That'll Be the Day (2007) (22 page)

The entire market was aware that Sam Beckett had dumped Belle yet again for this new woman of his, whose identity remained a mystery. The pair of them had enjoyed an on-off relationship for years, which had kept the stallholders in thrall. But then Belle Garside was a glamorous, attractive widow so could do as she pleased and generally did. Sam was another matter entirely, although nobody was prepared to risk expressing their opinion on the way he treated his wife, not to his face, that is.

‘There you are, chuck, how about these?’

‘Beautiful, thank you, Betty, I appreciate the trouble you always take. No one quite understands how difficult my life is.’ Belle patted her hennaed curls into place with razor sharp scarlet nails. ‘Having a son in jail is not easy, though
you
more than anyone must understand how I feel about that. How are you getting along with that ne’er-do-well husband of yours? Still creating havoc, is he? Can’t think why you let him back in.’

Betty stared at her. Glamorous she may be with those Elizabeth Taylor violet eyes of hers but nobody could accuse Belle Garside of being strong on tact or diplomacy. ‘I didn’t exactly put a welcome mat at the door. Anyway, he’s not my husband any longer, as a matter of fact, and no, I don’t understand what it’s like to have a son in jail. Ewan’s petty crimes never did involve killing people.’

Belle was sufficiently thick-skinned to accept this remark with a philosophical shrug. ‘It was an accident. You know it was. My son never meant to kill the boy. That Dena Dobson should have taken more care of her little brother.’

‘Let’s leave all of that in the past, shall we? The lad is doing his time, and I agree it can’t be easy. But my problem is the opposite of yours, Belle. While you want your son out of the clink, I want my ex-husband back in.’

‘Fix it then. There are always ways and means.’

‘I don’t have your connections, Belle.’

The other woman laughed, a rich smoky sound, accepting the apparent slur on her good name without rancour. ‘And what about your Lynda and Jake, how do they feel about having their dad back in their lives? I’m not sure my boys would care for it, too used to having their own way.’

‘I’m surprised you know who their father is.’

Belle shrugged. ‘There are times when not knowing can be an advantage.’

‘Aye, you might have a point there. Our Lynda hasn’t yet made up her mind what she feels. She’s a bit confused by it all, and our Jake is running more wild than ever. Constable Nuttall is keeping a beady eye on him, and seems to think our Jake has taken up with a crowd of petty thieves. I’ve promised to make him knuckle down and do some proper work but I can’t give him full employment, and he never stops in a job more than two minutes. How do you cope with rebellious sons, Belle love, tell me that?’

Belle snorted. ‘I’m the last person to ask for advice on that one.’

‘Aye, silly of me to ask, but I dread to think what he might get up to next.’

Later that day when the stallholders were packing up for the day, Jake came tearing up Champion Street in a beat-up old Ford. He screeched to a halt beside his mother, revving the engine furiously just in case she hadn’t noticed him.

With a patient sigh, Betty set down the empty flower buckets she’d been in the process of washing, and walked over to her son. ‘What the hangment have you got now?’

‘I’ve bought myself some wheels, Mam. Ain’t this some cool machine? Don’t you just dig it?’

‘And where would you find the money for a car?’ Betty stared at the vehicle, somewhat dazed by its sudden appearance, as was half the street judging by the crowd gathering about them. The car might once have been black, but someone had painted it a bright shocking pink.

‘Folk’ll see you coming a mile off in that thing, lad,’ commented Jimmy Ramsay as he walked around the car in his striped butcher’s apron, kicking the tyres and examining the bodywork, which seemed to be pitted with rusted holes or filled with patches of a lumpy cement-like substance.

Jake positively purred with pleasure. ‘Some classy chassis, huh? That old van were knackered so I traded it in, and before you complain I put some of me own money to it.’

‘That must be a first.’

‘Want a spin in it, Mam?’

‘I don’t think so, I plan on living a bit longer yet.’

‘It goes like crazy, really leaves a patch.’

Betty didn’t understand one half of what her son was saying but she was nonetheless troubled by this sudden acquisition. ‘You’ve found yourself a new job then, is that it?’

‘Aw, Mam, don’t be square. I do the deliveries for you, and a bit of work on the docks shifting stuff now and then, but this is Smallville. I’m not stopping in Castlefield for much longer, I’m gonna make it big in the music business. I’ve bought a guitar too, see.’ He indicated the instrument lying beside him on the front passenger seat.

Betty was even more surprised, not having heard anything of this dream before. ‘Can you play that thing?’

Jake pouted. ‘I can learn.’

‘I’ll believe that when I hear it, at least I’d rather not. There’s enough racket in our house already.’

Winnie Holmes had wandered over, never being one to miss a drama. ‘Hey up, somebody must have come into a bit o’ brass. Have you taken up our Barry’s offer of work then on his vegetable stall, lad, or come into a win on “
Double Your Money”
?’

Betty shook her head in despair. ‘The poor lad thinks he’s Stirling Moss.’

‘Don’t start, Mam, you think I’m some goof who can’t make it on me own? I’ll make it big all right, you’ll see. I just wanted to show you me new hot rod. Don’t know what time I’ll be home. I’ve places to go, people to see.’

Betty’s cry that he should take care which places and which people he get involved with was lost in the roar and rattle of the engine and the cloud of black exhaust fumes as he put his foot down and drove the old bone-shaker as fast as he was able out of the street.

‘Think yourself lucky,’ Jimmy Ramsay said at her elbow, ‘that he can’t afford a proper car. That one won’t last five minutes.’

‘That’s the trouble though, isn’t it? When it coughs its last, will my son go with it?’

Lynda missed the entertainment her brother had provided for them all, as she’d been chatting with Terry, busily making plans for the evening. It was a choice between going dancing or seeing Kirk Douglas in
The Vikings
. Lynda would have preferred to see the big new movie
South Pacific
with its special sound effects, but Terry thought it might be a bit too soppy for him. She didn’t really care what they did or where they went, so long as they were together. Ooh, she liked him, she did really. Best decision she ever made was to go out with Terry Hall.

As she waltzed into the house, happily singing
You Got to Have A Dream
, her good humour was instantly destroyed by a barked question from Ewan.

‘How’s that boy friend of yours? Has he got over his headache yet?’

She stared at her father, the very smallest hesitation before she answered. ‘Why do you ask? What are you talking about?’ Terry seemed reasonably well recovered so far as she could tell, but remained strangely reluctant to talk about the beating he’d suffered.

They were alone in the living room, Betty engaged in making tea in the kitchen and Jake out, as usual. Ewan was slumped in the big fireside chair with his feet propped up on the fender. He hadn’t even taken off his boots, and his pipe, clamped tight between his teeth, was shedding bits of hot ash down the front of his filthy jersey, rather like a mini volcano. Lynda experienced a shudder of revulsion at the sight of him.

What was happening to her? This was the father she’d spent her life longing to meet. Why couldn’t she just walk up to him and give him a kiss on the cheek as any ordinary daughter would?

Ewan put down his feet and leaned closer, then dropping his voice to a whisper spoke to her through gritted teeth, the pipe bobbing furiously up and down. ‘Maybe that’ll teach the little bleeder to keep his filthy little hands off
my
girl.’

Lynda stared at him, dumbfounded. ‘
Your
girl, what are you talking about? I don’t understand.’

‘I saw the pair of you together, him slobbering all over you, and with his hands where they shouldn’t be. No young man is turning a daughter of mine into a whore, so see you don’t behave like one’

Realisation slowly dawned, and with it came understanding as to why Terry had refused to do anything about the assault. ‘My God, it was you! You were the one who beat Terry up.
How could you
? What has he ever done to you?’

‘I’ve just told you. He’s not putting his mucky hands on
my
little girl. That’s the last time you’ll be going out with Terry Hall.’

‘
What
?’

‘I thought I’d made it clear enough to him but obviously not, so I’m putting a stop to it now. I hope you haven’t made any plans to see him this evening because if so, he’s going to be disappointed. Mark my words, Lynda love, you and him are history. You can do better. I’ll not allow you to go out with that useless tyke ever again, or you’ll feel the back of my hand if you do.’

Lynda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She was appalled, but, ignoring the crawling fear that was making itself all too apparent in her stomach, ploughed stubbornly on. ‘I’m not your
little girl
, I’m a grown woman, and it’s no business of yours what we were doing. I can see who I like. What right have you to say who I can go out with?’

‘I have the right because I’m your dad, and don’t you ever forget that fact, or a worse fate might happen to that biker boy friend of yours. And you wouldn’t like that one bit, now would you?’

Lynda cancelled her date with Terry, much to his disappointment and distress, and sat through the evening meal quite unable to eat a thing. Jake still wasn’t in, as was so often the case these days. Mam told her about the pink hot rod car he’d bought, which made Lynda laugh till she saw how worried her mother was. Jake had been driving since soon after he turned seventeen, but certainly couldn’t be called the responsible type. Presumably he’d taken the car out on a trial run, desperate to avoid the increasingly depressing atmosphere in his own home, for which she could hardly blame him. But his absence put Ewan in an even worse mood.

‘That boy is the very devil. A lad after me own heart! Still, car or no car, he should be here on time for his tea.’

Ewan redirected his snapping and snarling to Lynda, watching her move her food about her plate before ordering her to be grateful for it, and eat up.

Lynda pushed her plate aside. ‘I’m not hungry.’

Betty was concerned. ‘You aren’t coming down with something, I hope?’

‘No Mam, I’m fine.’ She sent silent glances across the table urging her not to ask any more questions. Betty took the hint and silently finished her own meal, deliberately keeping her gaze averted as Ewan picked at his teeth with a grubby fingernail.

Later, in the kitchen, the two women had a whispered conversation over the washing up, Lynda hastily trying to explain to her mother how Ewan had banned her from seeing Terry.

Betty was appalled. ‘He can’t do that! Terry’s a grand lad and you’re a grown woman, not a child who needs to do her father’s bidding. I shall tell him so this very minute.’ So saying, she wiped her hands on the tea towel and made to march into the living room there and then.

‘No, leave it, Mam. I’ll deal with it in my own way. I’ve certainly no intention of obeying. It’s none of his business who I see, and I’ve already told him as much.’

But Betty was incensed by the thought of her ex-husband issuing orders to her daughter, and in her own house, at that. ‘Who the bleeding hell does he think he is? I’m having no more of this. He’s going to get his marching orders once and for all.’

She got no further as she heard voices raised in anger. Jake had finally arrived home, flinging his boots and coat on the floor as was his wont, and Ewan, who tended to do exactly the same, was telling him to pick them up.

‘And what time do you call this to come in for your tea? What have you been up to till this hour, shagging your girl friend on t’back seat of your new jalopy, eh?’

Betty stormed in to stand before her ex-husband, hands on hips. ‘Don’t you use such foul language in front of my son. Not in my house.’

Ewan spat in the fire, chortling to himself as if he’d done something clever. ‘I’m sure he’s heard worse, haven’t you lad? Not that he’s capable of doing anything of the sort. You’re a bloody poofter, that’s your problem, son. You’re queer. You always were and always will be. Wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she stripped off naked in front of you.’

‘That’s not true!’ Jake’s voice rose in anguish. ‘You’ll take that back,’ and the boy suddenly launched himself at Ewan. The next minute father and son were rolling on the floor, throwing punches at each other and sending chairs and furniture flying.

Taken completely by surprise, Betty did her best to intervene. ‘Stop it, the pair of you! Ewan, lay off, you’ll kill him. Jake, stop hitting your father, for God’s sake!’

By way of response Jake gave Ewan a crack on the jaw and then the older man grabbed the boy by the hair and shook him, as if he were a rat.

Jake yelled out in such anguish Betty was certain the neighbours would hear and come running. Somehow the boy managed to extricate himself and lifted his fist ready to plant another punch on his father’s chin when Betty shoved him to one side. The result of her action was that Ewan’s fist came crashing down on her own head instead, knocking her sideways.