Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) (18 page)

 ‘It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t –’

‘Surely your children had a smack when they were naughty.’

‘This isn’t about me.’ Gina folded her arms. ‘This is about you.’

‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than have a go at people?’ someone shouted from behind them.

Gina swivelled on the spot and came face to face with Caren. ‘Mind your own business,’ she snapped. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

‘Do you get a kick out of bullying people?’

‘I’m not a bully.’

‘Yes, you are.’

Gina took a step nearer to Caren. ‘Say anything else and I’ll ram my fist into your face.’

Caren sighed. ‘That’s you all over, isn’t it? You
and
your family. Threatening behaviour is the coward’s way out.’

‘Quit while you’re ahead,’ she warned.

‘Or what? If you hit me, beat me to a pulp even, I’ll be here tomorrow. If you hit me again, I’ll still be around.’ She took a step nearer to Gina, hoping to intimidate her with height as well as words. ‘I knew you were a nasty piece of work when we were at school, and that I could understand because we were sixteen and didn’t really know any better. But we’re in our thirties now; you should try growing up a little.’

Gina felt her skin reddening and she raised her fist. ‘Bitch!’ she seethed.

As the two women glared at each other, Ruth took the opportunity to continue on her journey. When Gina noticed, she shouted to her. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. You might have got away this time, but you’ll keep.’

Caren sighed. ‘For God’s sake, will you listen to yourself? You sound like one of those wayward daughters of yours – they’re always fighting from what I hear around the estate.’

‘Leave my daughters out of this!’

‘Well, it’s obvious where they get their traits from. You’re hardly a role model – nor that husband of yours.’

Gina narrowed her eyes. ‘You ought to get your own house in order first before you start knocking mine. You and John aren’t so perfect.’

‘Are we going to do tit for tat over each other’s family now?’ Caren folded her arms and leaned on the garden wall. ‘Come on, then. Bring it on.’  

‘I’m not bringing my family into this discussion.’

‘Why not? You’re happy to slag off everyone else – like Ruth who’s doing her best – but no one can say anything about you. Doesn’t seem fair to me, that.’

‘If you want to bring families into it, you haven’t slept with my husband so I think I win that round.’

Caren faked raucous laughter. ‘Like I’d want to do that.’

‘For all your cleverness, you are a little thick at times. You don’t understand, do you?’

‘Understand what?’

‘Listen to what I said.’ Gina proceeded to pronounce her words like she was speaking to a toddler. ‘You may not have slept with my husband but I’ve slept with yours.’

Gina had Caren’s full attention then – and a fair few neighbours who had come out to see what was going on too.

‘Tuesday night, pub night,’ she continued. ‘John came home with Pete. I cooked them a fry up. Pete was smashed and went off to his bed. And your fella and me got down and dirty on the kitchen floor.’

Caren’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You’re having a laugh. No one in their right mind would crawl around on your kitchen floor; they don’t know what they’d catch. Can you see the pattern on your tiles anymore?’

 Gina played her trump card. ‘When did he have his appendix out? That scar on his groin looks fairly old to me.’

Caren visibly paled. How would she know about John’s scar? Her mind told her it was something as simple as it being discussed in a conversation: her heart had them shagging away on the kitchen floor.

Suddenly she lurched forward, hand raised high in readiness to slap Gina good and hard. But Gina blocked her. She grabbed her wrist and held on to it tightly.

‘Tut tut. Fighting isn’t the answer to everything, Mrs Williams.’

‘You’re lying!’ said Caren.

Gina shook her head. ‘No, I’m not.’

‘You are! You must be. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do –’

‘Ask him.’ Gina knew she was in the prime position. Caren wouldn’t ask him: John would deny it anyway. But it would put doubt into her mind and her cosy life.

‘Ask him,’ she repeated.

Once in the safety of her home, Caren stood in the middle of the living room and gulped back tears. Don’t let her get to you, she told herself. She’s lying: John wouldn’t do that. She searched out her mobile and rung him.

‘Is it true?’ she snapped.

‘Is what true?’

‘You and Gina Bradley?’

A pause.

‘I can’t talk to you now.’ Another pause. ‘Not here.’

‘Why? Is that stupid fucker Pete there with you?’

‘Yeah, can we do this later? I’m in the middle of plastering a wall and I need to –’

Caren disconnected the call.

No.

No!

She thought back to last week, when Pete had taken John out after he’d molested her in the garden. Were he and Gina in this together somehow? She knew it sounded irrational but surely there couldn’t be any truth in it?

Calming down quickly, Caren wiped at her cheeks where a few tears had fallen. That was it: Pete and Gina were doing their best to get back at her. John wouldn’t sleep with Gina. Moving here had tested them to the limits over the past few weeks but, apart from Pete’s visit, everything had been okay for a few days. Yes, she knew John was working on the side, but the cash was good, and it wouldn’t be forever. He had an interview for a job next week. If he got that, all their prayers would be answered and Pete would be out of their hair, unable to lead John astray – at least in theory anyway.

No, she would ignore them; their sort hated that.

Her mobile phone beeped the arrival of a text message. It was from John.

Its not wot u think. I was drunk, she tricked me.

Caren stared at the tiny display screen. She sat up abruptly and read it again.

  Its not wot u think. I was drunk, she tricked me.

She frowned.

  Its not wot u think. I was drunk, she tricked me.

She gasped. Gina was telling the truth.

Gina lit a cigarette as soon as she set foot in her kitchen. She sat at the table, busily puffing away, pleased with her little outburst – for all of a few minutes before doubt began to creep in.

What would happen if Caren said anything to John? Gina would have to deny it, even though half the neighbours had heard her say it. One of them was bound to say something to Pete down at The Butcher’s Arms. Nothing stayed a secret on Stanley Avenue. She should know; she was usually the one spreading the rumours. Then again, maybe people would hold their tongue. The Bradley family were not to be messed with. Everyone knew that.

Gina sighed loudly. Sometimes she could be so stupid. Pete would kill her if he thought for a moment it was true – he could stop John from coming over and where would that leave her? And if Caren did start a row with John, Gina would have some lying to do. She’d have to think about it this afternoon, get her story right or she could end up with more than a red face. More likely she’d get a backhander from Pete.

But the one thing that riled her most was that she should have saved the information for later. Once he’d slept with her a couple of times, the story would have been more convincing, more hurtful too. It would have wiped that smug look off Caren’s face. Everyone would know that Miss Fucking Perfect couldn’t keep her man satisfied.

Gina sighed again and took another drag of her cigarette, a long drag that made her cough loudly. Now he’d never sleep with her and she’d come so close.

From the minute she’d scuttled off down Stanley Avenue with Gina Bradley screeching obscenities after her, Ruth had dreaded returning home. With every footstep back, she became more and more agitated, feeling the stickiness on her recently heeled scar oozing blood as she dug her nails in over and over.

She practically sprinted past Gina’s house, expecting another torrent of abuse. But all was quiet, on both sides of the road. Wondering if the woman from number twenty-four had given Gina Bradley more than she’d bargained for, she relaxed a little.

Martin was lying on the settee in the living room watching the television when she put down her shopping on the kitchen table.

‘Make us a brew, would you?’ he shouted through to her. ‘I’m parched.’

And I’m knackered after lugging your lager home, thought Ruth. Still, it would be good to have someone around to talk to; someone to belong to. There had been no mention of an apology, why he’d done what he’d done. Neither had there been any explanation about Tracy Tanner. She wondered who had finished the affair: it was obvious that something had happened.

‘Where’s that tea?’ Martin shouted through.

‘Coming up.’ Ruth frowned. How had she thought she could do this? Now she had three of them to cater for and she didn’t feel capable of looking after herself.

The kettle switched off. Ruth popped tea bags into two mugs and continued to put the shopping away.

‘Where are you getting the tea from? China?’ Martin appeared in the doorway.

‘It’s nearly ready.’ Ruth opened the fridge. ‘Just getting the milk.’

He leered at her. ‘Bloody hell, Ruth, you’ve got a right pair when you bend down.’

Ruth peered down at her chest. The neckline of her jumper wasn’t showing that much.

Martin came behind and put an arm around her waist. He pressed himself to her. ‘Can you feel that? You’ve made me hard already.’ He kissed her neck. ‘Might as well not waste it.’

Ruth squirmed. ‘Don’t do that, Martin. Not now.’ He caught her by the wrist. ‘Ow!’ She grimaced.

‘I’ll make the other arm hurt too unless you let me fuck you.’

Ruth swallowed. ‘I don’t want –’

Martin swept a hand over the kitchen table. Mats and coasters crashed to the floor. He bent her forwards and shoved his hand up her skirt.

‘You’re having it, whether you like it or not,’ he told her.

Ruth knew it was easier to get it over with. She heard him open his zip and then he pushed himself inside her. She groaned in pain. 

He pushed in further, holding onto her shoulders. ‘I know you like it rough, don’t you?’ He thrust into her.

Ruth held on to the table as he did it again and again. The table screeched across the tiles; still he held onto her, thrusting, swearing, thrusting, swearing.

Then it was over. Martin pulled out of her and tucked himself up. She felt his sperm running down her leg and stopped herself from gagging as she held onto the table, this time for support. Her legs didn’t feel able to sustain her weight.

Martin grabbed her injured wrist and twirled her round to face him. She flinched as he squeezed it harder, intent on hurting her.

‘I will have you whenever I want you,’ he said, an inch away from her face. ‘Got that?’

It took all of her strength to nod back at him.

‘Good. Now, where’s my tea?’

Ruth watched in a daze as Martin squeezed the teabag, threw it into the kitchen sink and added a dollop of milk to the drink. Then he winked at her before taking a noisy slurp.

Once he’d left the kitchen, Ruth closed the door. Then she rushed to the sink and threw up all over the teabag. The bastard! How could he force himself into her like that? Already she could feel the hurt he’d caused between her legs.

Holding onto the worktop, she managed to calm her breathing, stop herself from going into full panic mode. Her arm was burning. Instinctively, she began to pick at the scab a little more.

How had she forgotten how cruel he could be?

The minute she spotted John coming home in their car, Caren was out and down the path without another thought. She flung the overnight bag she’d packed with his clothes at his feet.

‘Have you any idea how humiliating it is to know that not only have you been messing about across the road from where we live –’

‘I haven’t!’

‘– but you’ve been messing about with that – that thing!’

‘It wasn’t like that, I swear!’

‘I hate you!’ she spoke through gritted teeth. ‘It’s bad enough that we have to live here but then you go and do
that?
’

‘I’m sorry!’

‘You will be. You can sleep on
her
settee tonight; you’re not coming in here.’

‘But I don’t –’

‘Having a row in the street is getting quite your thing, isn’t it, Caren?’ Gina came up behind them.

‘Fuck off, Gina.’

‘Ooh, charming. Did you know you had such a foul mouth of a wife, John?’

John turned to her. ‘You heard her, fuck off. You’ve caused enough trouble as it is, with all your lies.’