‘I know so.’
Caren lowered her eyes then, before she gave away how tense she was feeling. John enveloped her in his arms again, where she felt strong in his embrace.
She loved him with all her heart.
No matter what happened, they’d get through this mess.
CHAPTER TWO
Gina lay in bed, the rain lashing down outside her window hardly giving her any incentive to get up. She hadn’t got anywhere to go anyway. She turned over, hoping to get more sleep.
If it wasn’t for the noise going on downstairs, she would have stayed there much longer than an extra few minutes. But there was no chance of that; Rachel and Claire had been bickering for fifteen minutes now. She covered her head with the duvet, praying they would stop.
‘It’s mine, you cow. I got it first!’
‘I only want to wear it today! Then you can have it back.’
‘No, I want to wear it. Mum got this one for me; you’ve got the blue one.’
‘I want the pink one!’
‘Well, you CAN’T HAVE IT!’
Gina stormed to the top of the stairs and hung her head over the banister. ‘If you two don’t stop screaming at each other, I’ll take both T-shirts from you.’
‘Chill out, Mum,’ Rachel shouted up to her. ‘Claire is just being a moody cow.’
‘No, I’m not!’
‘Yes, you are!’
‘No, I’m NOT!’
‘For crying out loud!’ Gina dressed in whatever piece of clothing came to hand from the floor before marching down the stairs. ‘Are you two six or sixteen? Why can’t you ever act your age?’ She looked at the clock. ‘Actually, why aren’t you two at school?’
‘Spare period,’ said Rachel, the lie rolling off her tongue with ease.
‘You’re only two weeks into a new term.’ Gina clipped her ear as she walked past. ‘More like you’ve skipped it again. Move your arse, the pair of you. I’m not having that school woman on my doorstep, going on at me as if I’m not capable of looking after my own kids.’
‘You’re not,’ muttered Claire. It earned her a clip too.
‘Ow! What was that for?’ Claire rubbed at her head while Rachel laughed at her.
‘Less of your lip, young lady.’ Gina pushed past them, into the kitchen. This morning’s and last night’s dishes were piled precariously in the sink, congealed grease swimming in the murky water that they soaked in. Her hand moved to cover her nose. ‘God, it stinks in here. Has someone killed a cat?’
‘We would have killed it by now if we had one,’ giggled Rachel.
Claire nudged her. ‘Don’t be stupid. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt an animal. They’re defenceless creatures.’
‘That’s not what you said when Loopy Leonard’s dog nearly had hold of your ankles last week.’
‘That was your fault. If you hadn’t been a stupid cow and told me to –’
‘Girls! Put a lid on it!’ Gina lit up a cigarette and took a huge drag, coughing and spluttering the side effects of twenty years on the weed. ‘Where’s your father?’ she asked once she’d caught her breath. ‘Is the idle bastard in or out?’
‘Left about an hour ago,’ stated Rachel. ‘Which you would have known if you’d bothered to get out of bed earlier.’
Both girls ran out of the room as Gina lunged towards them, her hand raised again. Their laughter followed them out of the house with a bang of the back door. Gina sighed: peace at last in the Bradley household.
She wondered what work on the side her husband was up to today as she made herself a mug of milky tea. Then, without another moment’s thought, she settled down in the chaos of the living room to catch up with the shenanigans on Jeremy Kyle. Today’s show was about a mother who’d had a family early in life and was now having a mid-life crisis by sleeping with a boy of sixteen. Gina switched it off after a few minutes. It reminded her too much of her own life to be called entertainment. She felt much worse than the fat woman with the huge boobs and mini-skirt that looked no wider than a belt, because at least she was having sex. Gina couldn’t remember the last time she and Pete had got down and dirty. Was it last month, August? Was it July or June? Nope, she couldn’t recall any special occasions.
She pushed a pile of magazines off the coffee table to make way for her feet. Then she put them out of sight. Even her white socks were the colour of dirty dish water. What was going on with her? She’d chosen this life so she didn’t have to go to work so why the long face all the time? Just lately, she found she could raise her hand easier than a smile. Mind you, what had she got to show for her life so far? She had a wayward husband who didn’t know the meaning of working legally for his money, a twenty-year-old son going the same way and sixteen-year-old twins who were regular visitors to Mitchell Housing Association to be interviewed by the local police. Gina hardly had time to live her life for the worries of the ones she’d brought into this world to fend for themselves. That woman on Jeremy Kyle had nothing on her.
She hauled herself up from the old and worn settee and went upstairs to the bathroom. The broken mirror above the sink showed a scary reflection. She ran a hand through red, greasy hair, not bothering to brush her teeth or wash her face. The clothes she’d picked up from the floor were two days old – or were they three? Gina sniffed cautiously at her armpits. She pulled away sharply - no wonder Pete wouldn’t come anywhere near her with that smell!
She sat on the side of the bath while she filled it to the brim with hot water. She could do with a long soak and at least she could lie back in her muck alone for once. Only on rare occasions would the house be this quiet.
A few minutes later, submerged in the water, she tried to remember what had gone down last night to make her head ache so much. She remembered having a few cans of lager and a couple of whisky chasers but she was at a loss after that. Oh, yes, she recalled. Pete had phoned for a takeaway; that had been the smell from the kitchen and the mess down the front of her jumper.
Not for the first time, she wished she could turn back the clock and start her life again. Gina had lived in Stanley Avenue, on the bottom half of the Mitchell Estate, all her life. Her parents lived across the road; her sister Leah and her son, Samuel, lived next door but three. Even her brother had lived there until he’d given up his flat to live courtesy of Her Majesty’s pleasure for the past year.
She often wondered if her parents hadn’t moved onto the estate, would she have turned out this way? Would it only have taken another street, on another estate somewhere to make her life turn the happy way, rather than the path to nothing she was following now? From the moment she had seen Pete at high school, she had wanted him. Very soon, she’d had him. Very soon, she’d become pregnant by him. At fifteen, when all the other girls at school were discovering cigarettes, cheap cider and ecstasy tablets, she’d discovered the joys of sex behind the bus shelter. A quick blow job, a quick fumble and a quick fuck; that was all it had taken for Pete to belong to Gina. Yet she often wondered why he’d stuck with her. After all, she wasn’t a catch. She was a plump, thirty-five-year old mum of three who didn’t give a shit about herself anymore.
Gina slid down beneath the water and lay there. If she could hold her breath long enough, she could slip away without anyone noticing. Because she knew as sure as night was night and day was day that no one would miss her.
‘Where do you want me to put this?’ John asked as he heaved a heavy box up the steps to their front door.
‘In the kitchen,’ said Caren. ‘It’s written on the side of the box if you look.’
John lifted his arm slightly whilst keeping a grip on the box. ‘Oh yeah.’ He grinned. ‘It’s bloody heavy. What the hell’s in it? A dead body?’
Caren picked up a box marked dining room and sighed - there wasn’t a dining room here. Lord knows where she was going to put all of their belongings. The house was tiny compared to their old home. Tears sprang to her eyes. No, she wouldn’t think about that, she chastised herself. Onwards an
d upwards was her mantra. This was their new home; it would have to do until something better came along.
Twenty-four Stanley Avenue. Of all the places she would end up, she hadn’t thought it would be here. Stanley Avenue epitomised everything she had fought so hard to get away from when she was younger. Bloody typical she would end up right back where she had started.
A crash made her hurry through to the kitchen. She put her box down and ran to help John as he grappled with cups and saucers smashing to the floor.
‘It wasn’t my fault! The box split!’ He looked on in dismay, waiting for the wrath of his wife. But Caren grinned.
‘I hated that bloody tea set,’ she laughed. Then she couldn’t stop laughing, knowing full well that when she stopped she would start to cry again.
John put down what was left of the box and hugged his wife. ‘It’ll get better soon,’ he said. ‘You wait and see.’
Caren hugged him. Since she’d found out they were about to lose everything, there had been so many times that she’d hated him. It had nothing to do with apportioning blame. She’d been the one who had taken control. She’d been the one who had gone to Mitchell Housing Association to explain about their predicament. She’d been the one who’d phoned all their creditors, assuring future payments, even if they had to be the minimum payment for now. But then again, she’d always been the pushy one in their relationship. If it wasn’t for her, she doubted John would have left the estate in the first place.
She watched him now as he bent to pick up the pieces of broken crockery. To her eye, he was still as gorgeous as he’d been in his early twenties. He was clean shaven, with a receding hairline. He wore the latest in designer clothes, fitting his T-shirt and jeans well, with pert buttocks and biceps. Her husband: John Williams. The man who went to the gym three times a week, to the barbers every three weeks and shopping for designer clothes on a regular basis. All that would have to stop now, though. Caren wondered if he’d realised that yet.
John squeezed her tightly. ‘We’ll make it work, Caz,’ he said. ‘Then we can move again, get our own place. Start the business up again. Buy even better cars. We can do it if we stick together.’
She nodded.
‘I suppose there’s a box for rubbish marked up, Mrs Organised?’
‘Of course, what else would you expect?’ Caren opened a kitchen cupboard and reeled at the smell. ‘God knows who lived here before us, but I’ve a good mind to complain. It smells as if someone has died in here and it’s bloody filthy.’
‘Relax, babe,’ John nudged her on his way out. ‘It’s just to remind us of how shit life will be on the Mitchell Estate and how we need to get out of here as soon as.’
‘Which means you getting back to work as soon as,’ Caren replied. ‘Have you rung Daryl yet?’ John’s friend had promised him some labouring work for a few weeks.
‘No, there’s plenty of time. Let’s get settled first. Then we can get on with creating a new life for us.’
Funny, thought Caren, as she watched him until he was out of sight, that’s what I thought I’d started to do all those years ago.
‘About bleeding time!’ Barbara Lewis told her eldest daughter, when she finally answered the door after three loud knocks. ‘I thought even an idle cow like you couldn’t still be in bed at eleven thirty.’
‘I am not an idle cow,’ snapped Gina, ‘and as you can see I’m up.’
Even though it was on the tip of her tongue to say something about Gina still being in her pyjamas, Barbara kept her mouth shut, knowing better than to get into a fight.
‘Do you fancy coming into town with me?’ she asked. ‘I’ll treat you to coffee and a jam doughnut.’
Gina flopped back down onto the settee where she’d been sprawling for the past two hours. ‘Which is usually code for you want me to do something that I won’t want to do,’ she replied. ‘Especially if you’re buying cake.’
‘Well, there is a party coming up and I don’t fancy going on my own.’ Gina’s dad had died two years ago. ‘I thought you might –’
‘Me?’ Gina snorted before lighting a cigarette. ‘You must be joking.’
‘They won’t all be old fuddy-duddies!’
Gina threw her another look.
‘So?’ Barbara tried again.
Gina took a drag of her cigarette. ‘I can’t,’ she said, smoke coming out of her mouth and down her nose. ‘Even if I had something decent to wear, you know Pete wouldn’t like it.’
‘It’s at the weekend – would he even be back to know?’
Gina ignored her sarcastic tone. Pete usually played cards on Saturday nights and didn’t come home until the early hours. Often he didn’t come home at all until the next morning. Gina wasn’t stupid: she knew sometimes he was with other women but she couldn’t prove it. Despite the Mitchell Estate being great for spreading rumours, she only ever got to hear who he was with if someone was out to cause trouble.
‘Come into town with me anyway,’ Barbara urged, not wanting to give up so easily.
Gina perished the thought. It would mean that she’d have to get dressed and washed and she didn’t have it in her – not after drinking the remainder of a bottle of Jack Daniels’ last night.
‘Can’t be bothered,’ she said. ‘Besides, I still feel rough after a heavy session.’
Barbara sat back and folded her arms across her thin body. ‘You have a heavy session most nights, that’s nothing new. I’m worried about you, you know. All that alcohol you knock back isn’t healthy. I think –’
‘For God’s sake Mum, zip it, will you?’ Gina snapped. ‘You’re getting to sound like a right nag.’
‘And you’re a right moody cow!’ Barbara stood up. ‘I only stopped by so that you’d make an effort once in a while to get out of the house.’
Gina pulled her feet up beside her. ‘What’s the point when I’ve got no money to buy anything?’
‘I’ll lend you a twenty from my pension.’
‘I’ll never be able to pay you back.’
‘Can’t you get anything off Pete?’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘But he always seems to have spare cash.’
Gina wondered how she could stop this chat. What she and Pete did with their money – or how he came across it – was nothing to do with anyone else. And why did everyone think they knew what was best for her? Couldn’t she be trusted to make her own mind up about things? Desperate to be left alone, she reached for the remote control and turned up the volume on the television. They sat in silence for a few minutes until her mum finally got the message.
‘If you won’t come with me, then I’ll go on my own. I can’t sit around on my arse all day even if you can. It’s not healthy.’ She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Gina sighed with relief: peace at last. She was just about to settle in for another kip when the door opened again. Barbara was back, green eyes sparkling with excitement.
‘You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen!’ she cried.
‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyhow.’ Gina knew it would most likely be one of her old cronies that she hadn’t seen for a while.
‘Caren Williams – you know, that girl from your school. You and Pete used to go out with her and her fella.’ Barbara paused, one hand on her hip. ‘Didn’t you fall out with her over something and nothing?’
Gina said nothing. Of course she remembered Caren, but she wasn’t going to register a flicker of interest. Her mum was right: she and Caren had hated each other at school.
Barbara grabbed her daughter’s hands and tried to pull her to her feet but Gina resisted.
‘I’m telling you, I’ve just seen Caren Williams,’ she said. ‘And get this… she’s moving stuff into the empty house across the road from you.’
Gina was up from the settee in a flash.
CHAPTER THREE
‘That’s the van emptied, Caz,’ John said, carrying in the last box of their possessio
ns. Even though it was marked ‘bathroom’ in black capital letters, he slid it onto the kitchen worktop. ‘It didn’t take long to unpack everything, did it?’
‘All the contents need to be unpacked too, you dope,’ Caren told him. ‘That’s going to take ages. What time does the van have to be returned by?’
‘Four thirty. I’ll drop it off and walk back through the estate afterwards. It’ll only take me half an hour.’
‘No! Someone might see you!’
‘So?’
‘I don’t want anyone to know we’re living here!’
‘What makes you think anyone else will be interested in our lives? We’ve been gone too long. People won’t even remember us.’
Caren knew that wasn’t true. They’d lived their lives on this estate and, even though she had saved hard to get them away, most of their school friends had remained here, not knowing any better. She didn’t want to be associated with any of them ever again if she could help it, especially now.
John kissed her lightly on her cheek. ‘I won’t be too long.’
A minute later, he was back. ‘I’ve picked up the wrong keys,’ he said, throwing down a bunch on the table and picking up another set before leaving again.
Caren set to work cleaning inside the cupboards. She filled another bowl full of hot water and bleach, popped rubber gloves onto her hands to save her nails and got down on all fours. She opened the first of nine cupboards and started to scrub at its base.
A few minutes later, John was back again.
‘What have you forgotten this time?’ Caren kept her back towards him as she continued to scrub. ‘Honestly, you’d forget your –’
‘Look who I bumped into outside,’ he interrupted.
‘Well, hello there, Caren.’
Caren took a sharp intake of breath before slowly backing out and turning to face them. No, it couldn’t be…
Shit: it was.
‘Pete!’ She put on a false smile as she stood up. ‘What are you doing in Stanley Avenue? Heard we were back and come to say hello?’
Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) Page 2