Born Bad (11 page)

‘I was
not
begging.’ Dazed by the blow, she wiped away the blood with the back of her hand. ‘I was asking the time, and the man just thought I was begging.’

‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would he think you were begging?’

‘I don’t know. Ask Alan,’ she sobbed. ‘He
was there. He took me back to Pauline. I would never beg, and why would I need to?’ She had to humour him, or pay the price. ‘Since I lost my job at the factory, you’ve always provided for me.’

Clinging to him, she appealed, ‘Listen to me, Phil. I was not begging. You ask Alan. He’ll tell you.’

He stared at her hard and long, before stretching out his arms and crushing her to him. ‘You’re right.’
He stroked her long fair hair. ‘You’ll never need to beg, while you’ve got me. Nor will you need to work in a place where men gawp at you all the time, itching to get their hands on you. I won’t have it, d’you hear?’

He had the look of madness. ‘I’ll take care of you.
Me
– Phil Saunders. I took care of you when nobody else would,’ his manner softened, ‘because I love you. I’ve always loved you.’

Holding her away from him, he said, ‘I’ll give you a few more pounds, then you can buy yourself some nice new clothes. The old ones are getting a bit tatty and folks might blame me. I can’t have that now, can I?’

He thrust his hands into his trouser-pocket. ‘Here.’ Shoving a fistful of money into her hand, he ordered, ‘Take it – it’s yours.
Tomorrow morning, I want you to go out and get some
decent-looking clothes, so nobody can ever say that Phil Saunders’ wife is a beggar!’

She looked at the wad of notes, realising they were the best part of his wages. ‘I can’t take this.’ She stuffed it back into his pocket. ‘We need it for more important things.’

He made no move to return the money to her. Instead, he continued to stare down on her, his eyes narrowed and his face set hard.

‘Honest, Phil, I’ll be fine.’ She saw the signs and began to panic. ‘All right then, I’ll just have a few pounds,’ she gabbled. ‘I’ve seen some really nice things in town. There’s a little skirt and top, and a really pretty jacket … blue with black trim. I could buy all of those things for just a few pounds. We don’t need to use all your hard-earned wages.’

For a long moment, it seemed as though
he wasn’t even listening, but then he gave a begrudging half-smile. ‘Whatever my Judy wants is fine by me.’ When he raised his hand, she instinctively flinched. ‘Aw, poor little mouse, look what you made me do.’ With the cuff of his sleeve he dabbed at the line of blood trailing from her temple. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you just get me all riled up.’

Loudly tutting, he uprighted the cocoa
cup which had been spilled over. Then, taking her by the hand, he switched out the light, and pushed her up the stairs.

Judy knew full well what was coming, but she said not a word. Instead she allowed herself to be led to the bedroom, where he roughly stripped off her nightgown and threw her bodily onto the bed.

‘Who do you belong to?’ It was a question he often asked of her.

‘You.’

‘Say
it properly!’

‘I belong to you.’

‘That’s right. You need to remember that. They
all
need to remember that.’

Tearing off his clothes, he straddled her, his hands all over her, touching her face, fondling her small, pert breasts, and now he was running his hands over her smooth, bare thighs. ‘You’re very special to me,’ he murmured hoarsely. ‘There are men out there who would give their right
arm to have you.’

He sniggered. ‘They can’t have you though, can they? Not when you belong to
me
!’

Judy thought it was a strange kind of love that wanted to hurt
and dominate. There was a dark hatred in him that filled her with terror. But still, she said nothing, for if she dared to disagree, she would be made to pay the price. Sometimes, he was incredibly gentle. Sometimes, like now, he was
the unforgiving enemy.

Cruel or gentle, he raised no feelings in her, other than fear and repugnance, and a deep-seated urge to tell him the truth: of how she cringed under his touch; of how her dearest wish was to find the courage to put a million miles between them.

At times like this though, when he was in this mood, Judy knew to keep her silence.

‘You’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.’
He traced his finger over the hollow of her neck. ‘My dear, sweet little mouse.’ His passion so obviously aroused, he whispered harshly, ‘If any man ever tried to take you from me, I would have to hurt him.
Really
hurt him! You do understand that, don’t you?’

When again she gave no answer, he grabbed her by the mouth. ‘What was that? I didn’t hear what you said.’

When he gave her room to breathe,
she whispered the answer he wanted. ‘Yes, Phil. I do see that, yes.’

Smiling, he bent to kiss her. ‘Good girl. Now then, you haven’t forgotten how to please your man, have you, because that would really upset me.’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

‘Good!’

His taking of her was self-gratifying and incredibly cruel, and when she cried out with pain, it only spurred him on.

Trapped
beneath his considerable weight, Judy could almost taste the booze on his breath, and something else, heavy on his skin – a woman’s perfume. She felt defiled. She should confront him, she thought angrily, walk out on him, and not worry over what he might do to her.

Like a predator, he had swooped on her when she was at her lowest; over the years he had moulded her to his will, skilfully quashing
all her resistance.

After Harry was gone, the family rejected her, and the nightmare worsened. For a while, she was totally lost, until Phil Saunders took her under his wing.

At first he was kind, sometimes funny and wonderful, always there, waiting, watching, ready to take care of her; a much-needed shoulder to cry on. But then slowly, subtly, almost without her realising it, he became her
jailer.

He knew exactly how to torment her mind – about Harry having
deserted her, and the callous way in which her family had kicked her onto the streets. He goaded her about the other, faceless men who had used and left her, and other bad things that still haunted her, so much so that she had no self-respect, no sense of identity.

Phil Saunders had drained her of ambition and purpose. He knew
her past. He knew her fears, and for his own gratuitous ends, he had played on those fears until now, she truly believed that no one else would want her – that she was less than worthless.

Like a young fool she had gone to him – willingly, blindly. More and more she grew to depend on him.

He had succeeded in that, if nothing else.

There was a time, long ago, when she lived in hope that something,
or somebody, would rescue her. But they never did.

And why would they?

D
ON
R
OBERTS SAT
at the kitchen table, his troubled mind going back over the years. Not so long ago he had been a strong, proud man. He had a wife and family, he held down a good job and he had a future. Now, all that was behind him.

At the age of sixty-eight, he was a stocky man with a cropped grey chin beard and round blue eyes. He still had the strength of a man not yet past
his prime, and when there was no work to do around the house, he would make himself busy outside, or stride across the fields from Heath and Reach, through the woods and beyond.

Now though, seated at his daughter’s kitchen table, his mind fled back over the years. He remembered the day as if it was only yesterday; that fateful day when Judy told them she was carrying Harry Blake’s child.

So
much water had gone under the bridge since then. His wife Norma had passed on. Shortly afterwards, he had sold his home and moved in with his eldest daughter Nancy and her family. It wasn’t so bad while he was still out at work all day, but now that he was retired, he realised that it had been a big mistake.

So many regrets; so much heartache. Yet out of all the aching memories, the one that
pained him the most was that shocking incident over seventeen years ago, just before the war.

To this day, he bitterly regretted how he and his wife had turned their daughter Judy out, at a time in her young life when she needed them most.

‘Sammie!’ Nancy’s voice shattered his thoughts.

‘What?’ Sammie was impatient. This was the third time her mother had called up the stairs to her.

‘Have
you packed your suitcase yet?’

‘Not yet, no. I’m reading!’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why will that girl never do what she’s
asked to do?’ Swinging round, Nancy addressed Don. ‘Honestly, Dad, what’s the matter with the child?’

Don smiled knowingly. ‘She’s young, that’s all. She’s got a million more important things on her mind than packing a case.’ Grandfather to Nancy’s two children, Don understood
them far better than she ever could. ‘Leave her be, and she’ll do it all the quicker,’ he promised. ‘That’s how kids are.’

‘Well, she’d best get a move on. Her father’s only at the garage, filling up the car with petrol. Woe betide her if she still hasn’t done it by the time he gets back.’

Tall and slender, with auburn hair and an air of authority, Nancy Wells bore no resemblance whatsoever
to her younger sister, Judy, long ago labelled the black sheep of the family.

‘Sammie! You’ve got half an hour at most, before your father gets back!’ she shouted up to her daughter for the fourth time. ‘Oh, and you need to find David. He seems to have gone missing.’

‘For crying out loud, will you stop panicking, Nancy. You’ve plenty of time yet,’ Don said.

Nancy threw herself onto a chair,
her arms spread out across the kitchen table. ‘They wear me out at times,’ she moaned. ‘I haven’t even had a cuppa this morning, let alone any breakfast.’ She gestured to the sink. ‘Put the kettle on, Dad,’ she told him. ‘You make a pot of tea, while I go and sort those two out.’ Before he could answer, she was up and away, marching with a purpose towards the stairs.

Don gave a heartfelt sigh.
‘Here we go again.’ He got up to do as he was instructed. ‘That’s a frightening sight and no mistake, our Nancy on the warpath. She never learns, does she, eh?’ Lately, he had got into the habit of talking to himself.

After his wife passed on some years ago, Nancy had persuaded him to sell up and move in with her and her family. At first he had resisted, but since he was lonely at the time, it
had not taken long for him to change his mind.

Since then, he had often regretted his decision. Nancy was such a particular person, pernickety and fussy about almost everything.

While filling the kettle with water, he summed up Nancy’s character to a tee. ‘“Do this, do that … Don’t forget to make your bed. Take the dog for a walk and make sure she has her biscuits. Oh, and put the kettle on,
Dad!”’

He gave a little groan. ‘I never knew how much like your mother you were.’ Not that he hadn’t loved Norma because, like any other married couple, they had grown together over the years.

He shook his head, grinning. ‘Hmh! Like daughter like mother.
She
had a way of making me think I was still in the Army an’ all!’

Through the window he could see his grandson David; a fine young fellow
of twenty, with dark good looks that attracted the girls from every corner. He had a friendly, natural way with people. His dad Brian would say, ‘If there was no one else around, he would strike up a conversation with a lamppost!’

Just a wink away from his twenty-first birthday, David was a responsible, contented young man with a quirky sense of humour. He had a number of ambitions which were
frowned on by his parents, one being to give up his job at the garage and head off round the world with a couple of mates. Although he was sensible, there were times when he craved something more exciting than being a mechanic, and just occasionally, he showed signs of his sister Sammie’s rebellious nature.

Unlike Sammie though, he had never been tempted to go off the rails. Sammie was fiery,
where he was a listener. She was boisterous where he was easy-going, and when it came to tempers, Sammie could frighten the devil himself, whereas David preferred to reason his way out of a situation.

Though she was the kindest, most caring creature he knew, there was no denying that Sammie bordered on the rebellious.

A stunning-looking girl, Sammie was fine-boned and pretty, with warm auburn
hair like her mother, but where Nancy’s hair was straight and smooth, Sammie’s fiery locks were wild and burnished like sunshine on moorland. Her wide, honest eyes were softest brown with flecks of twinkly blue, while her mother’s eyes were deep-coloured.

When she wasn’t in one of her dark moods, she was a warm-natured, fun-loving girl, possessed of an infectious laugh that drew you to her and
with a passion for life that left him breathless.

Nancy had been upstairs for just a few minutes, when the argument started.

Down in the kitchen, Don heard the rumpus and he despaired. ‘I don’t know who’s worse,’ he muttered into his tea-cup. ‘The mother or the child.’

‘I MEAN IT, MUMMY. I DON’T WANT TO GO.’

‘WELL, HARD LUCK! BECAUSE I AM NOT LEAVING YOU BEHIND, AND THAT’S THAT.’

‘WHY NOT?
I CAN LOOK AFTER MYSELF. I’VE LEFT SCHOOL, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!’

‘I SAID NO!’

‘THEN LET GRANDAD LOOK AFTER ME.’

‘ENOUGH, MY GIRL!’ Nancy’s voice shook with anger. ‘YOU’RE COMING WITH US AND THAT’S THAT!’

Don rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘For God’s sake, Nancy, leave her alone!’ he despaired. ‘If you could just cut the girl some slack, you might find she’d come round to your way of thinking.’

He heard the slam of a door, then the thump of footsteps as Nancy came thundering down the stairs, and now she was rushing into the kitchen.

‘I’ve had just about enough of that girl,’ she fumed. ‘She seems to have got it into her head that it’s all right for her to stay behind, while the rest of the family are off for a week in Lytham St Anne’s. Well, if she thinks that, she’s got another thought
coming.’ Hurrying across to the sink, she poured out the tea he had just brewed. ‘D’you want one?’

‘Got one. Thanks all the same.’

‘What am I going to do with her, Dad? She’s out of control. She should be grateful. Her Uncle Mac is very kind to let us use his lovely house while he and Rita are away on business.’

‘Come on, sit yourself down, Nancy.’ Don could see she was working herself into
a state. ‘I’ll do that.’

Agitated, she didn’t argue. Instead she slumped into the chair, listening to what he had to say.

‘For a start, Uncle Mac is not just being kind, as you put it.’ Don had always been proud of his younger brother, though he was under no illusions as to where Mac’s loyalties lay. ‘My brother has always been able to grasp an opportunity. He wants someone to look after his
grand property while he and Rita are away. You and the family need a place to stay at the seaside, so it’s a good deal either way. It suits you to stay in Mac’s house, and it suits Mac to have you taking care of his precious assets.’

Nancy could see the logic in that. ‘I thought you always admired Uncle Mac’s business sense?’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. I do!’ Don explained. ‘Only I wouldn’t want
you to mistake convenience for “kindness”. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘Well, whatever his reasoning, I for one am very grateful that we don’t have to spend a small fortune to stay in some cheap hotel, when we can have a luxury house right on the coast.’ Nancy gave a wistful sigh. ‘I like Uncle Mac. He’s funny and mischievous, and over the years he’s been a great uncle to the kids.’

Don chuckled.
‘That’s because he’s still a kid himself. Fifty-eight
going on six years old, that’s my brother,’ he concluded. ‘Truth is, I’ve always wished I was more like him. He’s always been a genius where making money’s concerned.’

Don cast his mind back to when they were boys. ‘Even as a kid Mac was always ducking and diving … wheeling and dealing. He found an old pram on the scrapheap once. It had a
wheel missing and part of the panel at the side was torn off. It took him every night for a week to repair it … mind you, it still looked a bit of an eyesore, but he got it back in working order. Every Friday after school, he’d wheel the old pram round the neighbourhood, knocking on doors, asking for old newspapers and magazines. Then he’d sell them to the paper factory at the bottom of Hazel Street.’

‘Amazing!’ Nancy said. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t take a leaf or two out of his book,’ she remarked thoughtlessly. ‘You and Mum might have had a better quality of life.’

Shocked rigid, Don rounded on her. ‘Your mother and I might not have had a big house and a flash car, but we came through the war in one piece, we rubbed along together well, and had a regular wage coming in. Money and chancing
does not make for contentment and happiness, Nancy, my girl. You should remember that.’

Agitated, she glared at him. ‘Don’t be so prickly. I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Then you should think before you speak.’ He was really upset.

Nancy closed the subject. ‘I’m more concerned about Sammie. Why does she never listen to me?’

‘Because
you
never listen to
her
.’ For once, Don did not mince his
words. ‘She talks, and you talk over the top. She’s quiet and you rant and rave at her. Be very careful, Nancy, or you might just turn her against you.’

‘I could never do that!’

‘Then don’t suffocate her. That’s exactly what your mother did with Judy, and look what happened there.’

‘Oh! So now you’re saying that Judy going with some bloke and getting pregnant was all Mother’s fault, is that
it?’

‘No, I am not saying that. What I’m saying is, your mother was overanxious about Judy, her being the youngest an’ all. She insisted on knowing where she was going, and who with, and what time she would be back. Judy was at that difficult stage between childhood and womanhood and as far as I’m concerned, your mother should have cut her some slack. Just like you should cut Sammie some slack
now. She needs space to grow. D’you understand what I’m saying?’

For a moment, Nancy appeared to be considering his remark.
Lapsing into deep thought, she stared at the tablecloth and rolled the cup in the palms of her hands. Presently she looked up, surprising him with her admission of emotion. ‘I do love her, Dad – more than she could ever know.’

‘Have you told her that?’

She shook her head.
‘Not lately.’

‘Well, you should tell her. This is a time when she craves reassurance and guidance. She needs to know that you do love her … that you enjoy her company, and that you would really
like
her to come to Lytham.’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ Nancy answered tiredly. ‘We’ll still end up arguing.’

‘Yes, you probably will.’

‘See? Even you know we can never have a proper conversation,
without ending up in a quarrel.’

‘That’s because you set yourself.’

‘What d’you mean?’

Don felt uncomfortable, being put on the spot like that. ‘Mmm … sometimes you have a way about you that makes you seem – well –
hard
.’ He felt a bit like he was digging his own grave.

His daughter gave him a stony stare. ‘Is that the best you can do to reassure me?’ she snapped. ‘Telling me I’m
hard
?’

Wisely ignoring the reprimand, he went on, ‘You’re too much alike, you and Sammie, that’s the trouble. And if you don’t mind me saying, you should try
not
to argue with her, because it gives her the opportunity to argue right back.’

‘What? So you’re an expert on teenagers now, are you? Hmh!’

He fell silent for a moment, remembering, filled with regrets. Then he slowly shook his head. ‘Oh, I know!
Don’t you worry about that, Nancy. I know all right. I’ve made some terrible mistakes, or has your sister slipped your memory after all these years?’

She gave a gasp of astonishment. ‘No, of course not, Dad! Believe it or not, I do think about her, from time to time.’

Don merely nodded. ‘Truth is, I never stop thinking of her.’ The tears filled his eyes. ‘My head is bursting with questions.
Where is she? What is she doing? Is she well … has she gone abroad? We don’t even know if she’s alive or dead!’ His voice broke. ‘My own child! Not yet fifteen years old, and I turned her onto the streets.’ He had been so angry with Judy and the things she had done. But two wrongs never made a right, he knew that now.

‘Firstly, Dad, it wasn’t you who actually turned her out,’ Nancy reminded him.
‘It was Mother.’

‘Maybe. But I could have put my foot down. Instead I was too busy wallowing in self-pity, asking myself how I could have brought you up right, yet made such a hash of it with your sister. I take the blame. I should have been a better father.’

Aware that Sammie might be listening, Nancy lowered her voice. ‘No, Dad! Judy should have been a better daughter. Remember how she was?’
she urged him. ‘All right, Judy wasn’t fifteen yet, but she was older than that … in herself, in her ways. Face it, Dad.
She was born bad!
’