Born Evil (27 page)

‘All right?’ she said as she got on the treadmill next to Debbie’s.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. You?’

The conversation between them was slightly stilted at first with neither of them wanting to mention the fallout. An hour later, workout finished, Debbie decided to take the initiative. ‘I dunno about you but I could kill for a glass of wine.’

Karen smiled and linked arms with her sister-in-law as they headed to the bar. Three glasses of wine later, Karen decided to bring up the inevitable.

‘I’m sure Mickey didn’t mean what he said about Charlie, Debs. He only said what he did in temper. He’s so protective of Lois. She’s really shy and naive in a lot of ways and definitely not ready for the dating scene.’

‘He said some terrible things, Karen. Unforgivable, in fact. Charlie’s my flesh and blood at the end of the day, that’s what hurts me.’

‘Honestly, he didn’t mean it,’ Karen repeated, squeezing Debbie’s hand. ‘His temper got the better of him. Mickey’s such a hot head when he loses it.’

Debbie sighed. ‘Don’t I bleeding know it? Then again, I’m no different. Me and Mickey both have a temper on us. As kids we’d fight like cat and dog.’

Karen smiled. ‘Look, let me have a word with him. I dunno about you, but I really miss meeting up as a family. Weekends aren’t the same any more without you and Steve.’

‘I miss it too,’ Debbie admitted. ‘And the girls are pining dreadfully for Alfie.’

‘Leave it with me and I’ll have a chat with him. I’ve got to go now, Debs, I’ve got a nail appointment at two. I’ll meet you here same time on Monday.’

‘I’ll see you then,’ Debbie said happily.

Charlie picked up his pen and doodled on the inside of his exercise book. Mr Brooks was rambling on about fractions and Charlie couldn’t be bothered to listen. Maths was his least favourite subject and bored him rigid. Glancing around the classroom, he momentarily locked eyes with Dean Summers.

‘What you looking at?’ Summers mouthed at him.

Charlie quickly looked away. Hearing the bell go, he waited till Summers had left the classroom before he made his way to meet Kevin.

The driver of the tatty blue Ecort looked into his mirror to check his appearance. He’d been told many a time that he was the spitting image of the actor Robert Carlyle. He loved being compared with the popular actor, and had recently had his hair cut exactly the same way, to enhance the likeness.

‘What shall we do now then?’ Kevin asked, willing to do whatever his friend suggested.

‘Look what I’ve got,’ Charlie said, taking a lump of cannabis out of his school bag. Laughing, he waved it in his friend’s face.

‘Cor, that’s a big bit, where did ya get it from?’

‘I’ve got loads of contacts,’ Charlie said cockily. ‘I’ve been playing me mum, ain’t I? She felt sorry for me, ’cause she thought me Uncle Mickey had upset me, so I milked it and managed to get fifty quid out of her.’

‘You’re so cool, Charlie,’ Kevin said, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

‘I’m the bollocks, ain’t I?’ Charlie agreed. He loved nothing more than blowing his own trumpet.

The man in the blue Escort stared in his wing mirror and watched Charlie approach. He downed the can of Strongbow he was holding, took a deep breath and opened the driver’s door. It was now or never. He had to do what he had to do, before his bottle went. ‘Charlie!’ he shouted. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’

Charlie turned around.

‘Who’s that, Charlie? Do you know him?’ Kevin asked, nudging him.

‘I don’t fucking know who it is,’ he replied, agitated.

Charlie was glad he had Kevin by his side. Even though his mate was grossly overweight and couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag, he was still a bit of back up.

‘You are Charlie, aren’t you?’ the strange man asked, in an odd kind of accent.

‘I might be,’ he replied, trying to sound calm even though he felt unnerved. ‘Who wants to know? Who are you?’

The strange man’s eyes filled up with tears. Trembling, he held on to the door of the car for physical support. ‘I’m your dad, Charlie. I’m your dad.’

CHARLIE REMAINED QUITE
still and showed little emotion as he stared into the eyes of his creator. He could feel his heart starting to race, but was determined not to show the way he felt inside.

He had no memories of his father, none whatsoever, and over the years he had invented a picture in his head of what his dad would look like. The stranger standing in front of him looked nothing like the handsome, strapping man he’d spent hours visualising and dreaming about.

The time father and son stood sizing one another up seemed like an eternity. Billy was the first to break the ice. ‘It’s wonderful to see you, Charlie. I’ve waited for this moment for years, son.’

Charlie glanced at Kevin, standing silently next to him, agog. Suddenly he felt angry, very angry. He’d needed his dad when he was younger, not now when the worst was over and he was starting to make his own way in life. ‘What took you so long to fucking find me then?’ he asked aggressively.

Billy shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, son, but a lot happened. Things were awkward.’

Charlie could feel the hatred bubbling through his veins. ‘Awkward? fucking awkward! My
whole life’s
been awkward, thanks to you.’

Billy averted his eyes. ‘Look, we need to talk and we cannae do it here. Get in the car, son, and we’ll drive somewhere, have a wee chat, try to sort things out.’

Charlie stared at his father defiantly. ‘I ain’t getting in that shit heap. I don’t even fucking recognise you. You could be anyone, for all I know. You can’t just turn up out the blue and expect me to come running into your arms. Anyway, I’m busy, I’ve gotta be somewhere.’

Realising that things weren’t going to plan, Billy rummaged around inside the car for a pen. He scribbled his mobile number on to an old cigarette packet and handed it to his son.

‘Look, Charlie, I know this has been a shock for you, but please call me. I really wannae get to know you, and I’m sure you must have a lot of questions for me. You can ring me, day or night, but you must promise me one thing.’

‘What?’ Charlie asked stroppily.

‘You cannae tell your mother that I came to see you, nor your Uncle Mickey. Can you promise me that?’

‘I suppose so.’

Smiling, Billy stepped forward to shake his son’s hand. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing from you then, Charlie.’

Seconds later the tatty blue Escort had disappeared from sight.

Charlie rang his mum to ask her if it was okay for him to stay at a mate’s. Not wanting him staying at a stranger’s house, but overjoyed that he’d finally found a friend, Debbie reluctantly agreed. ‘Okay, love, but only because it’s a Friday and you don’t have to get up for school. What time will you be home tomorrow?’

‘Dunno.’ He desperately needed some time alone, to think, and couldn’t face being around his mum, Steve and the two spoilt brats. A small part of him felt he should tell his mum that his dad had turned up, but intuition told him there was bad blood between his parents and he’d be wiser to keep his trap shut. His mum had blatantly refused to discuss his dad over the years, insisting that Charlie forget he existed.

‘You’re better off not knowing him, love. Unfortunately he’s not a very nice person,’ she’d drummed into him.

Throughout his childhood Charlie had suffered recurring nightmares that his dad was trying to kill him. He would often wake up, sweating and shaking, but could never picture his dad’s face during these dreams. The man attacking him was faceless, with a large hood over his head. His night-time experiences had got so bad at one point that he’d cried to his mum about them.

‘All kids have nightmares. It doesn’t mean anything, Charlie, it’s all part of growing up.’ Debbie had lied, determined to protect her son from the awful truth. The night frights finally stopped when he was about ten years old and had never returned since.

Billy McDaid sat on a barstool in one of his old haunts in Barking, quietly supping a pint. He’d been back in the area just over a week now and was feeling braver by the second. He’d been wary about coming back at first, but after a discreet bout of snooping had been pleased to learn that Debbie and all her old cronies were long gone from the area.

He’d heard through the grapevine that she had got married years ago, but no one seemed to know who she’d ended up with. Some poor, desperate bastard, Billy mused, chuckling at his own wit.

The years hadn’t been kind to Billy. Prison had seen to that. His face was gaunt and lined, and he looked old for his years. His stint in Pentonville had been the hardest one to endure. There’d been a lot of blacks in there. For some unknown reason, they’d hated his guts and made his life a complete and utter misery. On being released from the ’Ville, he’d moved back to the North, this time to Manchester, and made a new life for himself there.

Drugs was the only game Billy knew and he soon found a pub to deal from profitably in the heart of Moss Side. With business doing well, he made the fatal mistake of falling in love once again. This time with a seventeen-year-old wild child called Angela.

Things went pear-shaped within six months of them moving in together. They began to row constantly because Angela could not deal with Billy’s possessiveness and his violent, jealous tantrums. Billy was distraught when she finally kicked him out. Refusing to believe their relationship was over, he pestered her constantly and stalked her every time she went out. Finding out that she was dating a twenty-one-year-old musician was the final straw for him. High on drugs one night, he’d lain in wait and stabbed her new beau seven times in a frenzied attack. Once again, his temper had got the better of him. Unfortunately for Billy, the drummer survived and he was arrested.

Billy was made to pay by spending the next seven years in Strangeways. Being back in prison was tough for him, but he kept his head down and did his bird with pride. Being in prison in the North was much better than down South. The lads were friendly and the banter between inmates was good. There were a lot of lads in there from Scotland and having some of his countrymen around him made him feel much more at home than he ever had in the ’Ville.

Billy had too much time to think while on the inside and his son had been at the forefront of his mind for years. Towards the end of his stretch, he heard via his aunt that his mother had died. Instead of feeling sad, he felt only relief and a new determination to make something of his life finally. It was his mother’s death that helped him decide to make amends with his own boy. He had to find him, get to know him, build some kind of a relationship before it was too late.

Two days after he was released, Billy bought a train ticket and ventured to London to track down his flesh and blood. Walking towards the Gascoigne Estate was like taking a trip down Memory Lane. As Billy approached the tower block, he felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Finding Andy was still living there was a relief to him as without his old pal he’d have been at a loose end for somewhere to stay.

‘Billy! Fucking hell. Come in, mate, it’s great to see ya,’ Andy yelled, pleased to have someone to get stoned with. Billy had spent the rest of that first day puffing, downing cider and listening to Pink Floyd’s
Dark Side of the Moon
.

After spending two days drunk, stoned and catching up on old times, he got his arse into gear and started the hunt for his son. Thankfully, tracking Charlie down had been a lot easier than he had envisaged. After a tip off that the boy attended a school in Upminster, Billy struck gold on the second one he visited.

‘Do you know Charlie McDaid?’ he’d asked a gang of cocky-looking lads who were having a cheeky fag outside the gates.

‘Nah,’ they’d replied, barely looking at him.

‘What about Charlie Dawson?’ Billy asked. He guessed Debbie might have changed the kid’s name to hers, considering what had happened.

‘What’s it worth?’ one little squirt asked.

Fishing in the pocket of his trousers, Billy pulled out a scrunched up five-pound note.

‘Point him out and I’ll give you this fiver.’

The squirt scanned the playground and pointed out a lad, exclaiming, ‘That’s him. The weirdo over there in the woolly hat.’

Billy wanted to beat up the little squirt. How dare he call his son a weirdo? Chucking the money at him, he decided not to kick off. Seeing his son was more important to him.

Ordering another pint, Billy smiled to himself as he remembered today’s encounter with his offspring. He was definitely a chip off the old block. A cocky little sod who didn’t take shit off anyone. Charlie didn’t look as Billy had imagined he would. ‘Lumpy and gawky’ was the best way to describe him, and he seemed a lot older than his fourteen years. Facially he looked more like his dad than Debbie, which pleased Billy no end. He was positive that the boy’s natural curiosity would get the better of him and he’d call. Billy was also sure Charlie wouldn’t break his promise and tell his mother or uncle that he had seen his dad.

Glancing at his mobile to make sure it was switched on and that service was good, Billy moved away from the bar and sat at one of the little tables, feeling pleased with himself. He put his feet up on a chair and made himself comfortable. He’d done all the hard work. Now it was just a case of waiting for that all-important call.

Charlie woke up the following morning with a bee in his bonnet. ‘Come on, Kev. Get up, mate. I wanna go down to Romford, see if I can bump into Lois.’

Unwashed, the boys left the house within minutes. Four hours later, after searching all the places she’d said she usually went to, Charlie was about to give up.

‘This is bollocks, Kev. It’s so packed down here, we’ll never find her amongst these crowds.’

Kevin, who was not usually one for bright ideas, came out with a beauty. ‘I know Lois ain’t allowed to take calls from your phone, Charlie, but why don’t you ring her from mine? If her mum or dad answer, you can pretend it’s a wrong number. If she answers, then bingo. Tell her you’re down in Romford and wanna meet her. And ask her if she’s got a mate for me.’