Two Women (36 page)

‘Hello, Susan love, how are you then?’

It was Peter White, a boy from school.

‘Hello, Peter, how are you? You’re looking well.’

He grinned at her, displaying white teeth in a tanned face. He was a merchant seaman nowadays. He’d got away from home at fifteen by coasting on small ships and now worked the big ones, the ACT boats and the Blue Star lines.

Peter had merry blue eyes and sandy hair. He was thickset, a large man with the beginnings of a beer belly, but handsome in a rough kind of way.

‘Just got back from South America. Thought I’d mosey on down here and see what the score was with everyone. Your mother looks great, don’t she? I always had a crush on her at school.’

Susan laughed loudly.

‘You never did have very good taste in women. Married yet?’

He shook his head.

‘A girl in every port though, I bet?’

‘If you can call them girls. Right ropey the foreign whores, ain’t they?’ Barry’s voice was loud and people stopped their conversations to listen to him.

Peter took a deep breath and said gently, ‘I’ll see you again, Sue, take care.’

She nodded, saddened by Barry’s interference.

‘He was only being polite, Bal. Christ almighty, I’ve known him longer than I have you.’

Barry curled his lip in contempt.

‘He’s a fucking wanker and I don’t want to hear you’ve been seen with him, all right?’

The old Barry was back, the possessive Barry, the one who owned her. Could dictate her life, who she spoke to and who she didn’t. Susan felt depression come over her like a lead weight.

‘He’s a neighbour, Bal, that’s all. Stop putting everyone on a downer for once and get with it. Anyway, what you got to be jealous about? He wouldn’t look twice at me, mate.’

She ended on a joke to try to lighten the situation but Barry’s dark brooding countenance was unchanged.

‘You’d better get going, Roselle’s probably waiting for you.’

He grinned nastily.

‘Trying to get rid of me now so you can carry on your conversation with fucking Popeye?’

She lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it. A female stripper came on, a large girl with thunderous thighs and a wobbling belly. The men slaughtered her. Insulted her and tried to cop a feel. Barry found it disgusting. He was better than all these people now. The thought cheered him and as he saw Peter White talking to another woman, he got up to leave.

‘How long will you be gone then?’

He stared at Susan. She looked quite reasonable lately. Nothing spectacular but at least she wouldn’t frighten anyone any more.

‘How’s your ankle?’

The question caught her off guard. He never mentioned her limp.

‘It’s all right. The damp plays it up. They reckon I have arthritis in it, ’cos it was a bad break, like. But other than that, it’s nothing I can’t cope with. Why?’

He looked meaningfully at Peter White and she rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

‘You don’t need to threaten me, Barry. I don’t want any men, thank you very much. Christ knows I haven’t had much luck with the one I’ve got, have I?’

His hand moved quickly and she flinched away but he caressed her chin instead of hitting her.

‘Don’t ever ask me when I’ll be back again, right? I tell you all you need to know, and that should be enough for you.’

Without another word he walked from the pub. No one said goodbye to him. Not even Joey.

Doreen came and sat beside her.

‘I don’t believe the cheek of him, Sue.’

She grinned. ‘I do. He’s a dog in the manger is Barry. He don’t want me but he’s still frightened in case someone else does. Well, he needn’t worry. I don’t want any men, thank you very much. Too much like hard work.’

But inside herself a small part of her was pleased by his reaction and this annoyed her because she didn’t still want him, did she?

She didn’t answer her own question, she was too afraid. But it had sobered her up all right.

 

Back at June and Joey’s flat they were still partying. The records were on loud and the drink flowed like water. It was a typical Saturday night. Debbie was there with her husband Jamesie Phillips, a wide boy from Canning Town who was a watered down version of Barry.

Debbie was pregnant and had only just been accepted back into the fold. She had fallen out with everyone when she moved into her new terraced town house in Rainham, Essex. For a while she had seemed to think, as her mother so aptly put it, ‘That her shit didn’t stink like everyone else’s.’

She had soon become lonely, though, Jamesie being at work all day and out drinking all night. He clumped her and all, which had come as no surprise to any of them except Debbie. She had already lost two babies, seemed to find it hard to carry them.

Susan privately wondered if it was all the abortions her sister had had over the years. Debbie had used abortion as a form of birth control and it seemed that now she might be paying the price. But Susan was sorry for her, knowing how much joy kids brought you no matter how hard they made your life. She would die without her lot, she knew that as well as she knew her own name.

Her life might seem weird to outsiders but it was a pot of gold to her in as far as she finally had what she wanted: a few quid, the kids she loved and no Barry to think about. She knew Roselle did everything for him these days, even his washing, and after years of that ponce’s feet, that suited Susan right down to the ground.

She walked through to the kitchen and poured herself more gin and tonic. There was no ice so she drank it warm, revelling in the hot drunkenness that enveloped her. She laughed heartily, thinking about Barry’s jealousy. He was a boy and no mistake.

She suddenly felt very lonely and wished she was tucked up in bed with little Barry. He slept with her as of right as the baby of the family, though some mornings she awoke to find the two girls had crept in in the night as well.

Susan felt tearful then, thinking of her children, nostalgic for their babyhood.

Then her mind went to the children she had lost. Jason and handsome little Luke and the baby she had felt slip away from her in a police car.

Barry Dalston was a devil, a violent devil. He had taken those children away from her as carelessly as he had given them to her. Without a second’s thought. She poured another drink. This time she drank it straight down and shuddered.

An arm went around her shoulders and she turned quickly.

It was her father.

‘What’s the matter, girl? What you doing out here on your own?’

He saw her tears.

‘Has that ponce upset you again?’ Joey’s voice was harsh. ‘I saw him tonight, giving you verbal diarrhoea of the ear-hole.’

She shrugged.

‘I’m just drunk, Dad. Thinking about the kids. When they was babies. I’m just nostalgic, that’s all.’

She laughed to counter the sadness in her voice.

‘Come here and give your old dad a cuddle.’

Afterwards Susan blamed the drink. Without it she would have been more alert. Would have heard the underlying meaning in his voice. But she was young, and she was lonely, and she was sad. As he cuddled her she felt the feeling she knew her own children must feel at the touch of a parent. She needed to feel someone was looking after her for once, that someone cared.

As Joey’s hand moved up to her breast she didn’t at first realise what he was going to do. She thought he was going to put a hand to her cheek.

As he grabbed at her she brought up her knee and hit him in the groin with a sickening thud. She put all her strength behind it.

Joey crumpled, his hands grasping his throbbing testicles, moaning. As he slumped before her, June entered the kitchen. Taking in the scene she started screaming abuse at both him and Susan.

‘What you letting him do to you, you filthy bitch? Can’t keep your own husband home so you start on your father, eh?’

The people in the living room were listening now, all loving the excitement of June and Joey about to have a punch up.

They were not disappointed.

As soon as he could move he pulled himself up by the sink and turned on his wife. ‘What you on about, you silly whore? She’s me fucking daughter . . .’

June was in mid-scream and refused to be shouted down. She was just starting to enjoy herself and the drama she had created.

‘I know what went on, mate, you can’t fucking shut me up. It ain’t like it’s the first time, is it?’

Joey flew at her then, fists and feet flying. Dragging his screaming wife by the hair, he forced her out on to the balcony and began beating her with every ounce of strength he had.

Debbie was screaming, Ivy was screaming. Susan hoped someone would call the Old Bill and an ambulance. She picked up her coat and bag and walked out of the flat. Side stepping her mother and father, she started to walk home.

It was always the same. No matter what they did, how happy the day was, they ruined it. Somehow they always ruined it.

She felt the tears building up in her chest, making it hard for her to swallow. Her eyes were red and hot and felt as if they had been sprayed with sand. She was overwhelmed by the realisation that nothing good could ever come of her ties to her family. The people who should be the most important in her life after her children were liars, thieves, sexual predators. Their whole lives revolved around themselves and their needs, their wants. Barry included. He was off to Spain with Roselle, without even leaving an address in case one of the children had an accident or got ill. He would see her asking for a contact address as a piss take, trying to check up on him.

But Roselle would get in touch, by a card or a phone call. She always did.

Everything had been so nice tonight, why did her father have to do that to her? Everything was sex with him. It was all he talked about, all he thought about, all he ever wanted. She was nearly home. Taking a deep breath she rearranged her face so the baby sitter would not guess anything had happened.

As Susan walked around the back of the little terrace she sighed heavily.

The hand came out of the dark and grabbed her. She tried in vain to scream. Then she smelled the distinctive aroma of Paco Rabanne aftershave and realised it was Barry.

‘What you doing, Bal? You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

He grinned.

‘I was just waiting to see who you came home with. I thought Popeye might have walked you home, sung you a few sea shanties and slipped the old anchor into the waterline.’

Susan felt so degraded by his words that she flew at him.

‘What is it with you, Bal? You are living with another woman, you have always lived your own life, you even gave me a fucking venereal disease, and you have the fucking nerve to spy on me in case I get a knee trembler? Well, let me put your mind at rest. I don’t want sex with you or anyone else. Can you take that on board? I hates ex, I loathe sex. It causes nothing but fucking trouble because no one in my life has ever made proper love with another person or loved anyone in any way. Now, take your bad attitude and your flash car and go home to your old woman. Because you ain’t a part of this life any more, Bal. You went on to better things and, frankly, I don’t blame you.’

She tried to walk away from him but he grabbed her arm.

‘Who are you talking to? Getting very lippy all of a sudden, ain’t we?’

She pulled her arm away and cried in exasperation: ‘I’ve had enough, Barry. Enough of all this. Do you know what happened to me tonight?’

He looked into her strained face. In the darkness she seemed almost pretty.

‘My father tried to give me one in me mother’s kitchen.’

As she was saying the words the alcohol-free part of her brain was screaming to her to keep her mouth shut, not let Barry know what had occurred.

‘Me own father. What kind of a life is that for anyone, eh? Twenty-seven years old and my father still thinks he can take me as his right.’

She was crying again, a deep shuddering crying that made her incoherent. Stopped her from explaining how she felt, trying to let her errant husband know just how bad she felt inside. How dirty, how hateful, and how disgusted she was with them all. Her mother and Barry included.

He took her by the arm and led her into the little house. He paid the babysitter, Doreen’s eldest boy, a fiver, which pleased him no end. And he made her a cup of tea.

As Susan sat on the new sofa, courtesy of Roselle and her regular payments, and looked at the spotlessly clean little home she had created for herself and her children she realised the futility of her own life. Everyone treated her as if she was a thing, something they owned and therefore had the right to use and abuse. Without a care in the world for whether they hurt her feelings or were going against her wishes.

She sipped the hot sweet tea and grimaced.

‘I’m on a diet, believe it or not. I haven’t taken sugar for over a year.’

But she drank it anyway, grateful for the warmth.

‘So what happened with Joey then?’

She shook her head. ‘The usual, Barry.’

He was seriously upset and she was grateful for that as well. His caring was very important to her. Anyone’s caring for that matter.

‘What? He tried to get his leg over?’

She nodded. ‘It was the drink. At least, that’s what he’ll say anyway. I left him and me mum going at it like fucking navvies on the balcony. I expect they’ve both been nicked by now on a D and D.’

‘I’ll kill him. You make sure you keep away, right? Me and Roselle see you all right for poke and that so there’s no reason to mix with them, is there?’

Susan sighed.

‘Easier said than done. Me mum will be round in a few days as if nothing’s happened, blaming it on the drink as usual, and then we’ll all play games until it happens again. I won’t let him near the girls. He knows that and all and it annoys him. But I would take a knife and cut that fucker’s throat if I thought he had touched them, I take oath on that.’