Tears welled in her eyes as she gazed around the dismal hallway, at the yellow stripy wallpaper that was peeling off more than it was stuck onto the walls. The carpet had seen far better days, worn and grimy with some spectacular dirty marks, but it would have to stay down. Either that or they could all walk on bare floorboards. There was no money to spend on flooring.
She dragged heavy feet into the living room. It was a bright space, a large window at either end. The fireplace was made from old, cream tiles and probably worth a fortune now if it wasn’t chipped in a dozen places. There was no carpet in there. Ruth looked above the windows: there were no curtain rails. There wasn’t even a bulb in the electrical fitting hanging pitifully from the ceiling.
Feeling familiar panic bubbling up inside her, Ruth tried to keep it at bay. She went upstairs. Directly in front was the bathroom. Although she’d seen the property the week before, the only thing she could remember about the room was the state of the bath and the toilet. Tentatively, she pushed open the door, hoping to find that the cleaning fairies had taken pity on her, but no such luck. There was a rust mark between the hot and cold taps down the white-enamel bath where the water must have dripped for years. It swirled down into the plug hole. Ruth doubted that would come off, no matter how much bleach and elbow grease she used. She peered into the toilet, gagging at what she saw, and knocked down the lid. The force of it slamming made it slide to the right, only one hinge keeping it in place. Ruth flushed it, wishing it would take her away into the deepest, darkest depths of nowhere. But then again, wasn’t she already there?
The eerie silence suddenly became welcome as she stepped in and out of the three bedrooms. At least the boys had separate rooms, even though they were now living in Stanley Avenue. She hadn’t wanted to move here but she’d had no choice. There were no more empty properties with three bedrooms. Two bedrooms would have been a challenge. Mason and Jamie would never give her a moment’s peace if they’d had to share a room. And all this because that bastard Martin Wallace had decided that he needed some space. Three years she’d given him and what had he given her, apart from the odd backhander and a huge dose of depression and anxiety? Nothing. He hadn’t even had the decency to help her move, and she’d had to fork out for a removal van.
Finally, she made her way back downstairs and into the kitchen. The units were made from white Formica, the cheapest you could get on a job lot, she reckoned. A front of one drawer was missing and two doors hung lopsided. She ran a hand over the grubby worktop before bursting into tears. The house would take ages to get right, especially with her arm playing up again. She pulled up her sleeve and pecked at the scab forming there. Then she dug her nails into it. It stung like hell, but she scratched until it was bleeding again. Quickly, she rolled down her sleeve before she did even more damage.
A knock came at the front door, echoing around the hallway: she could almost feel the emptiness from where she stood. Ruth wiped her eyes before moving to answer it.
‘Morning love,’ said a tall, thin man, carrying two small boxes. ‘Where do you want these going?’
‘Mason’s room. Turn right at the top of the stairs, back of the house.’
The man nodded. ‘Right you are. Ooh, is that the kettle I hear boiling?’
‘I doubt it,’ said Ruth. ‘It’s in one of the boxes on your van. Couldn’t carry it on the bus, could I?’
The man wouldn’t be deterred. ‘I tell you what,’ he nodded his head towards the door. ‘I’ll find the kettle, you make a drink and I’ll share my digestives with you. What do you say?’
Ruth nodded: anything to get him gone and on his way so she could be alone. She couldn’t bear to be among cheery people at the moment, especially ones whom she was paying to do a job for her. Alone with her thoughts, her feelings, her sorrows – that’s what she needed. Even if it was ten minutes before she had to fetch the boys from school; before all hell broke loose again.
‘I’ve just bumped into that stuck up cow, Caren Williams,’ Gina said to Barbara as she let herself into her mum’s house and found her in the kitchen. ‘She’s already getting on my nerves with her high and mighty attitude.’
Barbara was sitting at the table, three curlers in the front of her grey hair, sipping at a cup of tea.
‘At least she made an effort to work and move off this estate,’ she replied.
‘She thinks she’s too good for Stanley Avenue. I’ll show her if she doesn’t watch with the attitude.’ Gina slid her hand across towards an open packet of biscuits. Barbara slapped her fingers away. ‘Ow! What was that for?’
‘I’m ashamed of you, Gina. Why couldn’t you be nice to Caren? She must be feeling really vulnerable right now, what with losing her house and all.’
Gina folded her arms. If she knew she’d get this much grief, she wouldn’t have bothered to escape from Pete! ‘Bloody hell, Mum, you’ve changed your tune. You said she’d had her come-uppance when she first moved in.’
‘Yes, but that was before I’d seen what she’s done to that house.’ Barbara looked up from the magazine she was scanning. ‘She’s cleaned every window, all the sills, cleared the front garden of rubbish and John’s cut back all the hedges. You can’t walk up your pathway without getting soaked when it’s been raining – and there’s enough rubbish in your garden to have a ten foot bonfire.’
‘You know we haven’t got any hedge cutters,’ Gina offered lamely, already anticipating her mother’s reply.
‘You could borrow mine at any time – even at my age, I still use them. And stop making excuses for that lazy bastard you call a husband. Why can’t he be like John?’
Why indeed, thought Gina.
‘Mum, don’t start all this again.’ She pushed herself out of the chair and switched on the kettle.
‘Hit a nerve, have I?’ Barbara smirked.
‘Well, you’ve never worked a day in your life, so I don’t see how you can go on about me.’
‘I didn’t need to work because your Dad provided for this family. Not everyone was on the take. I had my morals.’
‘Yeah, morals you forgot when you were arguing or fighting with someone from the estate. Honestly, Mum, it’s like the pot calling the kettle black. You were no better than me.’
Barbara relented as she looked over at her daughter. ‘I suppose you’re right. But I really wish you’d make more of an effort with your life. You need to do something with your time instead of waiting for your next benefits payment to come through.’
‘That’s not all I live for,’ Gina retorted. ‘I have my family.’
Barbara frowned. ‘Your bloody girls have been up to no good again, though. I heard Mrs Watson talking about them earlier.’
‘You don’t believe anything she says, do you?’
‘They aren’t exactly saints.’
‘I know but they’re kids. I bet me and Leah were the same when we were their age.’
Barbara smiled then. ‘You were! And I had your brother too. I don’t know how I coped with the lot of you.’ She pointed at Gina. ‘Remember that time when you were going through your punk stage and you went beating up anyone who didn’t like the same music as you?’
Gina giggled. ‘What about Leah with that old man she was seeing? I remember you and Dad being livid.’
‘Of course we were. He was a bloody pervert, if you ask me. I mean, our Leah was fifteen and he was nearing on thirty. It should never be allowed.’ Barbara reached for her daughter's hand and took it gently in her own. ‘Seriously, Gina, I worry about you. You’re getting old before your time.’
Gina stared at her mother. She knew she was being compared to Caren Williams and that hurt. She made coffee and plonked the mugs down onto the table with a thud. Tears stung her eyes but she refused to let them fall.
‘Hey,’ Barbara squeezed her hand quickly, ‘don’t get upset now. You know I only want the best for you – for all of you, really.’
‘Don’t compare me to her, then.’
‘I’
m not. I couldn’t possibly…’ Barbara stopped, the unspoken words saying so much regardless.
‘You see,’ Gina pulled away her hand, ‘even you think I’m a slob.’
‘No, I –’
She clasped the hem of her T-shirt. ‘So you think I look good in this?’ Then she pointed at her head. ‘You think my hair looks like I’ve stepped out of a salon? You think I make an effort every day?’
‘No, I just think you should make more of an effort every now and again. Our Leah makes an effort and she’s –’
‘She’s thinner than me? Is that what you were going to say?’
‘Don’t be silly, I was going to say she’s younger than you.’
‘She doesn’t have three kids or Pete for a husband,’ Gina pouted. ‘She’s not –’
‘If there’s anything going, you could work the twilight shift with her.’
‘I don’t want to work in some stupid factory doing menial tasks, thank you very much.’
‘So you’d rather be supported by that useless layabout of yours?’ Barbara folded her arms. ‘All those knock off jobs he does? They’ll catch up with him one day, like they did with your brother.’
Gina stood up, the chair scraping across the floor beneath her. ‘I’m sick of everyone thinking that my family are low life. And I can cope with all the jibes and the stares from everyone else, but to hear it from my own mother? That really stings.’
‘I didn’t mean –’
‘Yes, you did.’
Gina turned and left the house, another bang of a back door reverberating behind her that morning. Would her family ever think she was good for anything?
CHAPTER SIX
As soon as John came back with their car and she’d closed the back door behind him, Caren laid into him.
‘You had no right to tell them that we’re bankrupt!’ she shouted. ‘Or anyone, come to think of it. It’s our business!’
‘I’m sorry! I didn’t think it was such a big deal.’ John pushed past her into the kitchen.
Caren prodded him forcefully in his back as he stood over the sink. ‘I don’t want everyone knowing that we have no money.’
John ran the tap before filling the glass with water. He took a huge gulp.
Caren prodded him in the back again. ‘Are you listening to me? I didn’t want anyone to know.’
‘They would have found out sooner or later. You can’t keep anything secret around here.’
‘Not where Gina Bradley is concerned! She’ll take great pleasure in blabbing her mouth off and then...’ tears formed in her eyes, ‘everyone will know that we’re stuck here!’
John put the glass down onto the drainer. ‘Do you have to keep dragging it up at every opportunity?’
‘It’s the truth. It’s not going to get any better and I –’
‘I’ve had enough of this.’ John sighed loudly. ‘I’m going out.’
‘But you’ve only just got in!’
‘For your information, I’m going to carry on tidying up the back garden. You can help, if you like. Or is your love of gardening supposed to be a secret too?’
‘I’m surprised you’re not going across to the scummy side of the street. I bet you’d prefer it over there, slumming it with Gina and Pete!’
John slammed the back door on his way out. Tears pricked at her eyes again. What was happening to them? Was this house always going to bring them down? Ever since they’d got here they’d done nothing but argue. Caren needed John’s support as much as he needed hers, but he didn’t seem able to offer it. Why, oh why, hadn’t they been quicker on the uptake of that tiny two bedroom flat she’d found, just on the outskirts of the city? If they’d seen it a couple of days earlier, they could have been in there, but someone had beaten them to it. It wouldn’t have been ideal – it would have meant living in each other’s pockets but it would have been in a nicer neighbourhood – far away from the Mitchell Estate.
But the real thing that annoyed her was that she’d been left with everything to sort out. She now had full control of their finances – not that they had a lot of money, but what they received from now on, what pittance was left over after all the debt payments had been made at the end of each month, was due to go into an account in her sole name. John wasn’t good with money so every week she intended to draw out a set amount of cash and nothing else; once it had gone, there’d be no more until the following week. It would be like being sixteen again, when she’d made sure they’d saved every penny for a deposit towards getting off the estate. It had taken a lot of hard work to get where they were. She wasn’t going to lose everything else as well as that, no matter what.
Caren couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being with John if they were to split up due to the pressure they were under. Like most couples they had their ups and downs but they got through them. Could she cope without him forever? And then to know that he’d be in the arms of someone else? She wasn’t even going to think about it. She wiped away the lone tear that had fallen, sniffed and went to join John in the garden.
Feeling well and truly stressed after her disastrous morning, Gina slumped in front of the television and lit another cigarette. The house was empty now. It was eleven thirty - Pete had most probably gone to the pub, seeing as he had no work on at the moment.
Looking around the living room made her even more upset. Faded white paintwork; the ceiling a nicotine yellow colour. Cheap wallpaper that had been up since they had moved in sixteen years ago – well, what remained of it - torn off or scuffed in so many places, drawn on when the kids were younger. The door leading to the stairs had a huge hole in the bottom of it where Danny had kicked it in temper and it hadn’t been replaced because they’d have to pay for the damage. And she didn’t even want to look at the state of the threadbare carpet. What colour it had started its life as she could barely remember – which added insult to injury as she’d watched the vast array of wallpaper rolls and paint tins that had gone into Caren’s house over the past couple of weeks. She’d seen John a couple of times with paint splattered jeans, Caren with the same. Pete would never dream of doing any DIY, no matter how much she nagged. That’s what had started the argument this morning.
She recalled the last time she’d had a go at him to do something around the house. That disagreement had turned into a full-blown row, and Pete had thrown his ready-meal across the kitchen. There were still remnants of the artificial colourings on the grout in the tiles around the sink that the housing association had fitted. Despite her best efforts at trying to get it white again, it looked like the grout had gone rusty.
Gina clenched her teeth. Was she going to be compared to Caren fucking Williams all of the time now? Even her mother thought she could do better. Idly, she switched on the television. There was a talk show on featuring a bunch of male strippers. She stared a little closer. One of the men looked a bit like John. Gina suddenly felt a rush of heat as she recalled how she was infatuated by him at school. She wished she could get his attention again.
Suddenly, she had a thought. She quickly turned to the television menu and scrolled down through it. Sure enough, there was a makeover program on. Perhaps there was a way she could improve herself. It was never too late, surely?
Engrossed in the program, she jumped when the back door slammed and Pete come rushing into the room. She grabbed for the remote but he’d already seen the television screen.
‘What are you doing back?’ she stammered, this time her face flushing through embarrassment.
‘I need my tool bag and my steel toe caps – a job’s come up. What the hell are you watching?’
‘Nothing!’
‘You’ll never make anything of yourself sitting on the settee resting that fat arse of yours.’
Gina glowered at him. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she snapped. ‘And why would I make an effort for you? You don’t give a shit about me anymore.’
‘That’s because you look like you do.’ Pete searched out his boots
behind the settee. They were caked in mud, which he brushed off onto the carpet. ‘You need to do some exercise if you want to look good, before that arse stretches from here to Blackpool. I keep telling you not to stuff your face.’
‘Shut up.’ Gina turned the volume up on the television. ‘You’d never notice if I did change myself. You’d be far too busy down the pub.’
Pete laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, woman. If you made more of an effort I wouldn’t have to spend my time at the pub.’ He snorted. ‘You are so stupid.’
‘So why do you come home to me?’ Gina taunted.
‘Ah, that’s easy.’ Pete ran his tongue across his top lip. ‘You do a mean blowjob.’
Gina flung a cushion at him as he headed for the door. Pete stood in the doorway, pushing his tongue into his cheek simulating fellatio. Gina threw another cushion but he’d gone before it fell to the floor.
She turned the television back to the previous channel. The credits on the program were rolling: damn, she’d missed the end. Now she’d never see what Stephanie Lathisha from Chester had been transformed into.
She picked up one of the twin’s magazines and flicked through it. Maybe there was something she could do to get Pete interested again. She was tired of solo sex and her batteries were running low on her vibrator. It was too ambitious to lose three stone in three days and the thought of exercise made her shudder. So what about a new image: clothes, shoes, underwear? But that would take money and she hadn’t got any of that. Neither had she got the figure to put into it to look attractive.
She turned the page to see an article about the latest trend in hairstyles. Fingering her own hair as she looked at each one, she brought the magazine nearer to study picture two. It was a short, choppy, extremely of-the-time hairstyle. The model had the same red colour hair as she did and she didn’t look much younger than Gina so she might be able to pull it off. Actually, she looked about sixteen but Gina ignored this fact.
Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) Page 5