Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) (7 page)

Barbara relented as she looked over at her daughter. ‘I suppose you’re right. But I really wish you’d make more of an effort with your life. You need to do something with your time instead of waiting for your next benefits payment to come through.’

‘That’s not all I live for,’ Gina retorted. ‘I have my family.’

Barbara frowned. ‘Your bloody girls have been up to no good again, though. I heard Mrs Watson talking about them earlier.’

‘You don’t believe anything she says, do you?’

‘They aren’t exactly saints.’

‘I know but they’re kids. I bet me and Leah were the same when we were their age.’

Barbara smiled then. ‘You were! And I had your brother too. I don’t know how I coped with the lot of you.’ She pointed at Gina. ‘Remember that time when you were going through your punk stage and you went beating up anyone who didn’t like the same music as you?’

Gina giggled. ‘What about Leah with that old man she was seeing? I remember you and Dad being livid.’

‘Of course we were. He was a bloody pervert, if you ask me. I mean, our Leah was fifteen and he was nearing on thirty. It should never be allowed.’ Barbara reached for her daughter's hand and took it gently in her own. ‘Seriously, Gina, I worry about you. You’re getting old before your time.’

Gina stared at her mother. She knew she was being compared to Caren Williams and that hurt. She made coffee and plonked the mugs down onto the table with a thud.  Tears stung her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

‘Hey,’ Barbara squeezed her hand quickly, ‘don’t get upset now. You know I only want the best for you – for all of you, really.’

‘Don’t compare me to her, then.’

‘I’m not. I couldn’t possibly…’ Barbara stopped, the unspoken words saying so much regardless.

‘You see,’ Gina pulled away her hand, ‘even you think I’m a slob.’

‘No, I –’

She clasped the hem of her T-shirt. ‘So you think I look good in this?’ Then she pointed at her head. ‘You think my hair looks like I’ve stepped out of a salon? You think I make an effort every day?’

‘No, I just think you should make more of an effort every now and again. Our Leah makes an effort and she’s –’

 ‘She’s thinner than me? Is that what you were going to say?’

‘Don’t be silly, I was going to say she’s younger than you.’

‘She doesn’t have three kids or Pete for a husband,’ Gina pouted. ‘She’s not –’

‘If there’s anything going, you could work the twilight shift with her.’

‘I don’t want to work in some stupid factory doing menial tasks, thank you very much.’

‘So you’d rather be supported by that useless layabout of yours?’ Barbara folded her arms. ‘All those knock off jobs he does? They’ll catch up with him one day, like they did with your brother.’  

Gina stood up, the chair scraping across the floor beneath her. ‘I’m sick of everyone thinking that my family are low life. And I can cope with all the jibes and the stares from everyone else, but to hear it from my own mother? That really stings.’

‘I didn’t mean –’

‘Yes, you did.’

Gina turned and left the house, another bang of a back door reverberating behind her that morning. Would her family ever think she was good for anything? 

CHAPTER SIX

As soon as John came back with their car and she’d closed the back door behind him, Caren laid into him.

‘You had no right to tell them that we’re bankrupt!’ she shouted. ‘Or anyone, come to think of it. It’s our business!’

‘I’m sorry! I didn’t think it was such a big deal.’ John pushed past her into the kitchen.

Caren prodded him forcefully in his back as he stood over the sink. ‘I don’t want everyone knowing that we have no money.’

John ran the tap before filling the glass with water. He took a huge gulp.

Caren prodded him in the back again. ‘Are you listening to me? I didn’t want anyone to know.’

‘They would have found out sooner or later. You can’t keep anything secret around here.’

‘Not where Gina Bradley is concerned! She’ll take great pleasure in blabbing her mouth off and then...’ tears formed in her eyes, ‘everyone will know that we’re stuck here!’

John put the glass down onto the drainer. ‘Do you have to keep dragging it up at every opportunity?’

‘It’s the truth. It’s not going to get any better and I –’

‘I’ve had enough of this.’ John sighed loudly. ‘I’m going out.’

‘But you’ve only just got in!’

‘For your information, I’m going to carry on tidying up the back garden. You can help, if you like. Or is your love of gardening supposed to be a secret too?’

‘I’m surprised you’re not going across to the scummy side of the street. I bet you’d prefer it over there, slumming it with Gina and Pete!’

John slammed the back door on his way out. Tears pricked at her eyes again. What was happening to them? Was this house always going to bring them down? Ever since they’d got here they’d done nothing but argue. Caren needed John’s support as much as he needed hers, but he didn’t seem able to offer it. Why, oh why, hadn’t they been quicker on the uptake of that tiny two bedroom flat she’d found, just on the outskirts of the city? If they’d seen it a couple of days earlier, they could have been in there, but someone had beaten them to it. It wouldn’t have been ideal – it would have meant living in each other’s pockets but it would have been in a nicer neighbourhood – far away from the Mitchell Estate.

But the real thing that annoyed her was that she’d been left with everything to sort out. She now had full control of their finances – not that they had a lot of money, but what they received from now on, what pittance was left over after all the debt payments had been made at the end of each month, was due to go into an account in her sole name. John wasn’t good with money so every week she intended to draw out a set amount of cash and nothing else; once it had gone, there’d be no more until the following week. It would be like being sixteen again, when she’d made sure they’d saved every penny for a deposit towards getting off the estate. It had taken a lot of hard work to get where they were. She wasn’t going to lose everything else as well as that, no matter what.

Caren couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else being with John if they were to split up due to the pressure they were under. Like most couples they had their ups and downs but they got through them. Could she cope without him forever? And then to know that he’d be in the arms of someone else? She wasn’t even going to think about it. She wiped away the lone tear that had fallen, sniffed and went to join John in the garden.

Feeling well and truly stressed after her disastrous morning, Gina slumped in front of the television and lit another cigarette. The house was empty now. It was eleven thirty - Pete had most probably gone to the pub, seeing as he had no work on at the moment.

Looking around the living room made her even more upset. Faded white paintwork; the ceiling a nicotine yellow colour. Cheap wallpaper that had been up since they had moved in sixteen years ago – well, what remained of it - torn off or scuffed in so many places, drawn on when the kids were younger. The door leading to the stairs had a huge hole in the bottom of it where Danny had kicked it in temper and it hadn’t been replaced because they’d have to pay for the damage. And she didn’t even want to look at the state of the threadbare carpet. What colour it had started its life as she could barely remember – which added insult to injury as she’d watched the vast array of wallpaper rolls and paint tins that had gone into Caren’s house over the past couple of weeks. She’d seen John a couple of times with paint splattered jeans, Caren with the same. Pete would never dream of doing any DIY, no matter how much she nagged. That’s what had started the argument this morning.

She recalled the last time she’d had a go at him to do something around the house. That disagreement had turned into a full-blown row, and Pete had thrown his ready-meal across the kitchen. There were still remnants of the artificial colourings on the grout in the tiles around the sink that the housing association had fitted. Despite her best efforts at trying to get it white again, it looked like the grout had gone rusty.

Gina clenched her teeth. Was she going to be compared to Caren fucking Williams all of the time now? Even her mother thought she could do better. Idly, she switched on the television. There was a talk show on featuring a bunch of male strippers. She stared a little closer. One of the men looked a bit like John. Gina suddenly felt a rush of heat as she recalled how she was infatuated by him at school. She wished she could get his attention again.

Suddenly, she had a thought. She quickly turned to the television menu and scrolled down through it. Sure enough, there was a makeover program on. Perhaps there was a way she could improve herself. It was never too late, surely?

Engrossed in the program, she jumped when the back door slammed and Pete come rushing into the room. She grabbed for the remote but he’d already seen the television screen.

‘What are you doing back?’ she stammered, this time her face flushing through embarrassment.

‘I need my tool bag and my steel toe caps – a job’s come up. What the hell are you watching?’

‘Nothing!’

‘You’ll never make anything of yourself sitting on the settee resting that fat arse of yours.’

Gina glowered at him. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ she snapped. ‘And why would I make an effort for you? You don’t give a shit about me anymore.’

‘That’s because you look like you do.’ Pete searched out his boots behind the settee. They were caked in mud, which he brushed off onto the carpet. ‘You need to do some exercise if you want to look good, before that arse stretches from here to Blackpool. I keep telling you not to stuff your face.’

‘Shut up.’ Gina turned the volume up on the television. ‘You’d never notice if I did change myself. You’d be far too busy down the pub.’

Pete laughed. ‘Don’t be daft, woman. If you made more of an effort I wouldn’t have to spend my time at the pub.’ He snorted. ‘You are so stupid.’

‘So why do you come home to me?’ Gina taunted.

‘Ah, that’s easy.’ Pete ran his tongue across his top lip. ‘You do a mean blowjob.’

Gina flung a cushion at him as he headed for the door. Pete stood in the doorway, pushing his tongue into his cheek simulating fellatio. Gina threw another cushion but he’d gone before it fell to the floor.

She turned the television back to the previous channel. The credits on the program were rolling: damn, she’d missed the end. Now she’d never see what Stephanie Lathisha from Chester had been transformed into.

She picked up one of the twin’s magazines and flicked through it. Maybe there was something she could do to get Pete interested again. She was tired of solo sex and her batteries were running low on her vibrator. It was too ambitious to lose three stone in three days and the thought of exercise made her shudder. So what about a new image: clothes, shoes, underwear? But that would take money and she hadn’t got any of that. Neither had she got the figure to put into it to look attractive.

She turned the page to see an article about the latest trend in hairstyles. Fingering her own hair as she looked at each one, she brought the magazine nearer to study picture two. It was a short, choppy, extremely of-the-time hairstyle. The model had the same red colour hair as she did and she didn’t look much younger than Gina so she might be able to pull it off. Actually, she looked about sixteen but Gina ignored this fact.

Maybe a new hairstyle could be the start of her new image. All it took was one step, then maybe she could go on a diet and then she could pick and choose what clothes she wanted to wear.

And maybe John Williams would fancy you.

Gina shook her head to rid herself of the image that had invaded it. She and John, bodies entwined on Madame fucking Williams’ settee, having sex right under her nose, as John was unable to resist the new Gina. She felt that familiar tingling between her legs as she imagined where he would kiss her, where his hands would be, how his body would feel on top of hers. That would show stuck-up Caren that she meant business.

Without further ado, she picked up her phone and rang Tracy Tanner, the local mobile hairdresser.

‘I’m bunking off school this afternoon, Claire. Fancy coming into town with me?’

‘Yeah, I’m sick of this course already. Shall we have lunch out?’

‘Why of course.’ Rachel put on a posh accent. ‘I think we can run to a
Mac-o-Donald’s
. What do you say?’

‘Indeed, indeed.’ Claire nodded. She gave a royal wave. ‘And one might run to a strawberry milkshake too.’

Rachel grinned before breaking out into a run, her sister following closely behind. They charged through the school gates and out into the rabbit warren of streets that made up the Mitchell Estate. In minutes, they were on a bus heading for the shopping centre in Stockleigh.

‘Mum’ll kill us if anyone sees us today,’ said Claire.

‘Don’t be so whiney,’ said Rachel, stretching her legs across the seat behind Claire so that no one could sit next to her.