Born Evil (18 page)

To finish her outfit off, she chose thick black tights, long black boots, a black handbag and a cute little bolero. Debbie wasn’t used to wearing frocks, but this one was a bit of her. The accessories she’d chosen added femininity to it and she was more than happy with the result.

Debbie headed downstairs to seek her mother’s approval. ‘Well, how do I look?’

Tears of pride welled up in June’s eyes. ‘Oh, Debs, you look beautiful. I can’t believe we’ve finally got you in a bleeding dress.’

Charlie turned away from the cartoon he was engrossed in and stared at his mother. He knew she was going out with that horrible man who kept coming round and was determined to put his little boot in. He chose his nasty voice and spoke extra loudly. ‘You look fat, Mummy. Pig, pig, pig,’ he chanted.

Seeing the hurt expression in her daughter’s eyes, June took matters into her own hands. ‘Right, bath-time for you and then bed,’ she shouted to her grandson, wishing she could leave him alone in the bathroom and that the little bastard would drown.

‘Nooooo,’ screamed Charlie, lying face down on the floor while he punched and kicked the carpet.

‘Well, behave yourself then. One more word out that vulgar little mouth of yours and I’ll put you to bed for the night, understand?’

Charlie might have been a lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew by the stern sound of his nan’s voice that she meant business.

‘Sorry, Nanny. Sorry, Mummy,’ he said with false remorse.

Ignoring him, June turned to her daughter. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen. We’ll have a nice glass of wine and you can tell me all about you know who.’

Charlie watched them both leave the room. ‘You know who’ meant ‘Big Fat Bastard’. Did they really suppose he was so dumb he didn’t know who they were talking about? He could read, write, understand and spell like a good ’un, and they’d have to be a damn’ sight cuter to get one up on him. Annoyed, he turned his attention back to
Wacky Races
. His mum had introduced him to the programme. It had been a favourite of hers when she was a little girl and she’d bought him all the videos. Charlie loved Dastardly and Muttley. They were his favourites, and always cheered him up when he felt angry with life.

Steve sprayed himself with Kouros aftershave and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He’d shot up the Bethnal Green Road this morning and invested in a new suit and shirt. Pleased with his smarter image, he headed downstairs to the anticipated piss-taking from Mickey.

‘Well, well, well. If it ain’t Weight Watchers’ answer to Johnny Cash. You look like you’re going to a funeral, you cunt. What did ya buy black for?’

‘Fuck off, Mick,’ Steve said, half-laughing but annoyed at the same time.

‘Where you taking her then, the fucking Ritz?’ Mickey was surprised by the effort his pal had gone to, but secretly chuffed all the same.

‘I’m taking her up West. I’ve booked a nice little Italian and then I’ll take her to a couple of clubs I used to do the door on. We might even end up in Stringfellows – just go with the flow, like. What you doing? You going out yourself, Mick?’

Mickey took a sip from his can of Foster’s. ‘By the looks of it, I might as well sit here and prepare me best man’s speech! No, seriously, I’ve having a night in. I feel absolutely shattered. I’m gonna order a Chinese later … takeaway that is, not a bird … and have a few cans, stuff me face and watch
Match of the Day
.’

‘Right, I’m off then,’ said Steve, picking up the keys to Mickey’s Merc.

‘You can’t take our Debs out in that monster of a truck. You’ll look like something out of the
Dukes of
fucking
Hazzard
,’ Mickey had pointed out earlier, before offering his friend the use of his car for the evening.

Driving towards Debbie’s, Steve was as nervous as hell. His heart was beating ten to the dozen. He felt like a schoolboy about to have his first wank.

‘He’s here, Debs,’ June shouted excitedly when she heard the doorbell go.

Debbie answered the door and was presented with the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen, let alone received. ‘Oh, Steve, they’re beautiful! You shouldn’t have. Come in a minute, so I can put them in water.’

Steve shuffled into the hallway and stood awkwardly by the staircase.

‘Where you gone?’ Debbie shouted. ‘Don’t be shy, come and say hello to me mum.’

After shaking June’s hand and giving her a polite kiss on the cheek, he chatted to her for about ten minutes, mainly about Mickey.

Determined not to be forgotten, Charlie wandered into the kitchen.

Steve ruffled his hair. ‘All right, son?’

‘You’re not my dad. Go away. I hate you,’ came the charming reply.

June shoved him back into the lounge and smacked him before returning to apologise. ‘I’m so sorry, Steve. He’s a little shit, honestly.’ She lowered her voice and shut the kitchen door. ‘Between me and you, he’s got a lot of problems. Been through a bit too much, what with his father and all that.’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry. Mickey’s told me the score,’ Steve replied.

Debbie opened the kitchen door. ‘Ready to make tracks?’

‘Don’t she look lovely, Steve? Beautiful, ain’t she?’ June said.

‘Mum, shut up, will you!’

Squirming, Debbie shoved Steve out of the door before her mother started with her baby photos.

‘Sorry about that, Steve. She’s a bloody nightmare.’

Starting up the engine, Steve smiled at her. ‘She’s right, though, you do look beautiful.’

‘Not you an’ all. Just shut up and drive, will ya?’ Debbie said, punching him playfully on the arm.

The Italian restaurant that Steve had chosen was top drawer and the food was exquisite. With neither of them used to too much class, they had a right old laugh trying to work out what the dishes on the menu were. Eventually they included the waiter in their banter with Debbie joking, ‘We’re only used to pie, mash and liquor. Give us a hand to order, mate, eh?’

After three bottles of wine and some of the best pasta he’d ever tasted, Steve’s nerves had gone and he was his normal, entertaining, piss-taking self.

‘Where we going next then?’ Debbie asked, as he shouted for the bill.

‘I used to do a lot of door work in this neck of the woods. I’ll take you to a couple of the clubs I used to work at. We’ll drop the motor off first, though. There’s a pal of mine who lives five minutes round the corner. I’ll leave the car there, we’ll get a cab, and me and Mickey’ll pick the car up tomorrow.’

Having never been for a night out in the West End before in her life, the clubs Steve took her to were a proper eye-opener for Debbie and she loved every minute of it. They met rich people, wacky people, tourists … it was a world she had only heard about before.

When Steve left her for a few minutes to visit the Gents, Debbie sipped her cocktail and thought what a loser Billy had been. What she’d seen in him, she would never know if it turned round and smacked her in the face. Steve was different, a proper geezer. The way he’d been greeted in the three clubs they’d visited so far showed her just how respected and popular he was.

‘What you thinking about?’ Steve asked, rubbing his wet, freshly washed hands on her cheeks.

‘Just thinking about you and how different you are from Billy. He was such a wanker, Steve. What was I thinking, eh?’

Planting a soft kiss on her forehead, Steve smiled at her. ‘Forget Billy boy. We all make mistakes, girl. Your past is your past. Me and you, we’re the future. Now, how do ya fancy Stringfellow’s?’

‘Yes, please!’ she cried, clapping her hands excitedly.

As she stood in Stringfellow’s later, drinking yet another cocktail, Debbie thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Recognising two soap stars, a footballer and spotting a TV presenter, whom she couldn’t quite place, she couldn’t believe that she, Debbie Dawson, was standing here amongst these famous people. With Billy she’d never gone further than the Hope and Anchor in Barking. She couldn’t believe the change in her luck.

When Peter Stringfellow headed their way, shook Steve’s hand and ordered them a drink on the house, she stood rooted to the spot, eyes like organ stops. As he walked away, she frantically nudged Steve. ‘How do you know Peter Stringfellow?’

Taking a sip of his drink, Steve casually said, ‘Just through the doors and stuff. He knows Mickey as well. We’ve been here a few times over the years.’

Astonished by her date’s popularity, Debbie had the most exciting evening of her life, but sadly the cab journey home was too much for her. The numerous cocktails proved fatal and unfortunately she slung her guts up in the back of the black cab.

‘I’m really sorry, mate,’ Steve said, bunging the driver fifty quid, plus the fare, as he chucked them out in the middle of nowhere.

‘Oh, God, Steve. I’m not used to drinking such large amounts,’ Debbie managed to say, retching at the same time.

‘Shhh, you’re okay, babe. Just bring it all up and you’ll feel better. Stick your fingers down your throat if you have to,’ he replied, rubbing her back as if she were a newborn baby.

Twenty minutes later, Debbie felt more with it and a lot more sober. After gratefully taking some chewing gum from Steve, she apologised over and over again.

‘I don’t know what you must think of me. I haven’t been out for ages … I’m so sorry if I’ve spoiled the evening.’

‘Shut up, you dopey cow,’ he said, and took her in his arms.

Holding her close to him, Steve kissed her gently on the forehead. He’d had a great night, probably the best night out with a bird he’d ever had, and he certainly wasn’t gonna be put off by a bit of vomit. Deciding she looked well enough to travel again, he hailed another cab.

Outside Debs’s house, he asked the driver to wait a minute while he made sure she got in all right.

‘Do you fancy a coffee, Steve? My mum will be in bed by now and you’re more than welcome to come in,’ Debbie offered.

Looking at his watch, Steve decided against the idea. ‘It’s nearly four o’clock, Debs. I’d better shoot. Mickey’ll have me up at the crack of dawn once he sees his car never made the journey home. I’ve gotta fuck about picking that up.’

Debbie felt a slight pang of disappointment. She was dead tired herself, but would have liked a kiss and a cuddle. Praying she hadn’t put him off by making a show of herself, she took the initiative. ‘What you doing tomorrow night then? I could cook you a nice dinner, if you like, to say thank you for a wonderful night out.’

He smiled and dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘That’d be nice, Debs, really nice.’

Debbie breathed a sigh of relief as they arranged to meet at eight o’clock that evening. Jumping back into the cab, Steve gave the driver directions for the short journey home.

‘That your girlfriend, mate?’ the driver asked nosily.

Feeling like the King of England, Steve slung his arm across the top of the seat. ‘Yeah, mate, that’s my girl,’ he said confidently.

The driver looked at his fare in the mirror. He was tired and chatting kept him awake after a long shift. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look really well suited. I see all sorts in this job, but I rarely see anybody as happy as you two seem to be.’

Steve smiled. ‘Well suited ain’t the word, mate. I love that girl and very soon I’m gonna make her my wife!’

JUNE BUTTERED TWO
slices of wholemeal toast, put the eggs into dainty little cups, stirred the coffee and took the laden tray upstairs to Debbie.

‘Wakey, wakey. Well, how did it go? I’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof all morning – you know what a nosey cow I am. Where did he take you? Do you really like him?’

Sitting up in bed made Debbie realise just how severe her headache was. The sight of her breakfast was the final straw. She ran, gagging, towards the bathroom.

A disappointed June headed back downstairs to keep an eye on her naughty grandson. Glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, she noticed it was midday. ‘Shit,’ she mumbled as she remembered she’d promised Peter she’d be home by lunchtime for the surprise he had in store for her. Not knowing what to do for the best, she decided to use Debbie’s phone to let him know she was going to be late.

Ever since she’d stood up to Peter over his attitude to her kids, he’d treated her with more respect and given her more leeway. On a personal level he had virtually nothing to do with Debbie or Mickey, but he always enquired after them and seemed happy to listen to whatever stories June told him about her children. Charlie was a different story, though. Understandably, he hated her grandson with a passion. Resigning from his council position had affected Peter deeply. He kept himself to himself now. He avoided Masonic parties, scarcely ever played golf any more, and rarely went out without her.

Having him under her feet all the time secretly drove June round the bend. He was the old-fashioned type who insisted the man should wear the trousers in the home and, to keep the peace, she found it easier to let him do so, no matter how much it grated. The only thing that had changed was that she now put her own kids first, as she should have done in the first bloody place.

June dialled her home number and waited patiently while it rang. Peter was going to have the right hump, she knew that, but what else could she do? Debbie was upstairs spewing her guts up, and she could hardly leave Charlie downstairs on his own to wreck the joint. Taking the child home with her was a definite no go. Peter had banned him from the house for life.

Finally there was an answer. ‘Hello, Peter speaking.’

June braced herself. ‘Oh hello, love, it’s only me. I’ve got a bit of a problem. Debbie’s got gastroenteritis … she can’t stop being sick. I’m going to have to stay here and look after Charlie, there’s no one else to have him.’

Peter was annoyed, very annoyed. He had been looking forward to this afternoon for weeks and had planned it with his usual precision.

‘June my dear, today of all days you must not do this to me. I’ve made a lovely picnic for us and I’m taking you somewhere very special. If you let me down, my love, I won’t be a happy man, especially after all the trouble I’ve gone to to arrange this.’