Born Evil (2 page)

Billy had a council place on an estate in Barking. The area was a bit rough and his flat was dirty with virtually no furniture. In fact, it was the complete opposite to the clean house and nice area that Debbie had become accustomed to.

All it needs is a woman’s touch, a good clean, a bit more furniture and we’ll be fine, she told herself.

The last night in her perfectly furnished bedroom with its pink wallpaper, hi-fi system, TV, video, and all her other personal belongings, wasn’t an easy one for Debbie. She spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Ninety-nine per cent of her felt sure she was doing the right thing. Moving in with Billy and having his baby was what she wanted, wasn’t it? There was only that one little seed of doubt at the back of her mind telling her that her choice could be wrong.

There’s an old saying in life: ‘Little seeds grow into very big trees.’

Unacknowledged by her, Debbie’s little seed had already begun to sprout.

JUNE SAT ON
a floral-upholstered chair in the conservatory, a thousand thoughts spinning through her mind. She sipped her coffee and stared through the plate-glass window while Peter mowed the lawn. Watching her daughter leave home this morning, suitcase in hand, had broken her heart. She hadn’t said a word as Debbie had walked away but kept schtum, to please Peter. What kind of mother did that make her? She should have shaken the girl, made her see sense, cuddled her and begged her to stay. Maybe even sat her down and told her the whole sorry story of her own younger years. Surely that would have been enough to make Debbie sit up and take notice.

Instead she’d done nothing, absolutely sod all, just let her daughter walk down the path and out of her life, with that no-good bastard Billy McDaid standing smirking by the front door. All she could do now was hope and bloody pray that her Debbie’s life didn’t turn out to be a mirror image of her own.

June Dawson had been only a kid, sixteen years old, in fact, when she’d had the misfortune to meet Johnny Fuller at the local fairground. Ten years older than herself, he was a handsome bastard. He had the clothes, the looks, the chat and the charm to impress a gullible teenager. June had fallen for him, hook, line and sinker. She could remember the night she’d lost her virginity like it was yesterday. He’d looked so good in his black Crombie, tight trousers and winkle-picker shoes, she’d been overwhelmed with lust for him, putty in his hands.

Her pregnancy had shocked her parents to the core and they’d demanded she go away to a home, give birth to the child and have it adopted. Blinded by a mixture of naivety and love, June had ignored their request and chosen her own path. A brief spell living with Johnny’s mother was followed by a council tenancy in a house in the back streets of Poplar.

Overjoyed at having her own home and determined to be a good mother and potential wife, June threw herself into a homemaking role where cooking, cleaning, scrubbing and lovemaking were all part of her everyday duties. Trouble was, as happy as she was in her new life, her Johnny wasn’t. Within weeks of their moving in together, he was spending more and more time in the local pub.

The night her Mickey was born would stick in June’s mind forever. At just turned seventeen, she knew nothing about having babies. On the night her waters broke, she thought she’d accidentally wet herself. When the contractions started she put it down to an upset tummy, blaming the bread and dripping she’d eaten earlier. For four hours she lay on the floor, crippled with pain, hoping and praying that Johnny would come home. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, she crawled on her hands and knees to old Lil next door.

Lillian Wade had lived through two world wars. After taking one look at June, she grabbed a towel and a pair of scissors, and forty-five minutes later young Mickey Dawson let out his first cry.

Johnny Fuller arrived home five days after his son was born. Unbeknown to June he’d met some old scrubber, eighteen years his senior, from the Whitechapel area and had been staying at hers. After spending less than an hour with his first-born, Johnny headed off to the pub to wet the baby’s head.

Life grew harder for June from that moment onwards. Money was scarce, and as time wore on she was left more and more alone with her son; Johnny was usually nowhere to be seen. But June, being a fighter, learned how to cope on her own with her boy. Her neighbours were wonderful, and whenever her so-called partner stayed away for long spells they helped her out with Mickey, making sure that both of them were okay. Many a cold night June and the boy sat huddled around a neighbour’s coal fire for a bit of warmth; the rest of the time, they sat indoors with their coats on and a blanket over them.

As the years rolled by, June and Mickey settled into a nice routine. By now, Johnny hardly came home at all. If he popped in twice a year, he overstayed his welcome. Working up North was his excuse, but truth be told he was living with a bird over in Dagenham, playing Daddy to her two kids.

June’s pleasant routine ended on the morning of Mickey’s sixth birthday. Lily had baked him a cake, all the neighbours had chipped in to buy him a second-hand bike and a party was planned for him that afternoon. Hearing the front door open and slam shut, June thought it was Lily bringing the cake in.

‘I’m in the kitchen, Lil.’

To her horror, it wasn’t Lily at all. It was a drunken, unkempt, old-looking Johnny carrying a bin liner full of belongings in his hand.

‘I’m home, darlin’,’ he slurred. ‘For good this time, there’s no more work up North.’

Life got a lot worse for June from that moment on. Nursing a broken heart and an alcohol addiction, Johnny drank for England, refused to work, and took out all his frustration on her and the boy.

The beatings started within weeks. First it was just the odd clump here and there, but within months he was knocking seven colours of shit out of her.

June hated him, wished he was dead, but she was trapped.

Due to his drink problem, he’d stopped wanting regular sex but she dreaded the nights he beat her. It wasn’t the pain, she could handle that, it was the aftermath. The violence seemed to arouse him and he’d then force himself upon her. It was on one of these nights that Debbie was conceived.

A couple of weeks after June’s pregnancy was confirmed, Johnny did another disappearing act. Money was still tight and life was tough, but once again the neighbours helped out and June began to smile again.

Debbie was just over a year old when her father returned from his last jaunt. This time his behaviour was worse than ever and the beatings became more frequent. Things came to a head a few months later when, instead of just knocking his wife about, he started beating the living daylights out of Mickey boy as well. After a particular vicious attack on her son, June confided in her neighbour Lily, who knew exactly what to do. The lad was rushed to hospital and the police were called.

June did not clap eyes on Johnny Fuller again from that day onwards. A year later she met Peter at a wedding and had not looked back since. He had loved her, supported her, and made her financially and emotionally secure. Which was why, whatever happened, she had to stick by him. He had rescued her from a living hell and she would always be indebted to him for that.

‘Are you all right, my darling?’

Peter wiped his muddy boots on the mat and sat down opposite his wife. Taking her hands in his, he spoke softly.

‘Everything will be okay, June, trust me. Debbie will come to her senses. But meanwhile we have to stick to our guns, be strong. What’s meant to be is meant to be, my love.’

June looked into his eyes. He was so sincere, so sure of himself. Squeezing his hands, she smiled. ‘I hope you’re right, Peter, I really do.’

Her husband kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Believe me, darling, I’m always right.’

Billy carried Debbie’s case as they walked towards the tower block on the Gascoigne Estate. Gagging as she stepped into the lift, Debbie held her nose to block out the smell. She had been in the same lift plenty of times before, but the stench seemed far worse now that she was pregnant.

Billy lived thirteen floors up, which gave Debbie plenty of time to study her surroundings. They consisted of graffiti, spit, fag butts and stale urine. Noticing her expression, Billy smiled.

‘Aye, lassie, you’ll get used to the smell after a bit, you will.’

Debbie pretended to agree, but made a mental note to use the stairs whenever possible.

‘Now, make yourself at home, hen. I have to pop out for a wee bit, to pick some money up. I willnae be long.’

Debbie took a good long look at her new abode and felt increasingly depressed. ‘An absolute shit-hole’ was the best way to describe it. She’d been here before, lots of times, but always after a drink and of an evening. Her mum and Peter had never let her stay out all night, so she’d never had a chance to see the place in daylight. The flat itself was okay, quite big for a council place, it was just so bare and desperately in need of decorating and some furniture.

Debbie looked into the bedroom and found there was nowhere for her to put her clothes. The one small wardrobe was full of Billy’s stuff. As she sat down on the mattress on the bare floor, which served as the bed, Debbie started to sob. She would have to have a serious chat with Billy, she told herself. She wasn’t coming round here once a week now, bladdered like before. She was a pregnant woman and needed comfort, a proper home.

Billy arrived back two hours later. Listening to Debbie talking between her sobs, he hugged her tightly.

‘Shhh, now. Hey, come on, everything will be okay. I’ve got plenty of money. We’ll get some paint tomorrow, spruce the place up a bit. There’s a second-hand furniture place down the road – I’ll take you there and we’ll kit the place out. I didnae bother with all that shit before, living here on my own, but now you’re here it’s different. Now come on, stop crying, we’ll get it sorted, I promise.’

Billy woke up early the next morning. Debs had been tossing and turning all night, she’d kept him awake for bloody hours. He glanced at her, and was surprised to see that she was now fast asleep. He hoped he’d made the right decision, letting her move in with him. Her performance last night, with all the tears and shit, wasn’t his scene – dramatics had never been his game. He’d thought Debs was different, a laugh. He’d never seen her cry before, she’d always been so happy-go-lucky. He really hoped she wasn’t about to change. For some reason or other, he always attracted nutty women. The last three had been all right until he’d moved in with them. Within weeks they all seemed to turn psycho on him.

Sighing, Billy slung his arm round Debs. ‘Wakey, wakey.’

As he rubbed his erection against her leg, he willed her to respond. He was fucked if he was going to stand painting for hours, buy furniture he didn’t want, and get nothing in return.

Stirring, Debbie reciprocated his kisses. She’d been silly last night, all emotional. This was her new life now. She loved Billy and was determined to make it work.

Billy was as good as his word. He bought a couple of tins of paint and then took Debbie to a tut shop where she chose a sofa, coffee table, small wardrobe, lamp and a chest of drawers. She refused to sleep in a second-hand bed, which pissed him off as he had to fork out for a brand new one. She also demanded saucepans, utensils and a big shop at Tesco.

‘Fucking women,’ Billy muttered, as soon as she was out of earshot. Three hundred and sixty pounds today had bloody well cost him! He just hoped Debs was worth it because if she wasn’t she’d go the same way as all the others had.

Billy took a deep breath as he fought to keep his temper in check. In the past he’d made the mistake of lashing out at women, but he was determined to put all that shit behind him now and make a fresh start.

He really loved Debbie, but prayed she didn’t push him too far. The others had all taken the piss out of him and he wasn’t the type of geezer to take shit off anyone, especially a woman. His mum was to blame for the way he was, he knew that. She had fucked him up. He had tried desperately to forget his damaged childhood, but sometimes when women pissed him off, it came back to him. As he terrorised them, all he could think of was his whore of a mother.

Billy put the last of the Tesco bags in the kitchen, then rummaged through them and opened a can of Strongbow. Greedily gulping the cider, he calmed himself down. This was a new start for him and he had to make it work. If he didn’t, his evil bitch of a mother would have won.

SIX MONTHS INTO
Debbie’s pregnancy, the cracks in Billy’s resolve began to show. Spending most of her time in the flat alone, while Billy spent his in the pub, had become second nature to Debbie, so she was surprised when he insisted she attend a pal’s wedding reception, which was being held in a local pub.

‘Do I have to come, Bill? I can’t drink, and I feel so fat and frumpy.’

‘Aye, I want you to come. All my mates are taking their other halves, so I need you to be there for me.’

As she got ready that night, Debbie felt like shit. She’d made good friends with a couple of the neighbours, Sharon and Donna, and was usually quite happy to spend her time at home with them while Billy was out gallivanting. After powdering her face, she applied blue eye shadow, squeezed herself into the one black dress she possessed, and stood facing the cracked mirror which hung next to the wardrobe. The sight of her reflection didn’t do her mood any good. ‘Bleeding hell,’ she muttered. She’d overdone the bronzer and felt like an orange that had become too big for its skin. Studying herself, she picked holes in her appearance. Her shoulder-length brown hair looked thin and lifeless. Her nose was a bit too big for her face, and her teeth had always been crooked. When she’d been slim her features hadn’t bothered her so much, some people had even called her attractive, but now she was fat it was a different story. She felt unsightly.

‘You ready, babe?’ Billy stood at the bedroom door, looking smart in his light grey suit.

Plastering on a false smile, Debbie pecked him on the lips. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’