Family Betrayal (8 page)

‘Would you like me to make a cup of tea, Mum?’ Linda asked, anxious to change the subject.

‘That'd be nice, love. Your father should be home soon. He'll be pleased to see you.’

Linda was relieved when the conversation turned to the baby, her mother obviously delighted at the prospect of being a grandmother.

‘I hope it's a boy,’ she said.

‘I don't mind what I have, as long as it's all right.’

‘Is George's mum pleased about the baby?’

‘Well, yes, I think so, but she hasn't said much. In fact, I hardly see her. Dan calls her Queen, and though it's a daft title, she does seem sort of distant and unapproachable.’

‘What about your sisters-in-law? How do you get on with them?’

‘I don't see much of them either. Yvonne seems a bit stuck-up, and so does Norma. Sue's all right, but to be honest, I prefer Ivy.’

‘Ivy! Is she the niece? The one who looks as strong as an ox, with a face to match?’

‘Oh, Mum, don't be cruel. I know she isn't much to look at, and the rest of the family don't seem to think much of her, but I think she's kind.’

‘Yeah, sorry, love, it just sort of slipped out and as the saying goes, you can't judge a book by its cover. Anyway, back to your mother-in-law, and I'm sure she's nice too. You just need to get to know her, though I must admit she hardly said a word at your wedding. Still, unlike me, this isn't her first grandchild so I don't suppose she's as excited. I just wish my fingers would let me do some knitting, but I can't grip the needles. I made everything for you when you were a baby, and you should have seen the lovely shawl I crocheted …’

Enid rambled on, but Linda had heard it all before so hardly listened. As an only child she'd been spoiled, and hadn't appreciated how much love her parents showered on her until she'd left home at twenty to marry George. Before then she had found their love cloying, their expectations of her future restrictive. They had always shown great interest in her boyfriends, wanting her to marry one with prospects and insisting that she invited them home for inspection. Linda smiled ruefully. One boy, a bank clerk, particularly found favour, but he was weak, boring, and she'd resented the way her parents tried to push her into his arms. She had rebelled, breaking up with him to go out with George. Her parents had been horrified, but she wouldn't listen.
George was so different – rough, handsome, and exciting. He hadn't been soft like her other boyfriends, and when he held her in his arms his strength had made her shiver with delight. She had fallen in love with him – still loved him – but now, along with love, there was this awful fear.

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

Linda spun round, her eyes lighting up. She ran across the room, throwing herself into her father's arms. She loved her mum, but it was her father who always showed affection, her mother more reticent.

‘And how's my girl?’ Ron Simpson asked.

‘I'm fine, Dad.’

He was a small man, only an inch taller than his wife, their bodies equally thin. His light brown hair was thinning too, but his brown eyes twinkled as he stepped back to look his daughter up and down. ‘I can't see any sign of a bump yet.’

‘Give it a chance, Dad. I'm only three months gone.’

‘Only six to go then,’ he said. ‘I hope you give me a grandson.’

‘You're as bad as Mum,’ Linda told him. ‘What happens if it's a girl? Are you going to reject a granddaughter?’

‘No chance,’ he said.

‘Did you get it, Ron?’ Enid asked.

‘Yes, I did. It's in the hall.’

‘I hope you got the right one.’

‘Of course I did, woman.’

Enid struggled to her feet, beckoning Linda to follow her. ‘We were hoping you'd be down to see us today, and it's just as well. There isn't much room in the hall so you'll need to take it home with you.’

Puzzled now, Linda walked behind her mother, her eyes rounding like saucers when she saw the shiny new carriage pram. The navy-blue, highly polished exterior gleamed, as did the chrome wheels.

‘Oh, Mum,’ she gasped.

‘Now don't get all emotional. It isn't good for the baby,’ Enid warned.

‘But it must have cost the earth!’

‘We want the best for our first grandchild, and other than you, who else have we got to spend our money on?’

‘Yourselves,’ Linda protested. ‘You could have had a holiday with the money you spent on this pram.’

‘I can't travel far, love, you know that. Now come on, don't cry. We thought you'd be thrilled to bits.’

‘Oh, I am, Mum, I really am,’ Linda choked as she dashed the tears from her eyes, ‘but you paid out a lot of money for the wedding – and now this!’

‘Huh, Dan Draper hardly let us put our hands into our pockets. All we paid for was your wedding dress and the flowers. Your father wasn't happy about it, I can tell you, but Dan Draper had to act the big man.’

‘What's up? Don't you like it, sweetheart?’ Ron Simpson asked as he joined them in the small hall.

‘Of course I do. It's lovely,’ Linda cried, her emotions all over the place. Her father's job as a bus conductor didn't pay a fortune and she knew the cost of this gift would have been overwhelming.

‘That's all right then,’ he said with a wink and a loving smile, ‘but haven't you just made a pot of tea? One that's growing cold?’

‘Oh, Dad …’

They returned to the kitchen where Linda got her feelings under control as she poured the tea. George might return that afternoon so she'd have to go soon, but was suddenly swamped with dread at the thought of leaving her parents' house. Here she was loved and felt safe. All the doubts about her marriage that she'd tried to quell forced themselves to the front of her mind. She was afraid to go home! Oh God, please let George be in a good mood.

Chapter Eight

 

When George left the pub at two thirty, he arrived home aroused and ready to take Linda upstairs. His brows creased. Where the hell was she?

‘Linda!’ he yelled.

There was no reply. Swiftly he ran upstairs to the bedroom, but finding it empty his mellow mood began to melt. It didn't take him long to look around the rest of the small house, then he strode next door to rap loudly on Ivy's knocker.

‘Is Linda here?’ he snapped.

‘No, but she was around earlier,’ Steve told him.

‘Who is it?’ Ivy shouted from inside.

‘It's George. He's looking for Linda.’

There was a small pause before Ivy's voice rang out again: ‘Try your mum's.’

George didn't bother to say goodbye, just turning on his heels to head for number one. He didn't bother to knock and walked in to find his mother on her knees washing the skirting boards.

‘Have you seen Linda?’ he asked.

Joan pushed herself up, giving him a look that George couldn't fathom. ‘I haven't seen the girl, but from what Ivy tells me, your wife isn't too well. Not only that—’

‘She's got a bit of morning sickness, that's all,’ George interrupted.

As Petula came running downstairs, George asked, ‘Have
you
seen Linda?’

‘No, sorry.’

George saw Linda walking past the window and swiftly threw open the front door.

‘Oi, you! Where have you been?’ he shouted.

Linda halted in her tracks, her knuckles white as she gripped the handle of a huge carriage pram.

George moved forward, his eyes narrowed. ‘What the bloody hell have you got there?’

Still Linda didn't speak and to George's annoyance his sister joined them.

‘Oh, isn't it lovely?’ Petula said when she saw the pram.

At last Linda spoke, her voice quivering. ‘It … it's a present from my mum and dad.’

George's fists clenched. So, she'd been to see her parents, sneaking off without telling him. He couldn't stand Ron and Enid Simpson, the pair of them interfering old busybodies who had made it obvious from the start that they didn't think him good enough for their precious daughter. He'd been
determined that once they married he'd make them pay, keeping Linda away from them as much as possible. Now, though, the cow had gone behind his back to pay them a visit.

He eyed the pram, seething. They must think he couldn't provide for Linda, or the coming child. To George it was like a slap in the face, his voice a growl as he said, ‘That bloody thing will take up half the house. It's got to go.’

‘Oh, no, don't say that,’ Linda cried. ‘We can keep it in the yard.’

‘I said it's got to go!’

‘Don't be silly, George,’ said Pet. ‘I know it's big, but you'll need a pram.’

‘Who asked you?’ George snapped and turning to Linda again he pointed towards their house. ‘Home – now!’

He saw the frightened look that Linda shot towards Petula, but at least she obeyed him, pushing the pram to number five.

As soon as they went indoors, with Linda struggling to manoeuvre the pram through the house to the back yard, George's temper was let loose. He ran ahead of her into the kitchen, opening a drawer to grab the carving knife.

‘I told you we don't want the fucking thing,’ he yelled as, knife raised, he grabbed the pram, pushing Linda to one side as he sliced at the upholstery, the blade cutting through the material like butter.

Linda's scream was shrill, but George ignored her, the plush grey interior now in ribbons as he continued to slash again and again with the knife.

Pet stood on the pavement, watching George and Linda as they went inside number five. Linda had looked petrified, but surely George wouldn't hurt his wife? Involuntarily she began to walk towards their house, almost at the door when she heard the scream.

For a fraction of a second Pet froze, but then without thought she dashed inside, her eyes widening with horror. ‘George! George, stop it! What are you doing? Stop it!’

He turned, the knife raised, and Pet blanched at the manic look on his face. Linda was white-faced too, rooted to the spot, but Pet knew they had to get out of there. She ran forward to grab Linda's arm.

‘Come on,’ she urged, dragging her outside.

In a few steps they were at Maurice's house. Pet thrust the door open, pushing Linda inside. ‘Maurice! Maurice! George has lost it.’

‘Yeah, I heard the racket.’

Linda swayed and it was Norma who took over, leading her to a chair. She then ran to fetch a glass of water, urging, ‘Here, drink this.’

‘What set George off?’ Maurice asked as he watched his wife attending to Linda.

‘Linda's parents have given her a lovely pram, but for some reason it upset George. I went into their place to find him shredding the inside of it with a knife. We've got to stop him, Maurice.’

Maurice shook his head, his breathing beginning to sound laboured. ‘When George is in one of his moods, it's best to leave him to it.’

‘But the pram!’

‘It's too late to stop him now.’

‘Are you all right, Maurice?’ Norma asked. ‘You're not having another asthma attack, are you?’

Petula had run to the nearest door, but now realised that Maurice would be the last one to intervene. Her father and Danny were out, and that only left Bob, but he wouldn't want to interfere either.

‘Pet, take Linda down to your mother's,’ Norma ordered. ‘George wouldn't dare kick off there.’

Pet could see that Maurice was now gasping for air, but Linda looked awful too, her face deadly white.

‘All right, we'll go,’ Pet agreed, ‘but I'll have to make sure we're in the clear first.’

‘Listen, love, I don't want you hurt,’ Maurice gasped, ‘so be careful.’

Pet gingerly opened the door, stuck her head outside and then beckoned Linda. ‘Come on, there's no sign of George.’

Linda looked terrified but rose to her feet. Taking her hand, both of them ran to number one.

Only moments later there was a knock on Maurice's door and he gasped with fear, but it was Bob who walked in.

‘I've just seen Pet and Linda dashing past. What's going on?’ he asked.

‘George is kicking off,’ Norma told him. ‘Pet brought Linda in here but I told her to take the girl to her own house.’

‘Is Pet all right?’

‘Yes, but she's frightened of George and I don't blame her.’

‘What set him off?’

Norma told him, ending with, ‘Your brother's a bloody menace. Linda looked terrified … Pet too, and look at Maurice.’

‘Not another asthma attack! Come on, Maurice, there's no need to get in a state. You know George. He'll be all right once he's gone off the boil.’

Maurice could only nod, whilst Norma bristled with anger. ‘I've had just about enough for one day so he'd better not come knocking on our door. Oh, yes, Bob. Talking of menaces, I suppose Sue told you what Robby did to Oliver's rabbit?’

‘Yes, she did, and I've given the boy a thrashing.’ ‘I'm glad to hear it, but as I've said before, Robby's getting out of hand.’

‘Look, I know he's a little sod, but he's had a good hiding. If that doesn't do the trick, I'll come down even harder.’

‘It'll need both of you to sort the boy out, but
she
lets him get away with murder.’

‘Yeah, I know Sue can be a bit soft. I'll have a word – tell her that Robby needs a firmer hand.’

‘Good, I'm glad to hear it,’ Norma said, at last looking mollified.

‘Norma, can I have a drink, please?’ Maurice managed to gasp.

‘Yes, all right.’

‘Make one for Bob too,’ Maurice wheezed, hoping that Bob wouldn't turn it down. He wanted him to stay for a while – wanted him there in case George turned up.

Joan looked up from her task as Petula and Linda almost fell into her living room.

‘What's going on?’ she snapped.

‘It's George. He's gone mad. We ran to Maurice first, but he got upset so Norma told us to come here.’

‘Gone mad! What are you talking about?’

‘Linda's parents have given them a pram, but George is wrecking it.’

‘Is he? Why's he doing that?’

‘I don't know, Mum.’

Linda's face was wan, her body shaking. Joan asked sharply, ‘Did my son hit you?’

‘No … not this time.’

‘Does that mean he's hit you in the past?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, tears spurting and running down her cheeks.

Joan was ashamed of her son, sickened. Linda was pregnant and if George wasn't stopped she could lose the baby. It could be some time before Dan returned from the races, but she had to get Linda out of sight in case George came looking for her.

‘It might be best if you stay out of the way for a while. You look exhausted, so why don't you go up to my room, have a lie-down? And don't worry, Dan will sort George out when he comes home.’

Linda's eyes flicked nervously to the window. ‘Yes, all right,’ she agreed.

Joan waited until she was out of sight before turning to Petula. ‘Run next door, see if Danny's home, and if he is, tell him I want to see him. Just make sure that you stay out of George's way.’

Petula nodded, and as the girl ran outside, Joan hoped her eldest son was there. If George hadn't calmed down when he came looking for Linda, she doubted she'd be able to handle him.

Petula's mind was racing. George's behaviour had shocked her. She knew he had a temper, but had never actually witnessed his violence. When George lived at home his anger had been verbal, soon snuffed out by her father. Now, though, she was seeing another side of him, and it was one she feared. Was this how other people saw him?
Was this how he behaved outside of the alley? If so it could be another reason why they were shunned.

As a child Pet could remember the police turning up at the house, but her father and brothers had always explained it away by telling her that they had made a mistake. None of the family had ever been arrested, so she believed them, at least whilst she was at junior school. Doubts set in when she went to secondary school where some girls avoided her, making their reasons clear. When she'd asked questions, Maurice had been the only one who'd been a little more forthcoming, telling her that all the gossip concerned shady deals in the past. Nowadays, he had said, the family ran a respectable business and she had nothing to worry about.

Yet stories still reached her ears – whispers of her family being involved in fights and intimidation. She loved her father, her brothers, and didn't want to believe the gossip, but friendships had been hard to form. Over time there were three girls she considered friends, yet even so she was always the odd one out – the one who didn't enjoy the same freedom as them.

Yvonne's door was unlocked, like the others in the alley, but Pet rapped the letter box before going inside. ‘Yvonne, is Danny home?’

‘No, he isn't.’ Yvonne looked at Pet's anxious face. ‘What's wrong?’

‘It's George. I'm surprised you haven't heard the racket.’

‘I've been turning out the back bedroom so I didn't hear a thing. What's he been up to?’

Pet told her, then added, ‘I think Mum's nervous that George will come looking for Linda.’

‘I'll come back with you.’

Pet paled as they stepped outside to see George marching towards them. She gripped Yvonne's arm, her heart thumping with fear.

‘Is Linda with Mum?’ he snapped.

‘Er … yes, but she isn't feeling well and went to lie down. She's asleep now, but when she wakes up, I'm sure she'll come home.’

‘She'd better,’ George warned, ‘and you can tell her that from me.’ With that he brushed past them, ignoring number one to march out of the alley.

‘Thank God for that,’ Yvonne said.

Pet told her mother what had happened, seeing her own relief reflected on her mother's face.

Joan sank onto a chair, shaking her head as she said, ‘It ain't right, Yvonne. I shouldn't be nervous of my own son. Dan will have to sort him out. Ivy told me that he's been hitting Linda, but I didn't believe her. I've heard it from the horse's mouth now, though.’

‘Dad has always told the boys that men who hit women are the lowest of the low. When he finds out about George, he'll go mad,’ Pet warned.

She saw the women exchange looks, and then her mother said, ‘You shouldn't be hearing this, Petula. Go to your room.’

‘I'm not a child!’

‘You're not an adult either. Now do as I say.’

Pet flung herself out, marched upstairs, and only just resisted the urge to slam her bedroom door. She sat on the edge of her bed, but only a moment later the door opened, Linda coming into the room.

‘Oh, Petula,’ she cried, moving to sit beside her. ‘I … I want my mum.’

As Linda sobbed, Petula wrapped an arm around her and, despite what her mother had said, it was she who felt like the adult as she held this frightened young woman in her arms.