Two Women (14 page)

June looked at her daughter’s face. It was lit up from within. She envied her in some ways. To be young and in love with your whole life ahead of you. She also knew that she should help her more with Joey, but she couldn’t. Joey had a thing about Susan and deep inside June guessed what it was. The same two things that attracted Barry Dalston.

‘All I’m saying is, be careful. There’s more to life than a pair of tits and a bloke.’

Susan laughed then, a nasty sound.

‘And you would know all about that, would you? The trollop of London giving me advice? Shove it, Mum. What’s the matter? You jealous you got a bit of competition, is that it?’

At that June lost her temper and gave Susan a stinging slap across her freshly made up face.

Susan’s fist went back and she had planted it firmly between her mother’s eyes before she realised what she had done.

June staggered backward, trying to grab hold of the dressing table. Instead she fell in a crumpled heap on the bed. Susan rushed to her, trying to help her up and apologising over and over again.

‘Mum! Christ almighty, Mum, I am so sorry. Mum, please let me look at you.’

‘You little bastard! Fucking punch me, would you, you whore?’

The fight started in earnest then. Mother and daughter were clawing like wildcats. Susan was defending herself and then she was winning.

The fight took her over. As she punched her mother all the pent-up frustration of the last few years rose to the surface. Everything June had done, turned a blind eye to or encouraged seemed to crowd into Susan’s mind.

Leaving them with her father to shack up with blokes; always pretending that she knew it all when she knew nothing; never doing anything to help either of her children. Always knowing it all, always letting everyone down.

Susan heard Debbie’s screams as if from far away. Dragging her off her mother, Debbie was shocked and incredulous at what had occurred.

‘Are you off your fucking trolley, Susan? Look what you done to her.’

She looked down at her mother’s bloody face and didn’t feel a thing. That shocked her more than anything she had done. She felt nothing except relief.

Susan helped her mother up and then left the room.

In the hallway she repaired her make up as best she could and straightened her clothes. Putting on her blanket coat, she picked up her bag and slipped from the house.

 

Barry watched Susan surreptitiously as she strode along the road. Her coat was open and she got about five bibs in the space of twenty-five seconds. His face darkened. He looked into the cars to see if he recognised any of the men daring to bib his bird.

He stepped out and as he opened his mouth to berate her, hesitated. Susan didn’t look like her usual self. She lit herself a cigarette and he saw her hands were shaking.

‘What’s wrong, Sue?’

Susan sighed and answered him sharply, ‘What’s fucking right, you mean?’

He linked arms with her and walked her up to her granny’s flat. She puffed nervously on her cigarette and he kept silent, knowing she would tell him in her own time.

As they walked up to the door Ivy’s face was at the kitchen window.

‘You little bastard!’ she greeted her granddaughter.

Susan sighed.

‘The jungle tom-toms must be in overdrive.’

‘What’s going . . .’

The door was flung open and Susan was dragged over the step.

‘That right you hammered your mother, Susan? Debbie’s in a right state. I just had her on the trombone. Battered the fuck out of Junie, did you?’

Susan nodded.

‘Yes, I did, and she asked for it.’

Ivy was caught between wanting to hear all the facts and the usual urge to stick her oar in and cause more hag. But even she knew that her son would go ballistic over this one. He could kick June till she was unconscious but no one else would be afforded the privilege. Plus there was something going on between him and Susan, something she could not quite put her finger on.

Barry looked into Susan’s red face.

‘You beat your mother up?’

‘Too right I did. She hit me so I hit her back.’

Ivy’s face was a picture of glee.

‘That’s not what I was told. She slapped you for mouthing her off and you knocked seven bells of shit out of her according to Debbie. Your father’s been called from the pub and that will cheer him up no end, mate. Bashing up your mother’s one thing. Interfering in Joey’s social life is something else altogether. You’re for it.’

Susan bit her lip.

Ivy was right about one thing: Joey would annihilate her and would enjoy doing it. Now he had a legitimate reason to give her a good hiding and all the different insults she had given him over the last few months would be remembered and count against her too.

‘I ain’t going back, I don’t want to live there any more.’

Ivy raised her eyes to the ceiling.

‘You’re fourteen. Where the hell you going to go, Susan? Get a flat, will you? How will you pay the rent and stuff? Get a grip, girl. You’re trapped until time tells you different. Now you get yourself into that front room and I’ll make a cuppa. Your dad will be here in a minute and then Gawd help you.’

Barry looked at the old woman.

‘What do you mean, Joey’s coming here?’

Ivy snorted.

‘’Course he is. I told Debbie you was coming here like usual.’

She smiled then and Barry saw her as Susan did: a nasty, vindictive old bitch.

‘He’ll brain you and all, son, so if I was you I’d piss off out of it. Leave her to it, son, she deserves all she gets.’

Ivy tutted loudly.

‘I’ll miss me bleeding bingo now an’ all. Little cow you are, Susan, causing all this trouble.’

Susan looked at Barry numbly.

‘You better go, Bal, he better not see you.’

Barry was in a quandary. He didn’t want to leave like a kid afraid of her dad, but he didn’t want to fall out with the man either. After all, Joey was the reason Susan and he were an item.

Now she had caused all this trouble he could gladly have given her a slap himself. The front door was being banged on now and Joey’s voice was loud as he shouted through the letterbox.

‘Open up, Mother. I’m here and I want that bitch now!’

‘Quick son, get in the bedroom. Joey will kill you stone dead if he sees you here.’

‘Fuck off. I’m not hiding from him . . .’

Susan, forgetting her own fear, pushed him roughly towards the bedroom door.

‘He’s mad enough to kill us both. Now just for once do as I ask you, Bal, please.’

The fear in her voice communicated itself to him and he went into the bedroom. Shutting the door firmly behind him he waited and listened, his whole body tense with fear.

Ivy opened the front door and was pushed roughly out of the way by her son. Joey looked mad enough to kill all right. His eyes were red-rimmed and his whole body exuded menace.

He looked at his daughter for a few seconds.

‘I’ll brain you, you bastard. I’ll fucking brain you.’

Susan looked into his eyes and didn’t flinch.

‘Brain me then, Dad. There’s nothing else you can do to me that can hurt as much as what you’ve already done.’

The words were loaded and Ivy picked up on them quickly.

‘What you on about, girl? Smack her one, Joey. Don’t let her talk to you like that. No wonder she’s gone off the bleeding rails . . .’

He turned on his mother and bellowed: ‘Fucking shut it! Now get out and leave me and her alone.’ He was spitting, his anger was so acute.

Ivy slipped her coat off the hook and turned on her heel. As she closed the front door behind her she felt immensely sorry for herself. Forced from her own home like she was no one, by the son she worshipped and adored. She stood outside in the cold and waited to hear what was going on inside.

Susan stood facing her father in the narrow hallway.

‘I’m going to bust your face open, girl, and I’m going to enjoy it.’

She stood before him, quietly self-contained, watching as if she was a witness to everything instead of the victim.

‘Of course you’ll enjoy it, Dad, you’re a fucking bully boy.’

In the bedroom Barry closed his eyes at her words. She must be off her nut was all he could tell himself. Grown men with a rep wouldn’t dare say that to Joey McNamara.

She slipped off her coat and stood before her father in all her new finery.

‘Look at you, dressed like a fucking slag! Walking the streets like a fucking whore!’

The first slap hit her full across the face and knocked her into the wall. Barry heard the thud as she was punched and wiped one sweaty hand across his face.

Joey punched her eight times until she was on the floor. Then, pulling her by the hair, he dragged her into the lounge. As Susan tried to get up and away from him he dragged at the pink jumper, tearing it open at the back, the tiny pearl buttons flying all around the room as they were ripped from the material.

Dragging it off her, Joey held it in front of her face as she tried to cover her body from his prying eyes. Bruising was already coming out all over her arms and face, her eye was closed and her nose was trickling blood.

‘This what you parade about in, is it? Dressed like an out of work fucking dock dolly - my daughter. I’ve seen whores with more on than you. But then you’ve got the mouth to go with it, ain’t you, Susan? That great big mouth you open all day without a second thought. Well, after today, lady, you don’t shit without my permission, you hear me? I will watch you morning, noon and night.’

‘I’m not your daughter.’

As soon as she said those words his fists rained blows down on her all over again.

Joey stood over her panting. His chest felt like it was going to explode with anger. She was below him, legs splayed, breasts free. She was looking up at him and he knew what she was thinking, what she was expecting, and decided he would not disappoint her.

Unbuckling the belt on his trousers, he laughed down at her.

‘What you after then, Susan? Your usual, eh?’

‘Fuck off.’

All her hatred and secret knowledge of him were contained in those words. The intensity of them reached Barry even through the bedroom wall. Susan had forgotten about him in her granny’s bedroom, had forgotten everything except the fact she hated this man with all her heart.

Barry, however, would never forget what he was hearing now.

‘I hope you die screaming of cancer. I hope you never know a day’s peace, you bastard . . .’

Joey kicked her viciously in the stomach, shutting her up. Desperate to breathe, Susan was panicking at the pain that shot through her abdomen. As he forced himself on her she could not even begin to fight him off.

His mouth was clamped on hers and he was touching her all over. She could feel him, feel every part of him, and as the vomit rushed from her mouth and sprayed them both he was too far gone to know what was happening. He rode her hard, forcing himself inside her, and as she clawed at his face he punched her once more in the chest, winding her again.

He collapsed on top of her then and, laughing, whispered in her ear. ‘I can do what I like, Susan, and you remember that. When you hit your mother you made an enemy for life. You gave me licence to do what I want, and I will, young lady, I will. I’ll lock you up until I have had my fill of you. Remember that, girl. I’ll break you in mind and spirit and laugh while I do it.’

Kneeling over her he felt an urge to urinate. Reading his mind, Susan rolled away from him just as the stream was about to hit her face. Pulling her up by her hair, he stared down into her eyes.

‘Get dressed, you’re coming home with me.’

Standing, he adjusted his trousers and looked in the fly-spotted mirror above the tiled fireplace while he tidied himself up. He watched Susan trying to get up on all fours.

‘You’re a fat ugly whore, ain’t you? Who else would fucking want you? Look at the size of your arse. Look at yourself. You’re a dog, and like a dog you turned on your master. Well, that’s the last time you ever go against me, girl. From now on you earn your privileges and no prizes for guessing how you’re going to do that, eh?’

Taking off his belt he set about her once more. The buckle hit her open skin and made her scream but he carried on regardless. There was no one who was going to ring the Old Bill about him, not in this quarter anyway.

In the next room Barry sat on the bed in a state of shock. He knew exactly what had just occurred and was still trying to take it in. Joey McNamara was a beast, the worst kind of beast. He was guilty of incest, the worst crime in working-class communities after rape and paedophilia.

And he, Barry Dalston, knew about it. He wished he didn’t. But his business brain was telling him that this knowledge could be of use to him.

He heard Susan getting up, could hear moans from her as she tried to dress herself. A small part of him was sorry for her, but another part was angry with her for keeping this from him.

He had thought he was the first, the first man to touch those great big tits, but he wasn’t. Her father was already well into her when he came along. Who else had had a touch? he wondered. And how the fuck was he going to find out if she didn’t get out of the house ever again?

He glanced at the small travel clock by the bed. It was twenty to eight and he had to get up West. He wished they would all piss off so he could sort himself out, sort his head out. Decide what he was going to do. How he could use this information for his own ends, because he had a feeling that somehow this was going to come in useful one day.

Very useful indeed.

 

Susan was shocked by what she had done to her mother. Although she herself had taken a much worse hiding, she knew her mother couldn’t cope mentally with the humiliation she’d suffered. June had looked at her with hatred, and she had aimed that hatred right back. Your mother was supposed to take care of you, stop things happening to you, but not
her
mother. She had turned a blind eye to everything and Susan would never forgive her for that.