at his elder son.

  ‘Yes, and that's not all he's done,’ Sue complained. ‘He's been bloody murder all morning. First he nicked Paul's gobstopper and then when we went round to see Norma, he nearly killed Oliver's rabbit.’

  ‘How did he do that?’

  When Sue told him, Bob's face flushed with anger. ‘You're old enough to know better, you little sod,’ he said, raising his hand.

  Petula said a hasty goodbye. Robby was going to be punished, and she didn't want to be around to witness the scene, even though he deserved it. ‘I'll see you later,’ she called, but had barely closed the door when she heard Robby's yelp of pain. With a wry expression she returned to number one, sure that the boy's backside would be sore for the rest of the day.

  Petula found her mother still cleaning. The day stretched ahead, but worse was the thought of missing the dance at the youth club. Oh, she wanted to go, she really did, but not with one of her brothers turning up to escort her home. Her lips thinned, determined once again to have it out with her father when he came home.

  Chapter Seven

  Maurice walked home from the yard with Bob, the two of them discussing Danny's proposition. He was regretting his decision to go along with the plans, worried about the repercussions of treading on Garston's territory. As a child he had suffered from one illness after another, his school attendance patchy between bouts of asthma or conjunctivitis. When he'd been well enough to attend school, his brothers had protected him when there was any sign of trouble in the playground, encircling him and taking on anyone who wanted a fight.

  He loved mathematics and had dreamed of becoming an accountant, but with so much time off school he had failed his exams. Things hadn't changed when he became an adult. His brothers still enjoyed a good fight but Maurice kept out of it, preferring to stay at home
with his nose in books. He'd taken on the accounts for the family business and had once attended night school to gain qualifications, but his ambitions had been thwarted again when illness caused him to miss too many classes. Maurice pursed his lips. At least his role in the family business gave him a measure of respect with his brothers.

  Maurice had stopped off at the newsagent's, and now paused before going into his house, hoping his wife was in a good mood. He was tired of Norma's nagging to leave Drapers Alley, unable to make her understand that without proper qualifications he would be hard-pressed to find a well-paid job. At the moment they enjoyed every comfort, and though the house was small, the council rent was low, enabling him to add regularly to their savings. One day he hoped to buy his own property, and to that end he had no intention of leaving the family firm. He just wished Norma would stop her constant carping. He knew she didn't get on with his mother, the old girl disgusted that Norma was already pregnant when they married. Yes, his mother was a prude, but if Norma tried harder, he was sure they could get on.

  Maurice quietly opened the door. Unlike his brothers, he hadn't enjoyed much success with women and Norma had been only the second girl he'd taken out. At twenty, he'd still been a virgin, shocked and gratified when his fumbling attempts with Norma had been allowed to go all the way. Of course he hadn't been prepared, so Oliver had followed six months after their marriage, much to his mother's disgust. All right, Norma was older than he, but he didn't regret marrying her, and when he was up to it, they still had a good sex life – something he would rarely have enjoyed if he'd stayed single.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, walking to the kitchen, but one look at Norma's face made him wish he'd stayed out. ‘What's up?’

  ‘It's that bloody child next door. He threw Oliver's rabbit against the wall and it's a wonder he didn't kill it.’

  ‘I suppose you mean Robby.’

  ‘Of course I mean Robby. The boy's a menace, but Sue didn't even punish him.’

  ‘Do you want me to have a word with Bob?’

  Both then heard the sound of yelps through the thin adjoining wall and at last Norma smiled. ‘Judging by that racket, I don't think it'll be necessary. If I'm not mistaken it sounds like the boy's getting a lathering.’

  ‘Well, there you go then. Now, where's Oliver?’

  ‘He's in the yard, no doubt checking on Shaker again. It really upset him, Maurice, and I'm just about sick of Robby's behaviour. Every time he shows his face there's trouble, but it got up Sue's nose when I told him off.’

  ‘You can't blame her for that, love. It's up to her to sort Robby out – not you.’

  Norma's eyes glinted with anger. ‘So, you're taking Sue's side as usual. Pretty Sue – sexy Sue. She's only got to bat her eyelashes and you go all aquiver.’

  Experience had taught Maurice that there was only one way to deal with Norma when jealousy reared its head. He moved forward, pulling her into his arms. For a moment she was stiff, but as his lips kissed her neck, he felt the familiar tremble. ‘There's only one woman who makes me go aquiver, love, and that's you,’ he whispered. ‘How about we pop upstairs?’

  ‘Oh, Maurice, we can't. Oliver's only in the yard.’

  ‘I'll just have to wait until tonight then,’ he murmured, still nibbling at her neck. Norma might not be a beauty, but she didn't have a bad figure and he loved her long, auburn hair. A tent was forming in his trousers and, pressed against him, Norma could feel it, he was sure. ‘See, it's you who turns me on,’ he said huskily.

  ‘Oh, get off me,’ she complained, but Maurice could feel that the angry tension had left her body. Norma pushed him away, yet a small smile was now visible as she added, ‘But as you say, there's always tonight. Now leave me in peace to get on with my housework.’

  Maurice released her, and left the kitchen to take a seat in the living room. Taking up his newspaper, he scanned the pages. His imagination had been captured by a story that had appeared towards the end of April and he was hoping to read more about it. An American rocket had successfully reached the far side of the moon, but the mission to take television pictures of the lunar surface during the landing had been a washout when the internal power of the spacecraft failed. There was nothing further on the story and he felt a twinge of disappointment. The earlier rocket, launched in January, had missed the moon entirely, so surely actually reaching the moon's surface deserved a bit more coverage? What was the matter with journalists? Didn't they realise that one day this could lead to men actually walking on the moon? He shook his head in wonderment at the thought, his imagination fired up as he pondered what they'd find there.

  ‘Hello, Dad.’

  Maurice looked up from the newspaper. ‘Hello, son. Is your rabbit all right?’

  ‘Yes, but he seems a bit nervous.’

  ‘After hitting a wall, I think that's to be expected.’

  ‘I don't like Robby.’

  As always when he looked at his son, Maurice felt a surge of pride. From the moment the boy had come into the world, he'd watched him like a hawk, fearing he'd pass his weaknesses to his son. Thankfully his fears proved unfounded. Oliver was sturdy, intelligent and a source of joy to both of his parents.

  ‘Robby's your cousin – he's family. Though he's a bit of a hooligan at the moment, I'm sure he'll grow out of it.’

  Oliver didn't look convinced and, in truth, Maurice was doubtful too. Bob may have punished the boy, but nothing seemed to work. He knew his brother thought Oliver a sissy, a boy who wouldn't stand up for himself, but for Maurice it was a blessing. He wanted his son to grow up using his brains rather than his fists. He wanted him to make something of himself, and unlike him, to gain qualifications – something unheard of in the Draper family.

  Maurice was glad that Oliver wasn't like Bob's elder son. Robby didn't take after Bob; in fact he was more like George, who had also enjoyed torturing animals as a child. Thankfully he had grown out of it, but a love of violence remained, and he got into a fight at every opportunity. The trouble was, George didn't know when to stop and Maurice feared that one day he'd kill someone. Oh, not with a weapon like Jack Garston. George didn't need that – not when he was capable of doing it with his fists and boots.

  Unaware that his brother was thinking about him, George wasn't happy when he walked into a local pub for a lunchtime drink, and it showed, several customers looking at him warily. He'd agreed that he'd back Danny when the time came, but was now wondering if he'd been a bit hasty. It didn't pay to get into their father's bad books, but now that Danny had done just that, anything could happen. Bloody hell, when he retired the old man might even be so annoyed that he'd go over Danny's head, handing the running of the business over to Bob.

  Danny had said he'd put his plans into action as soon as he took over, and would get rid of any brother who opposed them. Now, though, George was having doubts. The old man was no fool, and would probably put something in place to make sure it couldn't happen. Their father was a hard man, who always had to be in control. He ruled them with a rod of iron, yet he was fair, and George was sure that he'd take steps to ensure that the business remained a family concern when he stepped down. He might choose one of his sons to run the firm, but he would make sure that they all had equal shares.

  Shit, George thought, his face blanching. All that could change if the old man found out about Danny's plans, and that he'd been daft enough to back them! Bloody hell, if that happened, they could both be out!

  George ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. All this thinking was making his head hurt again. He scowled as he ordered a pint of beer and, obviously aware of his mood, the barman waived payment, sliding the glass nervously across the bar. George drank deeply, afterwards wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as his eyes roamed the bar. Cigarette smoke hung in the air like fog, and on one table a game of dominoes was in progress. Not one person would give him eye contact and George's tension eased. Yeah, they knew who he was – knew he was a Draper and feared him, something he l
oved.

  At the far end of the room he saw a couple of blokes playing darts so, hoping to put his thoughts about Danny and the business to one side, he walked up to the players. ‘I'll give you a game.’

  ‘You'll have to wait,’ one of the men said. ‘We ain't finished this match yet.’

  George's eyes narrowed. He didn't recognise the bloke, but the other's face was familiar. It was Bernie Jackson and his fear was plain to see as he spoke to his mate.

  ‘No, Vince, it's all right,’ Bernie said. ‘If George wants a game, that's fine. We'll start again.’

  ‘You heard the man,’ George snapped, and without further ado he walked up to the scoreboard, erasing the chalked running totals with a cloth.

  ‘Oi! Fuck off! I said we ain't finished our game yet.’

  George spun round to see Bernie Jackson grabbing his mate's arm, his voice a hiss of caution. ‘Leave it, Vince. Don't you know who he is?’

  ‘I don't give a shit if he's the Pope. He ain't got the right to muscle in on our game.’

  This was all the excuse George needed for a fight and a surge of excitement blazed in his eyes. In two strides he was in Vince's face, fists pummelling his nose. Blood spurted everywhere and George loved it, the sight of it – the smell of it. He moved in again, fists raised.

  ‘That's enough, George!’

  George spun round to see the publican, Charlie Parkinson. The man was an ex-heavyweight boxer, well past his prime now, but George felt a measure of respect for the man. He was also a friend of his father's, and as George's eyes briefly flicked towards his prey again, he saw that Vince was trembling with fear.

  ‘Huh, he ain't worth the bother. He's just a piece of shit.’

  Charlie beckoned Bernie Jackson over, his voice quiet but firm. ‘Get your mate out of here, and tell him to keep his mouth shut. Nobody touched him. He just walked into a door. Is that clear?’