Mickey Dawson thanked the doctor for his time and pondered his next move. His little sis was in Intensive Care and he was absolutely devastated. He’d only just found out the full extent of her injuries. At first the doctors thought that Debbie had a serious head injury. Thankfully, a brain scan had ruled that out. They’d had to shave her hair down one side to check her out properly and Mickey was dreading her reaction to that. Debs weren’t a bad-looking girl, but had no confidence in her appearance whatsoever. Sporting half a Grant Mitchell haircut would do nothing to improve her already low self-esteem.
Grabbing a much-needed coffee from the vending machine, Mickey sat on one of the battered plastic chairs and tried to get his thoughts in order. He’d have McDaid for this, fucking kill him with his bare hands if he got the chance. But seeing as he’d just been informed that the Glaswegian piece of shit was currently in custody, there was fat chance he could get anywhere near him, unless the scum got bail. The only hope of getting to him was if he was sent to the Scrubs. Mickey had gained a lot of respect and friends in clink and knew he only had to give the word. A nice bucket of sugary scalding water wouldn’t go amiss on good ole Billy boy.
Mickey shook his head at the bastard day he was having. He’d had a well-earned lie in this morning and hadn’t got up till after eleven. By the time he’d bothered switching his phone on it was past midday.
Within minutes, he’d received a distraught phone call from Debbie’s neighbour, Sharon, who had given him a blow-by-blow account of his sister’s savage beating. Billy being violent towards Debbie hadn’t surprised Mickey; he’d always known he was capable of it. But dangling his own kid out of the window of a tower block for ten minutes was beyond belief. The police had apparently had a terrible job trying to coax him into putting the boy down safely before they’d finally arrested Billy.
Sharon had been blunt with him. ‘Look, Mick, I know things are awkward for you, but I can’t look after Charlie for more than a day or two. He’s playing up something chronic, keeps upsetting me own kids, and to be honest, I think he needs to be around his own family. I’m going to stay at me mum’s for New Year and there’s no way I can take him there with me.’
‘Don’t worry, Sharon, I understand,’ Mickey had said. ‘Just keep him for a day or so, till I can sort out somewhere for him to stay. I’m gonna go up the hospital now to see what’s happening with Debs. I’ll call you later, yeah?’
Now he slung the last of his stone-cold coffee into a nearby bin. He’d do anything for Debs, but there was no way he could look after her son. The kid gave him the fucking willies. He still felt like Rodney Trotter whenever he looked at the little bastard. Sighing, he headed back towards Intensive Care to check on his once bright and bubbly sister.
After another chat with a second doctor, Mickey was informed that Debs’s condition was no longer classed as critical and she would probably be moved into a ward of some kind in the next day or two.
‘Can I see her?’ he asked.
‘A couple of minutes at the most,’ the doctor told him.
At the distressing sight of seeing his sister out for the count, battered and bruised and with her head swollen to nearly twice its normal size, tears came to Mickey’s eyes. Squeezing her limp hand, he gently leaned over her and brushed her forehead with his lips.
‘I don’t know whether you can hear me or not, sis, but I’ve gotta go soon as the doctor says you need to rest. You’re gonna be okay, you know, and don’t worry about Charlie – he’s fine, Sharon’s looking after him. As for that bastard that’s done this to you, Debs … he’s dead meat. I swear I’ll have him for this. He’ll get his comeuppance, sweetheart, just you wait and see.’
With a lump in his throat and his heart feeling like it weighed a ton, Mickey left the hospital, jumped into his motor and picked up his phone. He needed to think fast. It was gonna be a long while before Debs was well enough to go home and look after her son. What should he do? The only person he could think of to approach for help was their mum, but she wasn’t exactly Mrs Doubtfire. He might as well ring her now, though. He would have to inform her about Debbie at some point. And after all, she’d brought up two kids of her own and was Charlie’s gran … it was her duty to fucking help.
Pissed off that his mother always put Peter in front of her own family, Mickey angrily punched in her number. If she let him down and refused to muck in, he’d tell her her fucking fortune once and for all.
Peter was topping up his guests’ glasses with the festive favourite, brandy and Bailey’s, when he heard the shrill ringing of the telephone. ‘Can you get that, dear?’ he shouted to June, who was out in the kitchen preparing Irish coffees.
At the sound of her son’s voice, June’s heart flew into her mouth. She quickly shut the door behind her. ‘Peter’s here. I told you not to call me over the holiday,’ she whispered into the receiver.
‘Stop worrying about yourself for a moment, Mum, and fucking listen to me!’ Mickey shouted. ‘Your daughter is in Intensive Care. That bastard McDaid has beaten seven colours of shit out of her and probably broken every bone in her body. There’s no one to look after Charlie, Mum, so you’re gonna have to have him. Her neighbour’s got him at the moment, but she can only look after him until tomorrow. If you don’t help out, he’ll be taken into care and that will break our Debs’s heart.’
Feeling faint, June steadied herself and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Oh, my God. My poor Debbie. Have you seen her, Mickey? What hospital is she in?’
He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply between sentences. He’d had to exaggerate his sister’s injuries just to get his mother’s attention. ‘She’s in Oldchurch. I’m up here now, in the car park. She’s still unconscious although the doctor just told me she’s no longer classed as critical. She’s in a real bad way, though, Mum. Looks terrible. You need to get your arse up here, I’m all on me own and I don’t know what to do.’
‘It’s a bit awkward, Mickey … I’m in the middle of a party. What am I meant to tell Peter? He doesn’t even know I’m in contact with you or Debbie.’
Mickey felt his temper reach boiling point. ‘What are you meant to tell Peter? Are you having a fucking laugh, Mother? Just tell the jumped-up ponce the truth for once – and as for your precious guests, tell them all to fuck off home! You never fail to disappoint me, Mum. You gave birth to me and our Debs. You know, you really need to get your priorities sorted.’
June felt awful. Her Mickey was right. For years she’d put Peter above her own flesh and blood. Well, no more. If her children needed her then, whatever the consequences, she would be there for them. ‘I’m so sorry, Mickey. I’ve been a terrible mum to you and Debs. Can you come over and pick me up now, son?’
He breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she had seen sense. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ll bib outside.’
As June walked into the lounge, Peter noticed that his wife looked a whiter shade of pale. ‘Are you okay, darling? What’s the matter?’
‘I need to talk to you alone for a minute.’
June gesticulated for him to follow her out into the kitchen. She didn’t want their guests to overhear this conversation. After repeating what Mickey had just told her, she anxiously awaited his reaction.
‘The silly, silly girl! I tried to warn her, June. I told her something like this would happen,’ Peter sighed.
‘I know you did, love.’ Hearing a loud toot outside, June grabbed his arm. ‘I have to go to her, Peter. You do understand, don’t you?’
Peter looked at his wife in horror. ‘You can’t go now! What the hell am I meant to tell my friends? You haven’t even brought the cheese board out yet. I can hardly entertain them alone.’
With Mickey’s words still ringing in her head, answering him back came easier than June had expected. ‘My children need me, Peter. I will be there for them, whether you like it or not. And as for your friends … tell them what you bloody well like! I’m sick of you ruling my life. From now on I’m put
ting my foot down. As far as I’m concerned, my kids come first from this day onward.’
With her head held high, June marched out of the front door, leaving her flabbergasted husband practically foaming at the mouth.
‘Good for you, Mum,’ Mickey said proudly as she relayed what she had said to Peter.
‘I know I’ve done the right thing, but I am worried he’ll leave me now, Mickey. How will I manage if he does? I love my little house and our pretty cul-de-sac. What am I gonna do if he asks for a divorce?’
Mickey comfortingly squeezed her hand. ‘Here, don’t worry about that. The house is half yours, and whatever happens, you’ll be able to afford a decent place of your own. But he won’t divorce you, Mum, you’ll see. Truth be told, it’s probably done you the world of good, sticking up for yourself. Once he gets over the initial shock, he’ll respect you more for it and see you in a different light. Mark my words, he won’t get anyone better than you and deep down he must know that.’
‘Thanks, love,’ June replied gratefully.
As Mickey parked the car at the hospital, he turned to face his mother. ‘What we gonna do about Charlie? If Debs is awake, that’ll be the first question she asks us. Billy dangled him out of the window and nearly killed him, for God’s sake. Someone has to help the kid. Will you take care of him for her, Mum?’
June thought before answering. The idea of looking after her monster of a grandson didn’t exactly enthral her, but she knew deep down that she had no choice.
‘Yeah, I’ll look after him. If Peter won’t let me bring him home, then I’ll have to stay at yours.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Mickey said, relief flooding through him. He couldn’t have handled the little bastard himself, that was for sure.
Seeing her daughter lying in Intensive Care, surrounded by wires and tubes, reminded June painfully of every maternal shortcoming she’d ever had. Her poor girl, to come to this …
Debbie was still drugged up to the eyeballs, but as her eyes flickered open a couple of times, June was sure that she knew her mother was there. Debs probably wasn’t able to hear her clearly, but June spoke to her anyway. ‘Now don’t worry about Charlie. I’m gonna take real good care of him for you.’
The doctor spoke to June and Mickey and assured them that Debbie was expected to make a full recovery. ‘Physically her injuries should heal in months, but mentally they may take longer,’ he warned. ‘Some form of counselling or therapy will help, once she’s back on her feet.’
The enormity of the situation hit June as she left the hospital. Seeing her Debbie like that, lying so lifeless and helpless, filled her with anger and bitterness. She hoped with all her heart that Billy McDaid would meet a painful death and afterwards rot in hell.
Mickey held his sobbing mother in his arms, whispering good old East End words of comfort. ‘Don’t worry about McDaid. He’s a dead man, trust me. He’ll never go near our Debs again, I’ll make sure of it.’
‘You are a good boy, Mickey,’ June said proudly. She knew exactly what her son’s intentions were.
He swung the Merc into the empty car park of a nearby pub. ‘I think we need a drink, and then we can sort out what we’re gonna do next.’
June readily agreed. Half an hour and two brandies later, she plucked up the courage to ring Peter. Explaining that she had no choice but to look after her grandson, she waited nervously for his reaction. If he refused to allow her to bring Charlie home, she was going to collect some of her things and move temporarily into Mickey’s.
In fact, June was shocked by his helpfulness. ‘Our guests have gone now, darling. Collect your grandson and bring him home immediately. In times of need we must help others.’
Mickey laughed as June repeated the conversation to him. ‘What a wanker!’ he said.
He headed for the bar, ordered himself another pint and his mother another brandy.
Handing his mum her drink, he smiled at her. ‘I suppose I’d better go and pick up the devil child in a minute. Have you told Peter, by any chance, that Charlie isn’t exactly a normal kid?’
June smirked as she sipped her brandy. ‘Of course I bloody well haven’t! He doesn’t even know I’ve seen the child.’
Mickey tried to keep a straight face. Sipping his pint, he thoughtfully rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Poor Peter. He’s in for a shock … a very fucking big shock!’
‘I won’t be a minute, kids,’ Sharon shouted, as she popped next-door with Debbie’s spare key to sort out Charlie’s stuff. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him. The kid was driving her insane. Her brood had never been angels, but Charlie was in a league of his own. Sharon could honestly say she had never met such a horrible child in her entire life.
As she rushed back into her own flat with the monster’s clothes and toys, Sharon was stunned to hear the manic screams of her own children. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’ she shouted as she kicked the front door shut.
She had only been gone five minutes and had left them playing happily with Tiger, the kitten she’d bought them for Christmas.
Sharon stopped in her tracks at the door to the living room. Standing at the open window, swinging Tiger outside by his tail, was none other than a grinning Charlie.
‘Puddy cat, puddy cat, puddy cat,’ he chanted.
Tiger’s whole body was rigid with fear. He gave a faint squeal and waited for someone to rescue him.
‘Meow, meow, meow.’
THIRTEEN
TIGER USED UP one of his nine lives that day, saved only by a quick-thinking Mickey who had turned up at the flat to collect his nephew.
‘Bring the kitten away from the window, Charlie,’ he ordered.
Charlie laughed. ‘Puddy cat, puddy cat, puddy cat.’
‘I mean it, Charlie, don’t fuck with me.’
Charlie ignored his uncle. He was enjoyed terrorising the cat far too much to come away from the window.
Mickey decided a change of tactic was needed. ‘I’ve brought you loads of presents, Charlie. Put the kitten on the carpet and you can open them in the car.’
Now Charlie might be evil, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. Even at his tender age, he knew that anything his uncle bought him was well worth having.
Obediently, he stepped away from the window and dropped the terrified kitten on to the floor.
‘Meeow!’ he said, giggling.
Mickey grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the hallway. ‘I’m so sorry, Sharon,’ he said apologetically.
Sharon felt sick to her stomach at what she’d just witnessed. Fuming, she gave it to Mickey in no uncertain terms. ‘Look at the state of my kids! Don’t you ever, ever bring that horrible little bastard near me again. There is something very fucking wrong with that child and if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.’
Mickey actually agreed with her. He felt totally embarrassed. Taking a wad of notes out of his pocket, he rolled off a hundred quid and handed it to her. ‘Take your kids out and treat ’em to something nice, eh?’
Snatching the money off him, Sharon breathed a sigh of relief as Charlie walked out of the front door.
Once in the front seat of his uncle’s Merc, the boy’s beady little eyes scanned the inside of the car. ‘Where’s my presents?’ he demanded.
Mickey started the engine and threw his nephew a look of pure hatred. What he had just witnessed had shocked him to the core. He personally loved animals and had no time for any bastard who hurt them. Deep in thought, he drove towards his mother’s house. How she and Peter were gonna cope with Charlie boy was anyone’s guess. Luckily for them, they had no pets.
‘I want my presents and I want them now!’
The sound of his nephew’s cocksure tones made Mickey see red. Deciding to teach the nasty little bastard a lesson, he took a detour. Pulling over in a secluded lay by, he turned to face the child. ‘If you ever, ever hurt another little animal like you tried to earlier, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me, Charlie?’
Head bowed, Ch
arlie looked at his feet. ‘Sorry. Can I have my presents now?’ he asked meekly.
‘No you fucking can’t! I’m taking them all back to the shop. And do you wanna know why I’m taking them back?’
A sulky Charlie didn’t answer.
‘Because you’re a nasty little boy who doesn’t deserve anything. Now, I’m gonna take you to stay at your nan’s house until your mum’s better, and I’m warning you … if you play her up or misbehave, you’ll have me to deal with. And I am not a person to mess with, believe me. If I hear any stories from Nanny about you being naughty, I will give you such a hiding you won’t know what’s hit you. Do you understand what I’ve just said to you?’
For once, Charlie was lost for words. Unable to meet his uncle’s frightening gaze, he sat in silence and nodded.
‘Good,’ Mickey said. Restarting the engine, he headed off towards his mother’s house.
‘Right, that’s the last of his stuff, Mum. If you’re short of anything, let me know. I’ve got Debbie’s key and I’m gonna go round the flat tomorrow with Big Steve and get all of her and Charlie’s stuff out of there. The last thing she needs when she comes out of hospital is to return to that shit-hole with all its bad memories.’
‘Where will she live?’ June asked, worried.
‘I’m gonna rent her a place, Mum, down this way somewhere. If I put a deposit down for her, the Social will cough up the rent. She’ll be happy in a nicer area, and it’ll be better for him too,’ Mickey said, nodding towards Charlie who was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping orange squash and nibbling on a biscuit.
‘Oh, you are a good boy, Mickey,’ June said, smiling. She was very proud of her strapping, handsome son and was as pleased as punch that he was taking matters into his own hands and sorting his sister out somewhere nice.
‘Why don’t you stay for a cup of tea, love? I’ll make you something to eat, if you like?’
‘No, you’re all right, Mum. Thanks anyway but I’ve had a long day and I just wanna get home. I might pop out for a pint with me mate later. Where’s Peter, by the way?’
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