Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) (10 page)

How could he have been so cruel, after all that time? She’d spent three years with him, and for what? So he could sling her out on the streets at the first opportunity that some new skirt came along. It had been that Tracy Tanner’s doing, she knew it. As well as being a mobile hairdresser, Tracy worked a couple of nights down at The Butcher’s Arms. She’d only been in there on one occasion with him – babysitters were hard to come by when you didn’t have any friends – but she’d noticed immediately the effect that Martin had on Tracy. Martin was tall, not too scrawny, with a lush of black hair and denim blue eyes. They were the first thing to attract Ruth when she’d met him at the job centre.

He’d been seeing Tracy for over a year on the side when she’d found out they were an item. England had been playing and Martin had gone to The Butcher’s Arms to watch the match. He’d only been gone an hour when Jamie had been taken ill. She’d rushed around to a neighbour’s and asked them to keep an eye on both boys until she had fetched Martin. She’d run most of the way to the pub, arriving breathless and red-faced.

But she’d been even more red-faced when she’d spotted him in the corner with Tracy Tanner. At first, she hadn’t been able to tell who the woman was because Martin’s tongue was down her throat. As she’d stood over them while they continued, Tracy had opened her eyes eventually and pulled away. The look Martin gave her when he turned around was one she would never forget. He sneered; then he laughed. Then he turned back to kiss Tracy Tanner. Ruth had run out of the pub.

Two days later, while Jamie was recovering from what turned out to be no more than a nasty virus, Martin dropped his bombshell. He wanted them out and he wanted them out as soon as possible. He was moving Tracy Tanner in. Ruth hadn’t got a leg to stand on: the property was rented in Martin’s sole name. He was the one who was in the wrong, yet she lost her home and what she looked on as her security.

‘Mum, can I have some chocolate?’ Mason asked as he ran up to her.

‘There isn’t any left,’ said Ruth, as she tidied the work surface. ‘You and Jamie had the last of it yesterday.’

Mason kicked the kitchen cupboard, the bang reverberating around the room. ‘Why can’t you go out and fetch some more?’

‘I’m busy.’

Mason raised his voice. ‘You’re a stupid mum.’

Ruth sighed. ‘Don’t start all that again. What have I told you about calling people stupid?’

‘You are. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!’

‘Not now, Mason, please!’

‘Stupid, stupid, STUPID.’

Ruth raced towards him, narrowly missing him as he ran through the door. She could hear his laughter as he tore up the stairs to join his brother. Why did she have to have two boys? All she’d ever wanted was a girl that she could dress up; that she could take shopping; that she could help do her hair. God had been cruel to her in so many ways. Not only had he taken their father away far too early, but he’d then turned her little horrors into eight and ten-year-old fully blown nightmares.

The house now quiet, for a moment at least, she settled down to wash the kitchen flooring. It looked like it had been there long before either Jamie or Mason had been born. She scrubbed frantically at the black scrape marks until her arms ached, but they wouldn’t budge.

She sat on her haunches while she caught her breath, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. ‘Ow!’ She pulled back her arm. Her wrist was covered in a bandage: there was blood seeping through at the edges. The cut on her arm was her latest torture. If she didn’t watch what she was doing, it would become infected and she’d have to seek medical attention and then all the questioning would begin again.

Ruth pulled up her sleeve, ignoring all the scars that ran across her arm. Scratches, wounds of yesteryear, some deep, some faint, some scabbing over nicely. But it was the one on her wrist that was giving her problems. It hadn’t stopped throbbing for days. In frustration, she unravelled the bandage. As the wound came closer to being unveiled, she winced. The gauze had stuck to the congealed blood. She pulled at it gently, millimetre by millimetre, wincing again with every move. Then the mess was revealed in all its glory – or should that be gory.

Ruth felt the tears building up: how could she do this to herself? She was such an expert on cutting now, how could she have gone that deep? She wasn’t even giving the wound time to heal over before she started at it again.

But she knew why – feeling that hurt took the pain of her everyday life away. While she was cutting, hurting herself, no one else could. The pain was part of her, yet she felt detached as she pushed a craft knife into the open wound night after night and sliced away a little more. She glanced down at it, the blood steadily increasing from where she’d pulled away the gauze. Then, hearing banging footsteps down the stairs, she quickly covered it up.

‘Mum!’ Jamie bounded in this time. ‘Mason’s hit me.’

‘No I haven’t!’ Mason came in behind him. ‘I never touched the little squirt.’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘No, I didn’t!’

‘Yes, you did!’

‘Shut up, the pair of you!’ cried Ruth. ‘If you can’t play nicely together, I’ll split you up.’

Jamie started to cry. It was then that she noticed the red mark on his cheek. She pulled him close, bent down to his level and then addressed his brother.

‘For God’s sake, Mason,’ she started.

‘I didn’t hit him hard.’ Mason walked past her to the sink. ‘He’s a wimp.’

‘You’d be a wimp if I hit you like that.’ Ruth wiped away Jamie’s tears as the red patch turned to scarlet.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Mason glared at her. ‘You’re a wimp too.’

‘Why, you little…’ Ruth stood up straight again, grabbed Mason roughly by the neck of his jumper and turned him back to face her. She bunched her hand into a fist, raised it high and…

She stopped it in mid-air. Seeing the fear in his eyes had pierced her heart.

‘Don’t you touch me!’ he shouted.

Ruth put her fist down and let go of his jumper. She didn’t know who was shaking the most.

‘Say sorry to your brother,’ she said quietly.

‘Sorry,’ said Mason.

Ruth turned back to Jamie, only to catch him pulling faces behind her back. The little bastard!

‘Get out of my sight,’ she said. ‘Both of you. NOW!’

Jamie turned and ran. Mason followed quickly behind him. When he got to the door, he turned back.

‘I hate you,’ he said.

Ruth started to cry. She sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor and put her head in her hands. This was hopeless: it was too much for her to cope on her own. She pulled at her hair sharply. ‘Bad mother; bad mother; bad mother,’ she repeated over and over.

It wasn’t fear that had stopped her from lashing out at Jamie. It was the fact that she knew once she started, she wouldn’t have been able to stop.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Caren awoke the next morning when she felt an arm encircle her waist and pull her across the bed. She found herself spooned into John and she closed her eyes to snuggle down again.

‘What time is it?’ she whispered as his hand sidled up and down the outside of her thigh, then changed to his finger tips.

‘Early but I’m horny,’ he whispered back.

Caren shivered as she felt his breath on her neck. He moved her hair and kissed her bare shoulder. Sleepily, she sighed and let him. His hands moved lower and around to her breasts, he stroked a nipple through her vest. Then his hand found its way inside the top.

Caren took it, parted her legs and pressed it to her. She could sense John smiling as his fingers slipped inside her. She gasped and opened her legs a little wider. The sound of her breathing invaded the room as he moved over her, getting her wet and excited in moments. Eventually, she turned towards him and he kissed her with fervour. She manoeuvred her body beneath his and ran her hands over his back as he continued, down over his naked buttocks which she pulled in closer to her. His kisses were sharper now, deeper, his tongue exploring her mouth. And then he was gone.

He circled her breast with the tip of his tongue, his hand in between her legs again. Caren grasped his hair as he bit down hard on one nipple before running his tongue over her chest to find the other one. Once that was standing erect, he moved further down her body, massaging her, teasing her, tantalising her. As the unmistakeable waves of passion engulfed her, she arched her back, moaning slightly.

John looked up at her as he took her over the edge, waited for her to subside enough for him to push himself gently inside her. They kissed a long time before gaining an easy rhythm and moving together as one. Slowly, slowly. Faster, faster. Caren grabbed John’s buttocks as he thrust deeper and deeper into her.

Then they were still.

John lay above her as his breathing returned to normal. Then he kissed her lightly on the nose, pulled her near again and snuggled into her.

Caren entwined her legs with his, sighing with content as a smile played on her lips

God, that was good.

Gina was woken by a loud bang as the back door slammed yet again. She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was quarter to nine: most probably it was the twins going out, hopefully on their way to school.

Pete rolled over beside her and she pushed him away. ‘Move, you moron,’ she said. ‘I’ll be on the floor in a minute.’

She lay still as she waited for him to settle again. But then the snoring began.

Gina nudged him sharply. ‘Shut the fuck up, will you? I can’t hear myself think.’

‘We’re in bed, what’s there to think about?’ Pete mumbled. ‘Mind you, what else is there to do in here but sleep?’

‘Don’t be so disgusting,’ Gina snapped. ‘It’s all sex with you.’

‘I can’t remember getting jiggy with you in ages.’ Pete grinned. ‘We could always squeeze in a session now, if you’re up to it?’

She was about to protest when she wondered what the new, improved Gina would do. Even though her hair had turned out to be a disaster, she still wanted to be different; live her life a little more.

‘Okay then.’ She cuddled up to him but moved away as quickly. ‘God, booze breath.’ She flapped her hand in front of her mouth. ‘You’ll have to brush your teeth first.’

‘Aw, come on, Gene,’ Pete protested. ‘You don’t have to have fresh breath to do what I want you to do.’

Gina sighed as Pete rolled over on his back. He placed his hand on the bulge that had appeared in his pants. ‘Come on, girl. Do us proud. You know you want to.’

‘You’d better return the favour, Pete,’ she said as she disappeared beneath the covers. She nearly gagged as she got to his pants. God, the man was filthy. ‘You need a bath too,’ she told him but it came out as a muffle.

‘Can’t hear you,’ said Pete, reaching inside for his cock and flashing it out. It hit her in the face.

‘Oy! You’ll give me a black eye if you’re not careful. Now lay back and be quiet.’

While she took him in her mouth and concentrated on the task in hand, she imagined that John was lying beneath her. She heard Pete gasp – no, it was John that gasped, stupid, she scolded herself.

Pete began to tense his legs and thrust upwards, taking her out of her daydream.

‘Fuck, Gina, that’s good,’ he said.

Gina wished that he’d shut up. How could she imagine it was John she was giving pleasure to if this idiot wouldn’t be quiet! She moved up and down faster, faster, moving her hand to the base of the penis and up and down the shaft. Finally, she heard an almighty groan and his body went rigid with pleasure. Gina sighed: thank God for that – mission accomplished for another month. Now it was her turn.

She emerged from underneath the covers, slipped out of her T-shirt and wriggled her knickers down. Turning towards him, she leaned on one elbow. ‘Right, me now,’ she said expectantly.

But Pete jumped out of bed. He grabbed the pants from off the floor and sniffed them before pulling them on again.

‘I have to be out for nine,’ he replied, reaching for the jeans that he’d left on the floor the night before. ‘I said I’d meet Barry over on the square. We’re doing a job today.’

Gina picked up his pillow and threw it at him as he headed out of the door. ‘You self-centred git!’ she cried. Then she pummelled her feet on the mattress.

John wouldn’t have left her feeling frustrated like that. John would have made sure her horny mood was taken advantage of. Damn Pete, the selfish bastard.

With resignation, she took her vibrator from the drawer. God, that was shit.

After tea that evening, Gina made her way upstairs to have that talk with the twins. The girls shared the large bedroom at the back of the house. Gina had tried to give them their own bedrooms from an early age, changing the parlour room downstairs into a bedroom for Danny. It wasn’t ideal; they really needed somewhere to eat but as they couldn’t afford a proper dining table, they always ended up squeezed into the kitchen anyway.

When they were ten, she’d tried to install in them a sense of individuality, but it had become quite clear that they didn’t want to be separated, not even at night time. When she’d check on them before going to bed herself, she’d go into Rachel’s room and find Claire snuggled up beside her. Or she’d go into Claire’s room and find Rachel sleeping top to toe. So it had made more sense to take back the parlour room, move them in together and let Danny have his old room back.