The next couple of years were the happiest of Billy’s so far poxy life. He and his brother lived together, worked together and drank together. Billly felt that he had more or less recovered from his fucked up childhood; unfortunately, his brother felt differently.
Unable to deal with the guilt he felt for knowingly leaving his younger brother in the hands of a paedophile, Charlie began to experiment with heroin. The drug helped him forget what he’d done, but at the same time took a hold of him. He died three months later, of an overdose.
Overcome by grief, Billy went off the rails. He drank himself into oblivion and shagged everything in sight. Within six months, two girls claimed that they were carrying his children. Unprepared for fatherhood, Billy decided a fresh start was the best thing for him. He headed South and picked up work on a building site in Bow.
Hoping a change of scenery would make him forget the past, Billy worked his arse off and made new friends in the process. Sadly, as the years rolled by and he grew older, the past increasingly returned to haunt him. All his relationships seemed doomed. As soon as he got close to someone, all he could think about was his dead brother, and cuntsmouth Colin. He knew all the problems in his life were his mother’s fault. That’s why he hated women so much. Slags, they were, all of them. He didn’t trust ’em one little bit.
Billy finished his drink and spliff, stood up and brushed the ash off his suit. Debbie, though, was a good girl, different from all the other slags, and he was desperate to make things work with her. He loved her, she’d been the making of him, and he owed it to her to make a go of things, whatever it took.
Shutting Andy’s front door behind him, he took the stairs two by two. He was desperate by now to reach the thirteenth floor and put everything right again. Out of breath, he dashed into the bedroom.
‘I’m so sorry, Debs, really I am. I promise you, babe, I will never hurt you again. I swear on my life. Please believe me?’
Debbie saw the sincerity in his eyes as he crouched down beside the bed. The baby had been kicking her all night and seemed as strong as ever. The love she felt for her unborn child was worth forgiving its father for.
‘Just get into bed, Billy. You were well out of order earlier, but I’ll forgive you, just this once. If you ever do anything like that again, me and you are history.’
Later, unable to sleep, she lay wide-eyed as Billy snored. Tonight had been awful but Debbie wasn’t about to give up on him, not just yet. It was obvious now that Peter had been speaking the truth about Billy’s past. Well, she’d made her choice and it was up to her to deal with it. Going back to her mother’s, cap in hand, wasn’t an option. Debbie was stubborn as an ox and the thought of Perfect Peter telling her ‘I told you so’ was a non-starter.
The only thing she could do now was to think positive: hope and pray that what had happened tonight was a fluke, a one-off. Turning on to her side, Debbie willed herself to go to sleep. Her baby seemed to move about morning, noon and night. She was having a nightmare pregnancy and couldn’t wait for it to end.
Debbie wished more than anything that she could ring her mother, talk to her and ask her advice. Angrily, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She knew she had to be strong. There was no other way.
Peter’s last words to her still echoed in her mind.
‘Life is full of choices, Deborah. People make their own beds, and if they choose the wrong one, they should bloody well learn to lie in it.’
FOUR
MICKEY DAWSON PULLED UP at the top of the cul-de-sac, turned the van around so he wouldn’t be seen, parked up and switched off the engine. Positioning the wing mirror so that he could clearly see his mother’s front door, he pulled down his baseball cap until it partially covered his eyes. Picking up his copy of the Sun, he prepared himself to wait, however long it took.
Ten weeks he’d been out of prison, ten fucking weeks, and he still hadn’t seen his mother or sister once, thanks to that jumped-up ponce they happened to be living with. Not wanting to cause them any grief, he’d decided against bowling up to the front door. He’d been itching to knock and give Peter a right-hander, just to wipe the supercilious look off his face, but he knew that in the long run it wasn’t the best way forward. Debbie would probably have laughed, but it certainly wouldn’t earn him any brownie points with his mother. This was why he’d decided to borrow his mate’s plumbing van and was now waiting for the dickhead to fuck off to work before he made his move.
As luck would have it, he didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later the front door opened, Peter appeared with a briefcase, jumped into his Ford Granada and sped off. Not wanting the nosy neighbours to see him, Mickey grabbed his phone. When he’d gone into nick, mobiles were unheard of and he’d purchased his first one only a couple of weeks ago. It was an absolute godsend, especially in his line of work. His mum’s phone was answered on the fifth ring. A lump came into his throat at the sound of her voice.
‘Mum, it’s me. I’m outside in a Watts’s Plumbing van. It’s parked on the corner. I really need to see you. Come out for a drive with me and then I’ll take you to lunch. Debs can come as well, if you like.’
June very nearly dropped the phone in shock. She didn’t receive many calls in the morning and certainly hadn’t been expecting this one. Part of her wanted to dash outside and envelop her beloved first-born in her arms, but she was too worried about Peter finding out to go with her instincts.
‘Oh, Mickey, what are you doing outside? I’m not even dressed. What if somebody recognises you?’
‘Don’t start worrying, Mum, I’m in disguise. No one is gonna know who I am. Just put your glad rags on and get your arse out here! I’ve been sitting here, waiting for the Gestapo to go to work. The least you can do is come out for a drive with me and have a bit of grub. I am your bloody son, after all.’
‘Okay, I’ve already had a bath. I just need to do my make-up and get dressed … I’ll be about twenty minutes.’
Mickey smiled as he ended the call. It had been nearly three years since he’d last had the chance to talk to his mum properly and he was desperate to rebuild their relationship, even if it had to be done in secret.
Hands shaking as she applied her slap, June finally closed her make-up bag and began to choose her outfit. She settled on a grey jumper dress. She knew she’d gained a bit of weight recently so put a black blazer on top to cover her bulges. Desperate not to look old-fashioned, she added black suede boots and slung on some gold costume jewellery as a finishing touch. Mickey was her only son after all and she was eager to look nice for him.
She was a bundle of nerves as she approached the white van parked on the corner. Walking past it, she gesticulated for Mickey to drive down the road a bit. Her little community was very close-knit and she was determined not to get caught out. Peter would go apeshit.
Conversation was stilted at first – awkward, in fact. Mickey politely asked June how life was treating her. And June tactfully asked him about prison.
‘So how’s Debs?’ he continued. ‘Ain’t she at home, Mum? I’ve been dying to see her. Where is she, at work or something?’
June felt guilty as she explained the situation. ‘Haven’t you heard, son? She’s pregnant. She doesn’t live at home any more, she’s living in Barking somewhere. She won’t have no more to do with me and Peter. We tried to help her, really we did, wanted to pay privately for an abortion, but you know how headstrong Debbie is. She stormed out and I haven’t seen her since. I think about her all the time, son, I’m so worried about her.’
Spotting a lay by, Mickey pulled over. ‘Our Debs, pregnant? Fucking hell! What’s her address? I’ll go and see her, make sure she’s all right. I can’t believe she’s up the duff. What’s his name, the geezer she’s with?’
‘Oh, Mick, she’s picked a real wrong ’un. His name’s Billy McDaid. Peter had him checked out. He’s got a terrible track record. Been inside for drugs, violence, and Christ knows what else! Years older than her, he is. We tried
to tell Debs, make her see sense, but you know what she’s like … she wouldn’t listen to us, thought we were making it all up.’
‘I can’t believe it, Mum. I’ll tell you one thing, though, our Debs ain’t silly. Surely the bloke can’t be that bad. Leave it with me. I’ll find out who he is and have him checked out my way.’
June patted his arm. ‘Thanks, Mick, but don’t go round there like a bull in a china shop. I’m desperate to know she’s all right, but I don’t want you getting in no more trouble.’
‘I won’t cause no agg, I promise ya. I’ll just find out where she’s living and then I can keep an eye on the situation, check up on her and that. I’ll have a quiet word in the geezer’s shell-like, too, make sure he treats her okay. It won’t hurt for him to know Debs has got a big brother. If he’s cute, he’ll know what he’s dealing with.’
June smiled. ‘You are a good lad, Mickey.’
‘I’m always there for you and our Debs if you need me, you know that, Mum. Now, how about that bit of lunch? There’s a nice little boozer down the road, does some lovely home-made grub.’
‘Sounds great, son.’
The meat pie, potatoes and fresh veg were melt-in-your-mouth material, but neither of them ate a lot. They had too much catching up to do. Finally Mickey paid the bill and cuddled his mum as he led her back towards the car-park. He loved her dearly and was overjoyed at being able to spend some time with her.
‘Are you plumbing now, love?’ June asked innocently, noticing the writing on the van.
Mickey chuckled. She didn’t have a clue, bless her. ‘No, I ain’t, Mum. I borrowed the van off me mate. I wanted to keep a low profile and my motor would have stood out like a sore thumb.’
‘Why’s that then, love?’
‘Oh, no reason, Mum. Just thought the van was more discreet to pick you up in.’
He daren’t tell her that he was swanning about in a brand new Merc. She’d have given him a Spanish Inquisition about where he’d got the money from.
‘So what are you doing for money? Are you working at the moment, love?’
Mickey chose his words carefully ‘I’m doing okay. I’m working as a party organiser, setting up functions and stuff.’
June shot him a surprised glance. She had her Mickey down for a lot of things, but planning parties wasn’t one of them.
‘What do you mean? What sort of parties?’
‘You know … weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. All sorts of stuff, Mum.’
June knew he was lying, but decided not to pry. The less she knew about his lifestyle, the less she would worry.
‘Where do you want dropping, Mum? I take it you don’t want me pulling into the turning.’
‘Drop me by that little shop, Mickey. I need to get a loaf.’
Bumping the van on to a stretch of kerb, Mickey leaned over and hugged her tightly. ‘Does Peter always leave for work at the same time?’
June ruffled her son’s dark hair, just as she’d done a million times when he was a little boy. ‘I can’t get out a lot, Mickey, you know what Peter’s like. I can probably manage it about once a month. He’s normally gone to work by ten but ring first, just in case. And do me a favour, son – find out how Debbie’s doing. As soon as you have any news, ring me and let me know. I’ve been worried sick about her.’
‘I’ll ring you when I’ve seen her, but I have to say a lot of this is your own fault, Mum. You should never have lost contact with her, nor with me. We’re your kids, at the end of the day. I know we’re not perfect but blood’s thicker than water. You shouldn’t let that prick dictate to you. You have to learn to stand up to him before it’s too late.’
June opened the door of the van and climbed out.
‘Let’s not spoil a good day, Mickey. I can’t deal with this conversation right now. I’ll see you soon, love. Ring me as soon as you have any news about Debs. Take care, son. Love ya.’
June had tears in her eyes as she left her beloved boy and began the short walk home. She knew what he’d said to her had been right. She also knew that she was too weak to do anything about it. Peter was so bloody domineering and if she started standing up to him, she was worried her days as his wife would be numbered. In Peter’s world women were to be seen and not heard.
Mickey hit the A13 and headed back towards Bow. He’d been living there since he’d come out of the Scrubs. It was only a temporary thing, just till he got back on his feet. He was planning to move out to Essex once he got a few bob behind him, but for now Bow and his one-bedroomed bachelor pad suited him fine. He’d spent a fair few years as a kid there, working on Roman Road Market, and he knew the area and its inhabitants inside out. In fact, most of his contacts came from that neck of the woods.
Life was sweet for Mickey at the moment and had been since the day he’d walked out of nick. The money was rolling in thick and fast. He’d hooked up with an old pal of his, Big Stevie Roberts, and they were currently on to a nice little earner.
Big Steve had told him about his newfound business venture while he’d been on the inside. It wasn’t until Mickey was released that he realised just how big it really was. Illegal raves were fucking massive, and he and Steve were currently netting a fortune, organising the little beauties. This was the score. Scour the M25, find a friendly farmer, smile at him, offer him a big wad of money … and Bob’s your fucking uncle.
Mickey was now in charge of finding the right venues and chatting the owners up. He looked the part and had the spiel. Steve was no good at all at that. A massive bastard, with a skinhead haircut, he looked like an out and out thug. He had a heart of gold, but the farmers weren’t to know that.
There was a real biggie organised for a fortnight’s time. It was due to be held at a disused airfield on the outskirts of Essex, and Mickey had been running around like a blue-arsed fly, trying to get things sorted. Everything about these raves had to be kept hush-hush. The old bill were doing their utmost to put a stop to them, and any tip-off they received was a tip-off too much.
Because of this, the advertising was mainly done on the night, via pirate radio stations who would give out a mobile phone number. Partygoers would ring up from a phone box to find the exact venue. The M25 would then fill up like rush hour as thousands of pilled-up punters headed off for the night of their lives. It was a bit like a game of cat and mouse with the filth, and so far the boys in blue were on a losing streak. Mickey and Steve were absolutely loving the chase, and up to this point hadn’t had one rave cancelled.
Smiling to himself, Mickey thought about his mum. It had been so good to see her. She’d changed a lot since he’d seen her last. She had never been a stick insect but was now quite plump, with a real mumsy look about her. She looked even shorter than he’d remembered, though at only five foot she’d never been tall in the first place. Maybe it was the weight she’d put on. Mickey decided he liked his mum’s new look. Her clothes were top drawer, her short dark hair cut into a modern style, and he thought she looked just like a mum should.
Parking the van he’d borrowed outside his mate’s, Mickey stuck the keys through the letterbox and jumped into his Merc. He immediately punched Big Steve’s number into his mobile. ‘What you up to, mate?’
Steve was having a swift half in his local. He’d been hard at it all morning, trying to sort out the security for their latest rave, and was now having a well-earned rest.
‘I’m in the Needle Gun, having a beer with Terry. Why, what’s up?’
‘How do you fancy a trip to Barking? Apparently me sister’s got herself knocked up by some wrong ’un and I need to sort it out.’
‘Okay, count me in,’ Steve said, downing the rest of his lager.
After Mickey had filled Steve in, the lads decided the best way to do their homework was to pay a visit to a few boozers around the Barking area. They struck gold in the very first pub. The spotty kid of a barman was only too willing to spill his guts at the sight of a fifty pound note. Tucking it safely into his shirt pocket
, he ushered them over to a quiet corner.
In ten minutes flat the lads knew Billy McDaid’s life story. They were told where he lived, where he drank, and where he punted his puff and speed. They also learned that he wasn’t exactly fucking popular.
‘Wonderful! She’s got herself knocked up by a middle-aged, drunken drug dealer and he’s Scotch an’ all,’ sighed Mickey as they left the boozer.
Much to his pal’s annoyance, Steve burst out laughing.
‘Don’t wind me up, Steve. It ain’t fucking funny. What are we meant to do now?’
Trying to keep a straight face, Steve looked at his mate. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just, well, the cunt couldn’t have sounded any worse, could he?’
Mickey let out a worried sigh. ‘No, he fucking well couldn’t. My mother’s gonna go apeshit if I tell her the full SP. I’m gonna have to keep schtum and pretend he’s not as bad as we first thought. How do you reckon I should handle it, Steve? Should I knock seven colours of shit out of him, or should I go and see Debbie first? Check he’s treating her all right?’
‘You’ll have to go and see your sister first. You can hardly go in with both feet, not if she’s carrying his nipper.’
Mickey started the engine and looked at the address on the bit of paper he’d been given. ‘Yeah, you’re right. But I’ll tell you this, Steve – if he ain’t been treating her right, he’ll pay for it. She’s my sister, I love her, and believe me, if it came to it, I would fucking kill for her.’
FIVE
MICKEY CHECKED THE address on the piece of scrap paper, in case his eyes were deceiving him, and felt his bad mood worsen.
‘Look at the state of this fucking dump. What a shit-hole! Christ knows what my little sis has got herself roped up with here.’
Steve looked at the rundown tower block. ‘It looks like Nelson Mandela House on Only Fools and Horses, don’t it?’
Born Evil Page 3