‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Rita scoffed, already twisting the top off the bottle of whisky she’d brought with her that day.
‘I’m serious,’ Ruth told her. ‘I’m pregnant, and I want everything to go right this time, so I’m cutting out all the negative energies in my life.’
‘Negative energies?’ Rita repeated scornfully. ‘You sound like you’ve been reading one of them stupid Chinese books. Next you’ll be telling me you’re taking up bleedin’ yoga.’
‘Don’t swear,’ Ruth chided, covering her stomach with her hands as if to protect the baby’s innocent little ears.
‘Sod this for a game of soldiers,’ Rita snorted as she took a glass out of the cupboard. ‘You can do what you want, but you ain’t telling me what I can and can’t drink.’
‘I’m not saying you can’t drink,’ said Ruth. She pulled the glass out of her mother’s hand and put it back where she’d got it from. ‘Just not here.’
‘Why? Don’t you trust yourself not to join me?’ Rita gave a knowing smirk. ‘I can see right through you, lady. You’re dying for one, aren’t you?’
‘No.’ Ruth shook her head. ‘I don’t want to hurt the baby, and my doctor said—’
‘Your doctor’s about twelve,’ Rita interrupted dismissively. ‘What does he know?’
‘More than you,’ Ruth retorted defensively. ‘He’s trained.’
‘You can’t learn about life from a book,’ Rita told her. ‘I’ve been there and done it, and I’m telling you it’s a load of bollocks when they say you can’t drink when you’re pregnant. Your nan drank all the way through with me, and it didn’t do me any harm.’
‘Are you serious?’ Ruth gasped. ‘You’ve been drunk for as long as I can remember, and now I know why.’
‘Don’t you dare bad-mouth my mother.’ Rita’s jowls wobbled with fury. ‘And you can get off that flaming high horse, ’cos you’ve been happy enough sharing my whisky for the past few months, so you ain’t no better than me.’
‘I was depressed – you should have helped me,’ Ruth muttered, tearful now because she was ashamed she’d been so weak. She had been drinking too much, but she’d needed something to ease the loneliness between Johnny’s flying visits. And her mum had done nothing to discourage her, because she’d been only too happy to have a drinking buddy.
‘Don’t try and make out like it’s my fault you can’t control yourself,’ Rita snapped, jabbing a finger against Ruth’s chest. ‘I brought you into this world, you snotty little bitch, and if you ever dare look down your nose at me like this again, I’ll take you right back out of it – d’ya hear me?’
Ruth raised her chin. ‘Right, that’s it. Get out. This is my house, and I don’t want you coming round if you’re going to talk to me like this.’
‘You what?’ Rita screwed up her face. ‘All your life I’ve been running round after you, picking up the pieces when you fucked up, and wiping your shitty little arse – and you’ve got the nerve to try and kick me out? And I wouldn’t mind, but it’s not even your house – me and your dad are paying for it.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Ruth told her. ‘Me and Johnny have been paying the mortgage for weeks.’
She’d never spoken to her mother like this before, and her stomach was churning like a washing machine. But the baby was her priority now and if her mum didn’t like it then she’d have to stay away.
‘Go to hell,’ Rita snarled, pushing past her daughter and stomping back into the living room. She snatched her bag up off the couch, stuffed her whisky bottle into it and marched out, slamming the front door so hard behind her that it dislodged the horseshoe that was nailed above it, leaving it hanging at an angle.
Superstitious about losing the good luck it had been collecting on her behalf, Ruth grabbed a hammer and put it back where it was supposed to be. Then she tidied the house, and waited for Johnny to come home.
Johnny was thrilled when he heard the news, but felt concerned when Ruth told him about the argument.
‘Don’t you think you’d best go round and sort it out?’ he suggested. ‘We’re rushed off our feet down at the yard, so I won’t be able to take any time off to look after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ Ruth assured him. ‘And I don’t want her here if she’s just going to be horrible about it. She didn’t even say congratulations when I told her; all she was interested in was getting a drink.’
‘She’s still your mum,’ Johnny reminded her.
‘And I’m this little one’s mum,’ said Ruth, stroking her stomach. ‘And I’ll manage just fine on my own.’
It was lonely with nothing but the TV to keep her company, but pride prevented Ruth from calling her mum. And Lisa had got herself a mysterious new boyfriend, so she hardly ever came round any more. And there was no point trying to chat with the neighbours, because they still weren’t speaking to her after her drunken verbal attack on old Mrs Dobbs from a few doors down.
So Ruth enrolled herself in an exercise class for expectant mums. And then she borrowed some healthy recipe and Feng Shui books from the library and set about creating the kind of atmosphere in the house that was conducive to a happy, healthy pregnancy and a complication-free birth.
Relieved when she reached and then passed the dreaded four-month milestone, she finally felt brave enough to start buying things for the baby and it wasn’t long before the nursery was packed with pretty neutral-coloured stuff.
But just as she’d begun to allow herself to believe that nothing could possibly go wrong, she woke up one morning to find blood on the sheets, and her stomach gripped by the same agonising cramps that she’d felt when the last baby had slipped out.
Back home from the hospital with her womb once again scraped clean, Ruth fell straight back into the pit of despair that she’d not long climbed out of. But this time everybody seemed to think that she would bounce back pretty fast, given that she’d already gone through it twice before. So they carried on as normal, leaving her to deal with the overwhelming grief on her own.
Unable to do that, she started mixing the booze and tablets again, craving the numbness that would rise up through her body when they joined forces and the merciful release when it reached her head, freezing her thoughts and silencing the screaming agony. But it never lasted long enough and, as Ruth’s tolerance grew, she was forced to take more and more pills and alcohol to gain the same effect.
When the hallucinations began, there were whole days when she would stay locked in her bedroom, terrified of the insects that she could see crawling all over the floor; petrified by the sound of footsteps pounding up and down the stairs, and the tapping noises on the windows and doors.
She tried to tell Johnny what was happening but, instead of reassuring her like he’d done in the past, he got angry and told her she was imagining things. But Ruth knew that the things she was seeing and hearing were real, and Johnny’s denials just made her wonder if he was behind it. Maybe he was trying to drive her crazy so that he could get her locked up and be free of her?
It all came to a head when she woke up in a cold sweat one night. Convinced that she could hear whispering coming from the living room below, Ruth slipped out of bed and crept down the stairs, sure that she was going to catch Johnny with another woman. But the house was in darkness, and the curtains were still open – which they wouldn’t have been if Johnny had been home, because that was the first thing he always did when he came in: closed the curtains to prevent any passers-by from looking in and seeing him smoking his drugs.
Confused, Ruth switched on the light and reached for the phone.
‘Mum . . . ?’
‘What do you want?’ Rita demanded sleepily. ‘And what do you think you’re playing at, waking me up at three o’clock in the flaming morning?’
‘I’m scared,’ Ruth sobbed, swiping at the tears that had started to fall. ‘Can you come round?’
‘Stop being such a baby,’ Rita barked. ‘You’ve had me and your dad running r
ound after you for years, but we’ve had enough, so get lost!’
Crying hysterically when the phone went dead in her hand, Ruth dropped the receiver onto the floor and dragged herself to her feet. If nobody cared, and they all just wanted to wash their hands of her, she might as well do them all a favour and kill herself.
Dave was pissed off when he turned off Chester Road and walked up Foster Street at 3.30 a.m. It was freezing cold, and his legs were aching. And tonight’s pickup had been a complete fuck-up from start to finish, so he hadn’t even got paid.
The householder had heard Johnny rooting around for the keys and had come charging downstairs wielding a baseball bat. Luckily, Dave had been parked close enough to the house to see what was happening through the window, so he’d been able to rush in and tackle the cunt before he did any serious damage. But he hadn’t gone down without a fight, and they’d been forced to gag him and tie him up before locking him in a cupboard and making their escape with the Jag he’d fought so hard to protect – only for Big Pat to tell them that they could whistle for their money, because there was no way Frankie would pay them for a red-hot motor that he’d now have to get rid of.
To add insult to injury, Johnny had pleaded poverty when Dave had asked him for a loan to pay for a cab home – even though it was Johnny’s fault they’d come away empty-handed. And then he’d gone swanning off in the opposite direction, claiming that he’d arranged to meet some bloke – like he thought that Dave was too stupid to have guessed that he was going to see the bird he’d been shagging for the past few months.
Johnny genuinely thought that no one knew about her, but Dave had sussed him from the off. He just didn’t know who it was, or why Johnny was being so secretive about it, so he could only assume that his friend didn’t trust him any more – which pissed him off almost as much as being forced to walk home after a long, fruitless night.
About to pass Johnny’s house now, Dave hesitated when he saw a light on in the living room. He knew there was no way that Ruth would be awake at this time, and Johnny couldn’t have beaten him back on foot.
Unless the crafty bastard had had the money for a cab, after all?
Furious at the thought that Johnny might have pulled a fast one, Dave shielded his eyes with his hands and peered in through the window. He frowned when he saw Ruth lying on the floor beside the couch and moved to the door. He shouted through the letter box, ‘Ruth, are you all right? Can you hear me? Ruth . . . ?’
Getting no response, he pulled out the mobile phone that Frankie had given him when he’d set them on regular nights and tried to call Johnny. But his friend had switched his phone off. Spitting curses through gritted teeth, Dave raced around to the back yard, climbed over the locked gate and pulled the spare key out from under the plant pot below the kitchen window.
‘Oh, what have you done, you stupid cow?’ he moaned when he ran in and saw the empty tablet bottle lying next to the empty whisky bottle on the floor beside Ruth. ‘Don’t fucking do this to me.’ He shook her roughly. ‘WAKE UP!’
Ruth groaned and tried to pull away.
‘Oh, thank God!’ Dave gasped, slipping his hands under her arms and pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on, let’s get you sorted.’ He dropped Ruth onto the couch and dragged her into a sitting position. ‘Stay there while I make you a coffee. Then we’re going for a walk.’
Luckily, there had only been two tablets and less than half a bottle of whisky left, which wasn’t enough to do any serious damage, so Ruth came round fairly quickly. But Dave still couldn’t leave because he didn’t know if she had anything else stashed around the house. And if he left her and she did something stupid he’d never forgive himself. Resigned to having to stay with her until she fell asleep or Johnny came back – whichever happened first – he did what he always did in times of crisis, and rolled a couple of spliffs.
‘Here, have some of this.’ He lit them both and pushed one into Ruth’s hand.
‘I don’t smoke,’ she murmured, trying to pass it back.
‘One spliff ain’t gonna hurt you,’ he insisted. ‘And, trust me, it’ll make you feel better.’
In desperate need of something to relieve the pain, Ruth took a tentative drag. And then another, and another, until, finally, she relaxed and laid her head on Dave’s arm.
‘Why are you being so nice?’ she asked. ‘You don’t even like me.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he lied, taking another drag on his own smoke. ‘Who told you that?’
‘No one needed to tell me,’ Ruth murmured. ‘It’s obvious. And I don’t blame you, ’cos I’m a horrible person.’
‘Course you’re not,’ he lied again. ‘You’re a very pretty girl.’
‘But I’m not sexy, though, am I? I can’t be, or Johnny wouldn’t have gone off me. He hasn’t slept with me for ages.’
‘He’s just knackered from all the work your dad’s had him doing lately,’ Dave assured her. ‘And he’s been dead worried about you, so he’s probably just waiting for you to get better.’
‘How am I supposed to get better if I never see him?’ Ruth asked. ‘And where is he, anyway? You work together at night so if you’re back, why isn’t he?’
‘Your, er, dad sent him to see some bloke about something,’ Dave told her evasively. ‘Anyhow, never mind that, let’s just concentrate on making you feel better, eh?’ He flicked the lighter and held it in front of her face until she relit her spliff.
‘Do you really think I’m pretty?’ Ruth asked after a few more puffs.
‘Yeah, course,’ said Dave, grinning down at her. ‘Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.’
‘What about sexy?’
‘Yeah, that too.’
‘Prove it.’
‘Eh?’
‘I said prove it.’
Dave resisted when she reached up and tried to pull his face down to hers.
‘Aw, now, come on, Ruth, you can’t be doing this. I know you’re feeling a bit low, but this ain’t the answer.’
‘It is for me,’ she insisted, her other hand creeping up his thigh.
‘What about Johnny?’ Dave spluttered, jumping when her nails scraped his crotch. ‘He’s the one you want, not me.’
‘He doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about him?’ Ruth murmured, pressing her lips against his.
‘Don’t.’ Dave twisted his head to the side. ‘Johnny’s my best mate.’
‘You want me,’ Ruth said huskily as she rubbed her hand over the bulge in the front of his pants.
‘That’s not the point,’ Dave argued.
‘It is for me,’ whispered Ruth.
‘Well, it’s not for me,’ he repeated, taking her wrists in his hands to hold her at bay.
Ruth burst into tears. ‘You hate me, don’t you?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ he murmured. ‘Come on, you’re knackered – let’s get you up to bed.’
‘Don’t leave me,’ she sobbed, clinging on to him as he helped her to her feet.
‘I won’t,’ he promised. ‘I’ll stay right here on the couch till Johnny gets home.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ruth sniffled as she let him lead her upstairs.
‘Stop apologising,’ he chuckled. ‘Someone might get the wrong idea and think we’re mates, or something.’
Tucking her in when she slipped under the quilt, he said, ‘I’ll be downstairs, so just shout if you need me.’
‘Stay with me till I’m asleep,’ she begged, clutching at his hand. ‘Please.’
Sighing, Dave sat down.
15
Frankie had been feeling rough for a while. Not rough enough to stay off work, but enough to go straight home afterwards for the first time in years. He felt so drained tonight that he could happily have gone to bed and slept for a week. But that wasn’t an option, because it was Ruth’s birthday and she had invited him and Rita round for dinner.
It had been months since his wife and daughter had spoken to each other and without Ruth to distract
her, Rita had been driving Frankie absolutely crazy. She’d taken to ringing him a thousand times a day to ask where he was, what he was doing, and when he was coming home. And the constant interruptions were starting to piss off his mistress, so he was getting earache from her as well as from Rita – all of which he could do without.
Determined to get them back on course tonight if it killed him, Frankie took a shower and climbed into the clothes that Rita had laid out on the bed for him. Then, after throwing a couple of painkillers down his throat, he hustled Rita into the car and set off.
Over at the Conroys’ house, as he got ready for the dinner Johnny was equally as eager for Ruth and her mum to settle their differences – and for almost the same reason as Frankie.
He liked Lisa, and the sex was fantastic, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the double life now that Ruth was back on her feet and he no longer had an excuse not to have sex with her. And while shagging two women had never been a problem before he’d got married, now he had the added worry not only of Ruth and Frankie finding out, but Dave as well.
Dave wasn’t stupid. He knew there was another girl on the scene and was constantly asking Johnny who she was. But Johnny couldn’t tell him, because mates weren’t supposed to shag each other’s exes – especially not when they knew that their mate still had feelings for the girl. Lisa might have made it clear to Dave that they were never going to get back together but that didn’t stop Dave from hoping, and he was always banging on about her to Johnny. If he found out that his mate was the real reason why Lisa wouldn’t entertain him, all hell would break loose – and Johnny was scared that he might even be pissed off enough to tell Frankie out of spite.
And, since she’d decided to tell Johnny that she loved him, Lisa was just as much of a threat. As Johnny knew only too well from bitter past experience, love-struck women were more than capable of doing something stupid to get revenge if a man tried to break up with them. So he was stuck with her. And that was why it was so important for Ruth and her mum to kiss and make up tonight: because then Rita might start staying over again, and that would cut down his and Ruth’s ‘alone time’.
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