Born Bad

by Josephine Cox

  As she darted her anxious gaze up and down the street, the fear was like a living entity in those sorry grey eyes.

  When the hand fell on her shoulder, she gave a small, frightened cry. ‘It’s all right!’ The man was a friend. Grey-haired and weathered, he was old enough to be her father.

  These past years, because of her situation, he and his wife, Pauline, had taken it on themselves to watch out for her. ‘I saw you just now,’ he said as he led her away. ‘That bloody stupid man! He mistook you for some kind of beggar, didn’t he?’

  She wasn’t listening, because now her attention was drawn across the street to the café, where Kathleen and Tom were settling themselves at the table. Kathleen was standing, talking to the little boy, and when suddenly she looked up, the young woman was shocked to her roots. ‘Oh, my God! It really is her! IT’S KATHLEEN!’

  The man followed her nervous gaze. ‘Who’s Kathleen?’ he asked. ‘Is she a friend?’

  Now she was talking to herself. ‘She’s got a child with her. Whose child is that?’ Seeming confused, she turned to the man. ‘She’s got a child! Kathleen’s got a child. Who does it belong to?’

  As though a light had flicked on in her mind, she gave a soft, uneasy laugh. ‘Is it … is it?’ Giving a wry little smile, she shook her head. ‘No! It can’t be, can it?’

  The man gave her a gentle shake. ‘Stop it now. You’re doing yourself no good being out here like this.’ He felt her hand. ‘You’re freezing cold, lovey. We’d best get you inside.’

  She gave him the sweetest smile. ‘Did you see though? Irish Kathleen’s got a child with her.’ She had no way of knowing what it meant, but it gave her a warm feeling inside.

  ‘Would you like to go over and see her, this Kathleen? You could ask her whose child it is. That would put your mind at rest.’

  ‘No!’ Shrinking from him, her eyes swam with tears. ‘I was wrong about the child. I know that now. Besides, Kathleen would not want to see me.’ Just then in that raw moment, she remembered it all. ‘She was my friend once, but I lied to her.’

  ‘I see.’ Although he didn’t see at all. Nor did he understand her reluctance to say hello to someone who had once befriended her. ‘All right then. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I want to go now, please.’

  He had seen her like this before and it was a sad thing. It was even sadder to see her so obsessed with the child. It concerned him greatly.

  ‘We’d best go. I’ll make you one of my special cups of hot chocolate – do you a power of good it will.’

  She nodded. ‘In a minute.’ Alan was landlord of the Bedford Arms, the pub on the corner. She trusted him and his dear wife Pauline above all others, but she would not be drawn on Kathleen.

  ‘Did you have a falling-out with that lady?’ he persisted.

  ‘I did not fall out with her! I already told you, she was my friend.’

  ‘Then you really should talk to her. After all, you need all the friends you can get.’

  ‘I’ve got you, haven’t I?’ She gave him a hug. ‘And Pauline?’

  ‘Yes, of course you’ve got me, and you’ve got Pauline, but you can never have enough friends, and this Kathleen does look a kindly old thing. You ought to get in touch with her … make amends for whatever it was that made her send you away.’

  ‘She didn’t send me away. I left. We all left.’ Unwilling to get into any further conversation, she threaded her arm through his and set him walking. ‘Hot chocolate sounds nice.’ She licked her lips at the thought of it.

  He chuckled. ‘You’re a stubborn little devil when you choose,’ he muttered. ‘But I suppose you know best, after all.’

  Back at the Bedford Arms, she made her way to the Ladies toilets, where she washed her face and combed her hair and peeked at herself in the mirror. The image that came back was pitiful. The long fair hair was dull and lank, the skin blotchy with tears, and the grey cloudy eyes had lost their sparkle.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked of the image.

  ‘Judy Saunders,’ came the reply.

  ‘No! Not Judy Saunders.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘Who are you … really?’

  She gave a harsh little laugh. ‘You’re a bad woman, that’s who you are. You lie and you cheat, and you’ve done terrible things. It’s good that you’re married to a man you don’t love. It’s good that you’re paying the price.’

  Bunching her fist, she thumped it into her chest. ‘You should be dead!’ When the tears began again, she couldn’t stop them, and then she was laughing, soft, wild laughter like someone insane.

  Running the cold water tap, she cupped her hands and splashed the water over her face for a second time. For what seemed an age, she stared at herself again in the mirror; what she saw was a shadow, without substance, without life.

  ‘Judy Saunders.’ She gave a snort of disgust. ‘Look at yourself! You look dead, you feel dead, so why are you able to walk about, taking up valuable space; bothering ordinary good folks in the street? You are nothing! NO ONE! You’re not loved and you’re not wanted, so why don’t you just end it? Go on, Judy. Do it properly, here and now.’

  ‘Judy!’ The woman’s voice startled her. ‘Alan’s made you a hot drink. What are you up to? Come on.’ The woman’s voice became anxious. ‘JUDY. Come out of there!’

  The young woman quickly composed herself. ‘It’s all right, Pauline. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  She looked at the scars on her arms, her empty gaze following the long meandering red lines where the knife had split open the flesh. She was shocked. Whenever she caught sight of the scars, she was always shocked.

  It was hard to realise how low she had sunk.

  Taking a moment to loosely flick her hair, she then lightly stroked her lips, pinched her face to give it a glow, and finally she unrolled her sleeves to cover the scars.

  One last look in the mirror to make sure she looked something approaching normal, then she painted on a smile, and was ready to face the world for another day.

  Lately though, the days seemed to get longer and heavier. And the burden of living was almost too much to bear.

  Chapter Five

  PHIL SAUNDERS WAS looking for trouble, but that was nothing new. ‘Who’s for a pint down the pub?’ Stripping off his overalls he scanned the room, his hard stare alighting on his work-mates who had yet to respond. ‘What? None of you fancies a pint? I don’t believe it!’

  ‘Looks like you’re on your own, matey.’ That was Jimmy Clayton, a stick-thin man in his late forties, with a straightforward, no-nonsense manner.

  ‘Oh, really?’ Incensed, Phil Saunders squared his broad shoulders. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means what it says.’ The other man made a wide gesture with outstretched arms. ‘Look around. Do you see anybody rushing to join you?’

  ‘Oh, so now you speak for everybody else, do you? Anyway, what makes you think I give a sod whether any of you come or not? Matter o’ fact, it’s just as well, ’cos I’m a bit particular about my drinking partners.’

  ‘There you go then.’

  Clayton’s attitude was riling Saunders, who took a step closer. ‘Seems to me like you’re itching for trouble, mate.’

  ‘You’re wrong. I don’t want trouble. The thing is, I’ve had to work alongside you all week. I’ve put up with your foul temper and constant complaining, because I’ve got no choice. But the last thing I need is to go drinking like we’re “mates”, because we’re not mates and we never will be.’

  Saunders continued to goad him. ‘The truth is, you wouldn’t dare come down the pub in case you might have to dip into your wages; the little wife wouldn’t like that, would she, eh?’ He gave a sneering laugh. ‘I bet she waits at the door every Friday with her greedy little mitts held out, waiting for the wages you’ve sweated for.’ He sniggered. ‘I bet she even gives you pocket money.’

  For what seemed an age the smaller man looked Saun
ders in the eye, his jaw working up and down and his fists clenched together.

  ‘Want to punch me, do you?’ Saunders stuck his face out. ‘Go on then, matey, you try it. We all know who would come off worse, don’t we, eh?’

  ‘Leave it, Phil.’ That was Arnie Reynolds, a big bumbling lump of a man. ‘There’s no need to rile him. If Jimmy doesn’t want to come for a drink, that’s his choice, and whatever his reason, it’s not for you or any of us to question.’

  Taking a deep noisy breath through his nose, Saunders let it out through his mouth, together with a torrent of words. ‘You’re all the bloody same. Can’t stand on your own two feet. Lily-livered, the lot of you.’

  ‘Hey! That’s enough o’ that.’ Stuart McArthy was a Scot with an attitude, though unlike Saunders he was not a bully. ‘I for one happen to have a real thirst on me, so why don’t we stop the gabbing an’ make our way to the pub.’

  He had a word of advice for Jimmy. ‘He’s right though, Jimmy lad. A man needs to show the little woman who’s boss. Otherwise she’ll run rings round you.’

  Saunders laughed out loud. ‘That might be good advice for a real man, but y’see, our Jimmy wouldn’t know how to be a real man. He’s a coward through and through – ain’t that right, Jimmy Boy?’ A man in his prime, Phil Saunders considered himself to be a cut above the rest. ‘You won’t catch me pandering to no bloody female! Never in a million years. Anyway, what’s so different about your woman that you treat her so special, eh?’

  ‘She’s my wife … the mother of my children, and if that isn’t enough, I happen to love and respect her.’ Like every man jack there, Jimmy was well aware of the way Saunders treated his wife, Judy. ‘You might want to think about that,’ he added.

  ‘I think you’d best explain yourself!’ Saunders said dangerously.

  ‘I don’t have to explain anything. You asked me why I treat my wife so special and I’m telling you.’ Leaning forward, Jimmy lowered his voice. ‘I don’t treat my wife like a piece of rubbish. Nor do I take my temper out on her.’

  With an animal-like growl, Saunders got him by the throat. ‘You bastard! What the hell are you insinuating, eh?’ He locked his fingers tighter, until Jimmy’s face felt like it was boiling. ‘Are you saying I don’t love my Judy … or that I don’t respect her? Is that what you’re saying?’ He squeezed his hands tighter. ‘I’ve a good mind to finish you here and now!’

  Jimmy truly thought he would never see another day. He couldn’t breathe. His eyeballs felt as though they would pop right out of his head, and his tongue was clamped so hard between his teeth, he could feel the pain right through to his chest.

  When in that moment, the other two men leaped forward and tore Saunders away, Jimmy fell to the ground, coughing and spluttering; thankful that he might live to tell the tale.

  ‘I thought you said you were off to the pub,’ intent on cooling the situation, McArthy asked of Saunders. ‘So, are you coming, or do I go without you?’

  ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Glancing at Jimmy who was now up on his feet and smoothing down his hair, Saunders’ smile was pure evil. ‘It’s good to see there’s at least one man in the place besides me who knows how to spend his own hard-earned money.’

  Jimmy did not rise to the bait a second time, although he managed to croak, ‘You’re a lucky man, Saunders, if you can afford to chuck your money about. As for me, I’ve got better things to do with mine. I’ve a family waiting for me, with a clutch of kids that need my every penny.’ He addressed the other two men. ‘See you.’

  Saunders’ goading voice followed him. ‘Get going then, you pansy – unless you want me to help you through the door!’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ The others had no axe to grind with Jimmy. If they had to choose out of him and Saunders, Jimmy was the better man.

  ‘What about you then, Bill?’ Saunders addressed the man next to him. Tall and willowy, Anderson was a reliable workmate who grafted tirelessly, though he kept his distance and never got caught up in heated arguments. ‘Gonna join us for a drink, are you?’

  ‘Nope.’ A man of few words, his conversations were short and to the point.

  ‘Why’s that?’ Saunders was still heated from his set-to with Jimmy.

  ‘Got my own reasons, and before you ask, I don’t discuss my business with anybody.’

  Saunders gave a cynical laugh. ‘You’re a miserable bugger!’ But he said no more. He suspected Bill Anderson of having hidden depths; and that if he and the other man ever did have an affray, it might not be Anderson who came off worse. So, with that in mind, Saunders stayed true to form, by picking only on those weaker than himself.

  Aware that Bill was growing impatient with Saunders, Arnie Reynolds moved towards the door. ‘Cheerio then, Bill, see you tomorrow.’ Turning to the others he called out, ‘Stuart! Phil! Are you two coming or what?’

  With the three men gone, Bill Anderson walked over to the far end of the warehouse, where he found the worried foreman taking stock.

  With a good three years to retirement, Joe Peters did not carry his age well. Having now shrivelled in size, he was permanently bent over. His spectacles were too large for his tiny face, and where he constantly screwed up his nose to keep them in place, the deep troughs of wrinkles had etched a pattern alongside his sunken cheekbones.

  ‘You’re like Will -o’-the-Wisp,’ Bill said, relieved to have found him. ‘One minute you’re there, the next you’re nowhere to be seen.’ Bill had always liked and respected Joe Peters, thinking him a fair-minded and honest sort.

  ‘I needed to check these rolls of canvas.’ Joe made a quick entry into his ledger. ‘We’re two rolls short. Whoever checked the delivery obviously didn’t do his job properly.’

  ‘Well, it weren’t me,’ Bill informed him abruptly.

  ‘Have the men gone?’

  ‘Yes … just now.’

  ‘Right, well, I’ll have to deal with it in the morning.’

  ‘Maybe the lorry driver had the two rolls away, thinking no one would notice,’ Bill suggested light-heartedly.

  ‘Maybe he did, and who could blame him, when the load isn’t properly checked as it comes off? This isn’t the first time, and if it’s not put a stop to, it won’t be the last, then we’ll all lose our jobs!’

  Bill suddenly realised the implications. ‘What? Are you saying it’s one of us?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but you can rest easy, because you and Arnie are two men I would trust implicitly.’

  ‘So, you’re saying it’s either McArthy or Saunders who’s the thief?’

  ‘No! I am not saying that.’

  Bill was persistent. ‘There is no way one man on his own could shift even one roll of that canvas.’

  Looking thoughtful, the little man nodded. ‘I already thought of that. It would certainly be a difficult thing to do without anyone knowing or seeing.’ He fell into deep thought. ‘But if there was an arrangement of sorts …’

  ‘What kind of arrangement?’

  The little man shook his head. ‘Like you said, it might be the lorry driver’s fault, after all. Or it could be that there was a mistake at the other end, and the rolls were never put on the lorry in the first place. The trouble is, there have been these other things of late …’ He lapsed into silence.

  ‘What things?’ Bill was curious.

  ‘Never you mind.’ Briskly now, the little man bade him good night.

  Before he left, Bill asked the foreman, ‘Did you hear that skirmish between Phil and Jimmy?’

  The little man grunted. ‘Saunders is a troublemaker. If he wasn’t a good worker, he’d be out that door so fast you wouldn’t see his heels for dust.’ He wagged a bony finger. ‘I’ll tell you this. He’s sailing very close to the wind. One more set-to like that and it’ll be his last under this roof.’

  Bill nodded knowingly. He had no doubt but that the foreman was keeping a wary eye on Phil Saunders, and with every right.

  ‘Do you need any help finishing off
here?’ Bill enquired.

  ‘What? You think I’m too old and frail to do my job, is that it?’ The fear of losing his work was a constant nightmare for old Joe.

  ‘Good God, man! I was only offering a helping hand so’s you could finish up and get away home.’ Bill was taken aback by Joe’s sharp response. ‘I’d do the same for any one of us.’

  ‘I know, and I didn’t mean to snap at you like that,’ Joe apologised. ‘It’s just that, well, three weeks ago I had to inform the manager about those boxes of spare machine parts that went missing, so he’s already on the alert. I did manage to sort that one out; it was a mix-up in the ordering – but he won’t be too pleased if I report that there are two rolls of top quality, heavy-gauge canvas missing, which will make us short for that big order on tents.’

  ‘So, d’you reckon you can get to the bottom of it, without him ever knowing?’ Bill was worried. Like Joe said, this was not the first instance of its kind, though it was the most serious.

  ‘I hope so. I intend following every avenue, until I do.’

  After they parted and Bill was going through the door, Joe called after him. ‘BILL!’ He came scurrying towards him. ‘Don’t say a word to anyone about what you’ve been told here.’ He tapped his nose meaningfully. ‘Least said soonest mended, eh?’

  ‘I won’t say a word,’ Bill assured him, ‘and don’t you worry – I expect you’ll find that the driver overlooked the rolls when he loaded up at the other end.’

  But as Bill walked to his car, the full impact of the incident suddenly hit him hard. Even if the driver had accidentally miscounted his load, whoever checked the rolls into the warehouse should have noticed.

  It was a puzzle, and a worrying one at that. Big heavy rolls of canvas didn’t just disappear. Besides, you needed more than one man to move them. He recalled something Joe had said about an arrangement.

  My God! Bill thought. Was there really a thief among them? Somebody who was willing to put all their livelihoods at risk? And if so, which one was the culprit?