by Sam Michaels
*
George felt as if she was waking up from some sort of bad dream, only she couldn’t remember what the dream was. She was bumping around, but unsure of where she was. She wanted to go back to sleep, but the sound of horses’ hooves disturbed her.
In a state of confusion, she tried to open her eyes, but they seemed to be stuck. Her body ached. Her head was throbbing. She wondered where she was and if she was still dreaming.
Cobbled streets. She recognised the rhythm. The sound of wooden wheels on cobbled streets. The movement stopped and so did the sound of hooves. Then she heard a man’s voice. ‘It’s all right, love, you’re home now.’
She wanted to sit up, but her weak body wouldn’t move. Sleep. She’d go back to sleep. But it hurt. Everything hurt. Where was she? Oh yes, she remembered. The man said she was home. Then she heard her gran. ‘No… oh no… George… George… Can you hear me? Is she alive? George?’
Yes. Yes, Gran. I’m alive, she thought, but her mouth wouldn’t open. I’ll go back to sleep now, she thought again, then drifted away.
*
Jack ran up to the cart, breathless and frantic with worry. He’d heard George had been found. Someone had told him that Tubby Hawkins had taken her home on the back of his cart. They said it was bad. As he’d raced off, he’d been warned to prepare himself.
When he reached home, he found a throng of people outside his house, and apart from his mother’s anguished cries, there was an unsettling silence.
‘Jack… look what they’ve done to her. Look what they’ve done to our beautiful girl,’ Dulcie was sobbing unashamedly, and pulling at Jack’s jacket.
He approached the cart, praying he’d find his daughter alive.
‘She’s been roughed up real bad, Jack. I’ve untied her hands,’ Tubby said, his voice breaking. ‘I’m sorry, mate.’
Jack didn’t notice Tubby weeping. He barely took in the sight of the neighbours having a nose and he didn’t see his mother bawling as she held on to the cart for support. It was as if the world around him had stopped. Time stood still. His senses had numbed. He heard nothing. All he could see was the horror of his daughter’s battered face, smothered in blood, and her lifeless-looking broken body. A cry caught in his throat. Then he jolted into action. ‘Help me get her indoors,’ he said to Tubby.
Two elderly brothers from a house over the road appeared, carrying a door between them. ‘Use this,’ one of them offered.
Another man stepped forward to help, and they managed to move George onto the door to carry her inside. She didn’t make any noise, which further worried Jack.
‘I’ve sent for the doctor,’ Mary from next door said in her broad Irish accent. She was hovering in the front room doorway.
‘Thanks,’ Jack replied. He’d have liked to have told her to go away, but Dulcie was in a flap and might need the woman’s help.
‘Did you see who did this to her?’ he asked Tubby.
‘No. Some young lads found her round the back of the coal yard. It don’t take much working out though, do it, Jack?’
‘No, it doesn’t and he ain’t getting away with this. I’ll kill him, Tubs. I swear, I’ll fucking kill him.’
George whimpered. Jack hadn’t been aware of Mary moving away, but now she appeared again, carrying a bowl of water and a cloth. She knelt beside George and wiped the dried blood from her eyes. ‘It’s all right, lass, the doctor is on his way,’ she soothed.
It was more than Jack could bear to watch. He barged past Dulcie and went into the kitchen. He knew his mother always kept a bottle of whisky in the larder and grabbed it before slumping at the table. After several large gulps from the bottle, his nerves had calmed, but his heart was breaking. It hurt him to see his daughter so severely beaten.
He drank several more glugs of whisky, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I’m sorry, Sissy,’ he cried, ‘I’ve done my best by our girl, but it wasn’t enough.’
The kitchen door flew open. ‘The doc’s here and George is awake,’ Dulcie exclaimed.
Jack leapt from his seat and hurried to his daughter’s side. She was still lying on the door in the middle of the front room floor, with Mary bandaging her head.
The doctor gently pulled Jack to one side. ‘Mr Garrett, a word,’ he said. ‘George has suffered a vicious and prolonged attack. I can see no evidence of sexual assault, but she has endured several severe blows to the head. I’m afraid, if she survives, we won’t know the long-term effects of this for some time yet.’
Jack could hardly pull his eyes away from his daughter’s swollen face. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. George was alive, her eyes were open, so surely she was going to be fine.
‘You have to be realistic and aware that your daughter may not pull through, and if she does, she could have brain damage.’
Jack stared blankly at the doctor, then shook his head in denial. ‘No, no, she’s gonna be fine. Her eyes are open.’
‘At the moment, but she isn’t responding to any stimuli. When and if she comes round fully, your daughter may have difficulty with her memory, or slurred speech. With these severe head injuries she may suffer from some brain damage and have problems with muscle control, leaving her unable to walk. I hope it doesn’t come to that and there are many possible outcomes, but hold on to hope as there is always the chance of her making a full recovery.’
Jack baulked at the doctor’s words. He felt sick to his stomach but didn’t know if that was the effect of the alcohol or the hideous possibility of his daughter ending up like a cabbage. He fled from the room, grabbed the remaining whisky, pushed past Tubby who was in the hallway, and ran from the house. He felt he had to escape and get away from the unbearable situation. He knew he should be with George, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit and hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be fine, when really he knew it probably wouldn’t be.
He’d watched Sissy die in front of him. He couldn’t face seeing his daughter’s life ebb away too.
42
Molly stood at the foot of the bed and nervously looked at her new husband. She’d been dreading this moment more than the actual wedding ceremony.
It had been a week since George had been badly beaten, and though Molly had begged for the wedding to be postponed, Billy had insisted it went ahead. So, earlier that day, she’d grudgingly become Mrs Billy Wilcox.
Fear of becoming Billy’s next victim had made her go through with it, even though in the light of what had happened to George, her mother had relented and told her she didn’t have to marry him. But Molly had. Terror had overpowered her ability to make a reasonable decision and she was now a married woman living in a house her husband had purchased in Clapham.
She had hoped to live in the same house as his mother – it would have made her feel safer. And now, despite this upmarket area, and the luxury of this house, she longed for the squalor of her family home.
Billy was stretched out on the bed with his hands folded behind his head. He was wearing his trousers, but his body was bare. Molly felt embarrassed and didn’t know where to look.
‘It’s late. Get in,’ he told her.
She shuddered, hating the thought of him touching her. In fact, she hated everything about him. He’d nearly killed her best friend. It still wasn’t known if George would ever recover, yet now she had to share a bed with the man responsible for the attack.
Slowly, Molly slipped off her dressing gown. She didn’t look at Billy but could feel his eyes scrutinising her. She folded back the blankets and sat on the side of the bed.
‘You don’t have to worry,’ Billy said. ‘There will be no consummation of the marriage whilst you are with child.’
Molly sighed with relief. She was glad he couldn’t see her face.
‘I’m not vain enough to think you wanted to marry me today, but you’ve done the right thing for the child. That being said, you are now my wife and I will take my conjugal rights after the baby is born. In the meantime, I w
ill have a mistress and I don’t want to hear you complaining about it.’
Molly wouldn’t complain! Finally, some good news and now she felt she could breathe easier. She climbed into bed next to Billy but lay close to the edge with her back to him. Her nightdress was long, and she’d kept her underwear on.
It had been a long day and she was exhausted, but she couldn’t relax. How could she sleep soundly knowing she was lying next to a killer? Every time she closed her eyes, she thought about her best friend, battered beyond recognition. She rested her hand on her stomach, thankful for the baby inside her. It would keep her safe… if only for the next four months.
*
Jane didn’t know what her son had against George Garrett. It was obvious he detested her and always had. She’d heard the whispers about Billy arranging the assault on George, and though when she asked him he’d denied it, she knew by the way that he avoided her eyes that he’d ordered it. First the fire, and now this.
Years ago, she’d learnt to turn a blind eye to her husband’s business dealings and chose to ignore the fact that people who crossed him were often hurt or killed. Jane knew all about Norman’s sharpened belt buckle, but her husband had morals and standards. She thought he’d passed them down to Billy, but clearly not. Her son was out of control. She didn’t like to admit it, but the gossip, along with the latest events, had aroused her suspicions about Norman’s death. It couldn’t be true though, she thought, and shook her head. Once again, for the sake of her sanity, she dismissed her misgivings.
She was on her way to visit George. The Garretts lived four streets away and as Jane knocked on the door she hoped the olive branch she had to offer would be accepted. If Billy was responsible for what had happened to George, as his mother, it was down to her to make amends. She thought the wad of cash she had wrapped in brown paper would be a good start.
When there was no answer at the Garretts’, she scribbled a quick note on the paper, and pushed the money through the letterbox. She knew someone must be home but could understand why they wouldn’t come to the door. It wasn’t the first time Jane had paid guilt money to a victim’s family and she knew it wouldn’t be the last.
Satisfied her conscience was a little clearer, she went to walk away but then Dulcie came to the door. Jane turned round and saw the woman scowl. She instantly knew she wasn’t welcome.
‘You’ve got some bloody nerve,’ Dulcie said, her lips curling in disgust.
‘Please, Mrs Garrett, hear me out,’ Jane pleaded.
‘I ain’t Mrs Garrett and haven’t been for years. Get your facts straight. Anyway, I ain’t interested in anything you’ve got to say. You and yours ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Look at you, walking round here like lady fucking muck, but we all know what you really are.’
Jane stood her ground. She’d been expecting a frosty reception. ‘Slate me as much as you like, but I haven’t come for an argument.’
‘I don’t care what you’ve come for, but whatever it is, you can poke it up your arse and sling your fucking hook.’
Dulcie stepped out of the doorway, causing Jane to take several steps backwards. She noticed the old woman look up and down the street before rolling her sleeves up. Dulcie was a daunting woman, but surely, she wasn’t going to punch her?
‘Listen here, Mrs erm… er, Dulcie’ Jane said firmly, but she was trembling inside. Dulcie’s impressive stature dwarfed her own small frame.
‘No… you listen to me,’ Dulcie shouted, ‘your lot have always been trouble. Your old man took my Jack’s sight in one eye, and now thanks to your son, my granddaughter is lucky to be alive. It weren’t enough that Billy tried to burn her to death, he then had her kicked from here to kingdom come. And I ain’t forgot how she nearly ended up doing time because your Billy killed Mr Peterson. An innocent man paid for that crime with his life. How does that make you feel, eh? You might think you can lord it over Battersea, but I ain’t scared of your lunatic fucking son. You should be though. Do you sleep with one eye open at night?’
Jane suddenly forgot everything she’d prepared to say and found herself speechless. Dulcie’s booming voice had caught the attention of the neighbours and now they had an audience.
‘You look worried, Mrs Wilcox,’ Dulcie said sardonically, ‘but then if my son had murdered my husband, I think I’d probably look worried too.’
Jane gasped. She could hear people muttering around her but felt too ashamed to look. She saw Dulcie glance round with a smug expression. The woman seemed to be enjoying verbally tearing strips off her, though if what Dulcie had said was true, and she thought it probably was, this was no more than she deserved.
‘You can turn a blind eye to what’s going on right under your nose, but I don’t believe you’re fucking innocent in all of this. What sort of woman are you? How can you let him get away with killing your husband and now this? Who’s next, eh? You? Your daughters?’
Jane bit her bottom lip as her eyes began to well with tears, but she wouldn’t cry, not in front of everyone. Dulcie had said everything that Jane had tried to deny. But she couldn’t allow herself to believe it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, then spun on her expensive designer heels and ran towards home. Despite what had been said, and her fears that they were true, she loved Billy with all her heart. He was her son, her flesh and blood, and she refused to believe she’d given birth to an atrocity… a monster.
*
George had stayed in the front room all week, though she’d lost track of time. They’d attempted to move her to her bedroom, but when they’d picked her up she’d moaned in pain. She heard the doctor say it was because of her broken ribs. Now, still drowsy and in a world of her own, the sofa had become her bed.
She wasn’t sure if it was night or day and had become confused with reality and her dreams. But when she heard the front door slam, she was pretty sure she was awake and had heard her gran shouting at someone, but now her gran was softly calling her.
She opened her eyes and tried to focus. Dulcie was leaning over her and spooning something in her mouth. It tasted sweet. She liked it. Next, she felt herself floating again and began to see strange lights and vivid bright colours. Then she saw her dad chasing a frog with the head of a horse. The frog jumped out of the window and her dad turned into a daisy. She must be dreaming.
Voices again. More shouting. It sounded like her gran and dad were having a row. Snippets of their conversation registered with her. Dulcie was calling him useless and telling him he needed to sober up. He was telling her to mind her own business. They talked about her. She needed more medicine her gran said, and her dad had to stop drinking whisky. They needed him.
George’s eyes opened, and she dropped her head to the side. Her vision was fuzzy, but she could see her dad slouching in the armchair. Her gran was stood in front of him wagging her finger and telling him off. Then she saw the whisky bottle and realised her father was drunk.
She opened her mouth and tried to speak. Nothing came out. Desperate for her gran’s attention, she tried to lift her arm. It wouldn’t work. What had happened? She felt trapped. She panicked but couldn’t scream. Her mind was shrieking, begging for help, but they couldn’t hear her and didn’t know she was awake.
In a state of confusion, darkness began to descend.
It was two weeks later when George finally spoke, and her voice was heard.
Part 5
The emergence of Georgina Garrett
43
Three weeks had passed since George had been set upon by Malc and Sid. Her bruises were almost faded but she’d be left with a scar on her forehead and two teeth missing from the side of her mouth. It still hurt to take deep breaths and to move around, but as everyone kept reminding her, she was lucky to be alive.
Friends and neighbours had been popping in and out, and Oppo called in daily after work, but she hadn’t seen Molly. Her gran had updated her and told her the wedding had gone ahead and Molly was now living in Clapham. She guessed Billy had co
ntrol over her friend, which explained the lack of visits.
Their neighbour Mary’s daughter had dropped in a few magazines. Aileen worked in a swanky beauty salon in Chelsea and would call in every Sunday to see her mother. Her weekly visits always caused a stir in the street. Curtains would twitch, and women would emerge on their doorsteps to get a glimpse of the glamorous Battersea girl who’d made good from the slums. They’d all be talking about her outfits and hairdos for days after.
George winced as she reached across to the side table and picked up a copy of Vogue. She began to flick through the pages of the fashion magazine and chuckled to herself. She couldn’t believe women paid a shilling for this drivel!
‘How are you feeling today, love?’ her gran asked as she walked into the front room with two cups of tea.
‘Great, thanks. I might venture outside today.’
‘Erm, not so fast, young lady.’
‘Why? I’m not going to spend my life hiding away from Billy Wilcox!’ George said angrily.
‘I’m not suggesting that you do, but I think you should wait until you’ve got your strength back properly.’
George rolled her eyes, but she had to admit her gran was right.
‘Did you hear your father come home last night?’
‘Yeah, he stumbled in and went straight upstairs to bed. I would imagine he had another skinful, so I’ll doubt we’ll see him ’til much later.’
‘I don’t know what’s got into him,’ Dulcie said, pursing her lips and shaking her head. ‘He’s never been able to handle his drink and I thought he was a better man than my Percy. Turns out he’s just like all the bloody rest of them… useless.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Gran,’ George said, though she was disappointed to see her dad always drunk lately.
‘It’s the truth! I know it was hard for him to see you hurt, but it was for me too and you don’t see me drowning me sorrows. Blinkin’ men! So much for them being the tough ones. George, take it from me, love. If you can get by without a man, then do it. They ain’t worth the newspaper that they wipe their arses on.’
