Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) (12 page)

 ‘Hey, gorgeous,’ he said when he came in twenty minutes later. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You okay?’

‘Yes, you?’

‘I am indeed.’ John threw a wad of notes down onto the ironing board.

Caren stared at them, then at him. She put down the iron. ‘Where did you get that from?’

‘I’ve been working.’

Caren smiled, noticing that his jeans and boots were covered in white powder. ‘I knew you were up to something.’ She pointed to a chair. ‘Sit down and you can tell me all about it. I’ll make coffee.’

‘Don’t get your hopes up. It was only for a couple of days.’

‘It’s a start, isn’t it? Was it a trial for someone?’

 ‘Not exactly.’ John sat down. ‘I’ve been working with Pete. A mate of his needed some plastering doing. I’ve been labouring for him.’

Caren’s smile dropped away.

‘You wanted money, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but –’

John sighed. ‘Then get into the real world. Jobs don’t come along ten a penny. So I thought I might as well get some money coming in while I try to find something permanent.’

‘You said you wouldn’t get involved with his dirty deals!’

John sniggered. ‘Plastering is hardly a dirty deal.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I’m trying my best, Caz!’

‘No, you’re not. Working cash in hand isn’t what we do.’

‘It’ll put food on the table.’

‘Yes, I know, but –’

‘I thought it would make you happy.’

 ‘Well, it won’t. I know it’s only a plastering job now, but what next? Pete’s a taker. He’ll use anyone he can to make a quick buck.’ She pointed to the money. ‘How much do you think he got, if he gave you a hundred?’

‘He got the same.’

‘Did you see him pocket his share?’

‘No, but he wouldn’t –’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past him. He’s a loser, John, and hanging round with him, no matter what your best intentions are, will do you more harm than good.’

‘Okay, little miss fix-it. You tell me how to get a job.’

‘Get out of Pete’s pocket and start acting like a –’

‘For fuck’s sake!’ John grabbed the money from the ironing board. ‘I’ll take this, shall I? I might as well gamble it away because it won’t be good enough for you.’

‘That’s not going to solve –’

‘You’ve got to face up to things. We’ve been here for over a month now. I’ve not had a sniff of a job so I’ve done what I thought was best.’

Caren stopped then. There was nothing she could say to that.

John’s brow furrowed. ‘I’m not sure if I’ll ever be good enough for you.’ He threw the money down onto the floor and left with the slam of the door.

Caren flinched. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why had she pushed him into an argument again? She knew he had their best intentions at heart but what she didn’t want was him getting used to the amount of money he could get on the side while claiming benefits. There was always someone in the papers who thought they’d get away with it but, inevitably, they got caught out. And that was beside the point: they were not, and never would be, benefit cheats.  

Upstairs, she heard John in the bedroom; at least he hadn’t gone out. She knew he’d calm down by the time he emerged from the shower. That was one good thing about him; he could never stay angry for long.

God, how she detested Pete Bradley. He would be their downfall if she let him.

Caren sighed. Yet another day in paradise.

As soon as Rachel and Claire turned the corner into Davy Road that night, they saw Stacey. She was talking to Hayley and Shell, huddled up in discussion. None of them noticed as they approached.

Rachel had seen this coming but she didn’t think Stacey would act so quickly. First, she’d caught her talking to Louise a couple of nights ago. Louise had run over to Rachel as soon as she’d spotted her and when questioned had said Stacey was after the tenner she owed her before she got sent down. Now, here she was again, determined to get her gang back. Rachel pulled up the hood of her jacket. Well, one way or another, she was going to find out how determined she was. Even though she was wary, she’d have to show her who was boss.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ Rachel asked as she drew level with them.

‘Nothing.’

‘Back off my girls, then.’

‘They’re not your girls.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

Rachel turned to Hayley and then Shell. ‘Maybe you two need to think about loyalties,’ she snapped.

Shell dropped her eyes immediately but Hayley stared at Rachel for a while. At last, with a quick glance at Stacey, she too looked away. 

Claire, hanging round in the background like a spare part, finally moved forward.

‘Right, that’s sorted,’ she threw into the tense atmosphere. ‘Now, let’s get some fags. I’m dying for a drag.’ As Rachel and Stacey strutted their stuff like two peacocks, she grabbed hold of Hayley’s arm and dragged her nearer to the entrance of Shop&Save. ‘Come on, you’re better at scrounging than me.’

Eventually, Stacey moved away.

‘Bye, bye,’ Rachel shouted after her. ‘See you again soon – I don’t think.’

Stacey turned back. ‘You won’t win, redhead,’ she spoke coolly before continuing.

‘Want to take a bet on it?’

‘No point when the odds are stacked against you.’

Once Stacey was in the distance, Rachel turned to Shell and punched her on the upper arm.

‘Ow!’ Shell cried out.

‘Show me up again and you’ll get a lot more of that.’

Ruth woke up with another headache. Was it any wonder with the vodka she’d knocked back last night? She tried to focus on the bedroom, still not familiar enough to feel at home in.  The nights were drawing in now – soon the clocks would be going back and the dark would descend in more ways than one. Ruth hated winter. In summer, it was much easier to rid herself of a bad mood if the sun was shining and she could sit in the garden. In winter, when it was cold and raining and windy and icy, it took all of her strength not to pull the duvet over her head and stay there all day.    

‘Mum, there’s no bread left!’ Jamie shouted up the stairs.

Ruth sighed: couldn’t that boy do anything quietly? She dragged herself downstairs to face the day.

‘You’ll have to have cereal for your breakfast,’ she told Jamie as she joined him in the kitchen. She opened the fridge to pull out the milk. Damn, there wasn’t a lot of milk either. She’d have to call in at the shops on her way back from school.

 ‘But I want toast!’

‘You can’t have any.’

Jamie threw down the empty bread packet and stamped on it. Without a second thought, Ruth leaned forward and slapped him around the face.

‘Shut up with the moaning,’ she told him. ‘You’ll have what you’re given. Now, go and see where your brother is.’

Ruth ran a hand through her hair and began to pull at it. Then she heard the scream. She looked at Jamie in confusion. He was sobbing, and holding his face.  For a moment, she froze. Then she rushed over, pulling him into her arms quickly.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

It was the truth: in actual fact, she couldn’t remember
hitting
him. But as she saw a red mark appearing on his cheek, she hugged him again. What had made her do that? She was tired, of course. She hadn’t had more than a couple of hours sleep the night before. Trying to drown her sorrows with the vodka, she’d ended up wide awake and weepy. But usually tiredness didn’t make her lash out like that, especially not at one of the boys.

‘What’s up?’ A sleepy Mason appeared in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes.

‘M-mum hit me,’ Jamie said through his sobs.

Ruth looked at Mason. ‘I didn’t mean to. I –’

Mason ran at his mother, his fists grabbing handfuls of her hair.

‘Don’t hurt my brother!’ he screamed.

‘Ow! Mason, let go!’

But Mason held on, long enough for Jamie to run past his mum and out of the room.

‘I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!’ shouted Mason.

With every word, he pulled her hair a little harder. Ruth forced one of his hands away and then the other. In moments, she had the better of him.

‘Let me go, you little bastard!’ she yelled in his face. ‘I’ve had enough of you and Jamie. You think I like looking after you two every day of my life? You think it’s easy to do this, when you two misbehave like you do? You should show some respect. I’m your mother!’

Breathing heavily, Ruth only came to her senses when she heard the rush of his bladder releasing itself. She looked down. Oh, God.

‘Mason, I –’

Mason stood still, unable to speak. His bottom lip started to tremble as he tried hard not to cry. He hardly ever cried. Jamie was still a baby at eight so he could cry, but Mason? He was ten and saw himself as the head of the family.

He wouldn’t cry – he couldn’t cry.

But right now, he had never been so scared of his mum.

Mason burst into tears.

Ruth looked at her ten-year-old child, a snivelling wreck who had pissed his pants and was now too afraid to speak. Over in the doorway, his brother watched on in horror, the mark on his cheek reddening with every second that passed.

What was she going to do about her temper?

Ruth stood up and turned away from them before they could see her crying.

‘I think you’d better get ready for school,’ she said. ‘We need to leave in half an hour.’

Ruth worried about her behaviour as she took the boys to school. What on earth had gone on this morning? It was one thing to get drunk and have a go at bringing pain to herself. But she had never lashed out at her children in temper. Not like that. And it scared her to think what she might be capable of. She decided to check up with Doctor Morgan, see if any of her tablets needed changing.

After calling in at the surgery to make an appointment, she stopped off at the shops to pick up some chocolate before heading back to the house. But halfway along Stanley Avenue, her morning got decidedly worse.

‘Ruth? Ruth Millington?’

She turned to see who had shouted, her shoulders sinking immediately. ‘Hi, Gina,’ she replied.

Gina opened her gate and walked over. ‘I thought it was you,’ she said. ‘I heard you’d moved into number thirty-two.’

Ruth nodded but Gina didn’t give her time to speak.

‘It looks a right dump. How are you going to cope with that on your own?’ Gina folded her arms across her coffee-stained T-shirt and smirked. ‘You are on your own now, aren’t you?’

‘No, I have my children with me.’

Gina smirked. ‘You know that’s not what I meant. Your fella’s been shagging around, hasn’t he?’

Ruth turned to walk away. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong. Everything on this avenue is my business. I make it that way, so you’d better get used to it.’

Ruth closed her eyes for a moment as she tried to blot out Gina’s words. A ranting neighbour, one she’d known vaguely at school and disliked, having a go at her in the middle of the street was the last thing she needed right now. She took a step away.

‘Hey!’ Gina grabbed her by the arm. ‘Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.’

‘I’m sorry, Gina, I’m tired. Why don’t we catch up later?’

‘You think I want to catch up with you?’ Gina moved closer. ‘I don’t think so. I’m just letting you know the rules that you have to abide by so that you can survive on Stanley Avenue; so that you settle in okay and don’t give me any trouble.’

Ruth sighed. ‘What are you after? Because if you’re after a fight, I don’t have it in me.’

‘Oh, chill woman. I’m not out for your blood yet. But I will be if you step a foot wrong – or take a shine to my Pete. I know that your husband died but mine is off limits, do you hear?’

At the mention of Glenn’s name, Ruth felt like she’d had a knife thrust into her heart and twisted savagely. Her eyes filled with tears as his face flashed before them.

‘Involved in a car accident, wasn’t he?’ Gina added. ‘I heard he was drunk when he –’

‘You heard wrong,’ Ruth interrupted. ‘Another driver hit him head on. He – he died instantly. It wasn’t his fault.’

Gina raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ll tell me anything. I suppose you’ll tell me next that your Martin wasn’t getting his end away with Tracy Tanner.’

Ruth couldn’t cope with any more verbal abuse. She began to walk away quickly. But Gina followed her.

‘I know your sort, Ruth Millington – if that’s still your name. You’ve lost your husband and you couldn’t keep the next fella in check. So just you keep your hands off mine.’

Ruth walked faster.

‘If I hear that you’ve as much as looked at my Pete, I’ll knock your fucking head off. Do you hear me? Oy!’