Born Bad

by Born Bad (retail) (epub)

  ‘What have you two been up to?’ her grandma asked. ‘I’ve been waiting bloody ages to see you.’

  ‘Nothing,’ they both replied, and Adele could feel her cheeks burning with shame.

  ‘Aye, and I’m the bleedin’ Queen Mother. You look like you’ve been up to mischief to me.’

  ‘No, we haven’t, honest,’ Peter quickly replied.

  ‘We’ve just been at the park,’ said Adele.

  Joyce gave them a knowing look before referring to a carrier bag that she had left on the sideboard. ‘There’s some stuff in there for both of you.’

  ‘Ooh, let’s have a look,’ said Peter.

  ‘Hang on a minute, wait your sweat,’ said Joyce. She grasped the bag and pulled out a package. ‘This one’s for you, Adele. The rest are for you, Peter,’ she said, handing him the bag.

  Peter quickly riffled through the bag, pulling out several items of clothing, ‘Ew, clothes,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Don’t be so bleedin’ cheeky,’ said Shirley. ‘You should be grateful to your grandma for bringing them for you. What d’you say?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Peter muttered.

  ‘Thank you, Grandma,’ said Adele, clutching her package.

  Seeing the number of items that Peter had taken out of the bag, Shirley said, ‘Oh, Mam. You shouldn’t have. That lot must have cost you a fortune, and you’ve only just bought our Adele some new trousers.’

  ‘They didn’t cost much,’ said Joyce, tapping the side of her nose.

  As Peter sloped off towards the stairs, Shirley dashed after him with the clothing, ‘Not so fast,’ she said. ‘Take this lot with you and try them on. You can tell me which ones fit.’

  When he was out of the room, Joyce whispered. ‘Margaret Jones fetched them. She’s got a grandson not much older. Don’t worry; they’ve come from a good home. I’ve known Margaret for years. She’s clean and so are the rest of her family. But don’t let Peter know. He won’t want to wear anything that’s second-hand.’ Then, switching her attention to Adele, she added, ‘Aren’t you gonna open yours then?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adele who tore at the package excitedly.

  She pulled out two cardigans, brand new, with the labels still on. Then she held them up, one by one, so she could examine them.

  ‘Thank you very much, Grandma,’ she said, a smile spreading across her face. Adele hadn’t even mentioned to her that she needed new cardigans, and yet her grandma knew. Grandma Joyce always knew. She felt content knowing that, no matter how bad things got at home, Grandma Joyce could always make her feel better.

  Chapter 11

  It was now the height of summer and Peter had found a new pastime swatting flies while their parents were out. Adele and Peter were in the living room at home. It was a particularly hot summer, and the smell emanating from the house was attracting the flies. Peter was frantically chasing around the room after them.

  ‘You won’t catch any, y’know. They’re too fast,’ said Adele.

  ‘I will. I’ve done it before. The big ones are easiest; they’re not as fast.’

  ‘Why don’t you go for one of the big ones then? Here’s one now,’ said Adele as a bluebottle buzzed past her ear. She watched it land on the wall. ‘There it is. Get it, now!’ she demanded.

  Peter approached stealthily. He didn’t give it a chance to get away. Before the bluebottle became aware of his presence, he whacked at it with the newspaper then drew back. He examined the wall and was happy to see the dead bluebottle stuck to it by its glutinous insides.

  ‘I got it!’ he shouted. ‘D’you wanna have a look?’

  Adele didn’t particularly want to see the squashed insect but she humoured him while he used another piece of newspaper to scoop it off the wall and place it on top of the rolled-up newspaper.

  ‘Eh, look at this,’ he said, approaching Adele with a look of glee on his face. ‘It’s got babies.’

  He held it out in front of Adele’s face. The blow from Peter had ruptured the insect’s body revealing numerous tiny eggs. Adele sat up. She examined it from a safe distance, fascinated at first. But when Peter started to pull the eggs away from the dead body of the bluebottle using a spent match stick she felt repulsed. The creature was dead. They had killed it. And now Peter was jabbing at its offspring.

  ‘Ew, don’t! It’s yucky,’ said Adele, backing away now.

  Despite her protests Peter carried on until he grew tired of it and flung the roll of newspaper on the floor with the dead insect still stuck to it.

  ‘You can’t leave it there,’ said Adele. ‘You need to get rid of it.’

  ‘No chance!’

  As Peter wasn’t going to get rid of the fly, she decided to do it herself. She picked up the rolled newspaper tentatively and turned it over. The dead insect remained stuck there surrounded by its eggs. She recoiled as she held the newspaper at arm’s length then dashed to the toilet to dispose of it.

  Adele tore a strip of newspaper around the bluebottle and threw it down the toilet. She flushed the toilet, but it wouldn’t go down. She winced as she watched the insect bobbing about on the water’s surface then flushed again. After three attempts it finally sank.

  She returned to the kitchen cringing as she imagined hundreds of tiny maggots climbing up her arms. The bluebottle was gone but she felt as though it was still there and a shiver ran up her spine.

  Adele switched the tap on and reached for the soap and a scrubbing brush. After a few minutes of scrubbing at her hands, nails and arms, she still couldn’t get rid of the creepy feeling and it was unsettling her. But she didn’t know what had made her feel so bad. Was it repulsion at Peter’s morbid fascination or guilt at the loss of life?

  When Adele heard her mother arrive home with Grandma Joyce, she finished scrubbing at her hands and nails, dried her hands and rushed into the living room, greeting her grandma.

  ‘She never seems that pleased to see me,’ muttered her mother.

  ‘Course I am, but we see you every day,’ said Adele. Her response was automatic but, if she was honest with herself, her mother didn’t rouse the same feelings in her as Grandma Joyce did. Although she didn’t dislike her mother, her grandma was the true mother figure to Adele. She was strong, determined and resilient, and Adele could always turn to her for help or advice. But Adele didn’t view her mother in the same light. She was just Mam; someone Adele was linked to by blood, but who was weak and apathetic and couldn’t be relied on for anything.

  Adele looked at Peter for backing but he was too busy hovering around Joyce to see if she had brought any treats for him.

  Joyce was too concerned about the state of the place to take much notice of Peter. ‘Bleeding hell, Shirley! The place is swarming. Haven’t you got any fly spray?’

  ‘I forgot to get it. I’ll get some next time I’m out.’

  ‘I’ve been trying to get rid of them,’ Peter gushed.

  ‘How?’ asked his grandma.

  ‘I’ve been whacking them with newspaper.’

  A grin spread across Grandma Joyce’s face. ‘Eeh lad, you won’t get rid of many like that,’ she said, patting him on the head.

  It was a few minutes later when another visitor arrived; Mrs Roper from the corner shop.

  Adele overheard Peter’s name being mentioned and Mrs Roper didn’t sound too happy. Peter was a picture of guilt with his eyes darting around the room as his grandma tried to hold his gaze.

  When Shirley shut the door and came back into the room, Grandma Joyce asked, ‘What the bloody hell was all that about?’

  ‘It’s our Peter,’ Shirley sighed.

  Peter was heading for the front door but his grandma stopped him, ‘You can bloody well stay where you are till your mother’s finished talking,’ she said.

  Peter snuck back into the room, still avoiding eye contact with his grandma.

  Shirley continued. ‘He’s been nicking sweets from her shop. She caught him at it and shouted him back, but he ran off.’

  �
�I did not!’ Peter protested. ‘She’s lying.’

  ‘Well why the bloody hell would she come round here if you didn’t do it?’ asked Shirley.

  ‘It wasn’t me; it was that Anthony. I always get blamed for everything!’

  ‘Oh, so you were there then?’ asked Joyce.

  Peter bowed his head, aware that he had slipped up.

  ‘Well? Come on, we’re waiting to hear it!’ said Joyce.

  ‘Anthony did it when I was with him.’

  ‘Well why did she see you with the sweets then?’ asked Shirley.

  ‘He passed them to me on the way out. I didn’t realise he’d nicked them. He was just trying to put the blame on me.’

  ‘What a load of bloody nonsense!’ said Joyce. ‘The lad’s younger than you, isn’t he? Why would he be leading you astray? More like the other way round if you ask me.’

  Shirley tried to defend her son. ‘He might be telling the truth, Mam. That Anthony’s no angel, y’know.’

  ‘Right, well there’s only one way to find out,’ Joyce replied. ‘Why don’t you go round to that Anthony’s house and ask?’

  ‘No!’ Peter protested.

  ‘Sounds bloody guilty to me,’ said Joyce. ‘Was it you, Peter?’

  Peter looked down at the ground and nodded his head.

  ‘Oh, you little swine!’ said Shirley. ‘Wait till your father comes home and I tell him. He’ll have your bloody guts for garters.’

  ‘No, don’t do that!’ said Joyce. ‘You know what Tommy’s like. There’s no point getting him riled, is there? I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ she added, pulling some money from her purse. ‘Take this round to the shop, Adele,’ she said, handing her a brand new shiny fifty pence piece, ‘and tell her your grandma sent you to pay for the sweets Peter took.’

  Adele wasn’t pleased at being roped in because of Peter’s misdemeanours but she knew better than to question her grandma’s authority. ‘Go on, love,’ her grandma continued. I’d send Peter, but I can’t bloody trust him to bring the change back.’ She then turned to Peter, adding, ‘And you! You can pay me the money back out of your spends. If it was up to me I’d make you stay in for a week as well, but that’s for your mam to decide.’

  Shirley looked despondent. ‘No, I think that’s punishment enough. But don’t let me hear about you doing anything like that again, Peter. You’re lucky Mrs Roper didn’t get the police. She will do if she catches you again though.’

  Her response was half-hearted as though she was struggling with the burden of it and only trying to appease her mother.

  When the fuss had calmed down, Adele put on her shoes ready to go to the corner shop with her grandma’s money. She dreaded the reception she would get, which would probably be worse than normal because of what Peter had done.

  She felt trepidation as she pushed open the door to the corner shop. Mrs Roper’s face was set in a steely gaze. As Adele nervously walked towards the counter she could feel the weight of Mrs Roper’s harsh stare.

  ‘My grandma sent this,’ she murmured, holding out the money.

  Mrs Roper snatched at the fifty pence piece, examining it carefully, as though she thought it was counterfeit. ‘It’ll have to do,’ she said.

  Adele waited.

  ‘Well, off you go then,’ said Mrs Roper.

  ‘My grandma told me to fetch the change back.’

  ‘She’ll be lucky. He’s probably been at it for months. I bet this won’t cover a fraction of what he’s had from this shop,’ said Mrs Roper, looking at the money in disgust before continuing, ‘You make sure your grandma knows that.’ She waited until Adele was on her way out of the shop before she added, ‘Tell your grandma I’m very grateful though. At least she’s tried to make amends for her naughty grandchildren.’

  Adele heaved a sigh of relief when she got outside the shop. But she was overcome with other feelings too. A feeling of fury mixed with shame. ‘Naughty grandchildren,’ Mrs Roper had said, but Adele had done nothing wrong. Yet again she was being judged for the sins of others, and the feelings of bitterness gnawed away at her.

  Chapter 12

  ‘Anthony, you need to run faster next time. We nearly got caught,’ said Peter, pausing to catch his breath once they had rounded the corner.

  They were playing knock-a-door-run, one of Peter’s favourite games. Although Anthony wasn’t as enthusiastic about the game, he had given in to pressure from Peter. Anthony was two years younger than Peter and desperate to impress him.

  ‘Right, your turn this time,’ said Peter. ‘Do that one there with the brown door and don’t forget to leg it as soon as you let go of the knocker.’

  ‘But that’s Mrs Thomson’s house,’ said Anthony. ‘She’ll go mad if she catches us.’

  Peter knew whose house it was, which was why he had deliberately chosen it. He didn’t like Mrs Thomson. She was one of the old women who stood gossiping in the corner shop with Mrs Roper. He hated the way she made him feel with her snide comments and sly looks.

  ‘She won’t catch you though, will she?’ said Peter. ‘As long as you’re fast. Come on, it’ll be a laugh.’

  Anthony still didn’t look convinced.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you scared?’ asked Peter.

  ‘Am I ’eck. I’m not scared of that old bag.’

  ‘Well come on then. What are you waiting for?’

  Peter stood back while Anthony approached the house, the thrill of anticipation sending a buzz through Peter’s body. He could see that Anthony was nervous and this added to his excitement.

  ‘Come on, just do it,’ he urged.

  Anthony lifted the door knocker and banged it against the brass plate several times. As soon as Peter heard the loud thud of the brass knocker, he was off, running as fast as he could up the street. Anthony tried to keep up with his rapid pace but was trailing behind.

  As Peter rounded the bend, he heard Mrs Thomson yelling after them.

  ‘What d’you think you’re playing at, you cheeky little sods? If I get my bloody hands on you, I’ll swing for you!’

  Anthony followed Peter into the side street and, once they were out of sight, they stopped running. While Peter took a few seconds to get his breath back, Anthony leaned forward, puffing and panting.

  ‘God, I can’t believe you’re so out of breath,’ said Peter. ‘You’re a rubbish runner.’ Anthony looked up at him and Peter laughed, ‘I told you it would be fun. She went mad, didn’t she?’

  ‘I knew she would. What if she tells my mam and dad?’ asked Anthony, looking frightened.

  ‘Nah, she won’t. She doesn’t even know it was us.’

  ‘She didn’t see you ’cos you were round the corner but she might have seen me.’

  ‘Yeah, but she won’t know it was you. She’d have shouted your name if she knew. She only saw you from the back.’ He paused then, waiting for Anthony to regain his breath, before adding, ‘Come on, let’s go back.’

  Anthony stared at him, open-mouthed.

  ‘Come on. You’re not scared, are you?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Well, come on then,’ said Peter, who had already set off eagerly in the direction of Mrs Thomson’s house, with his face full of glee.

  ‘It’s your turn,’ said Anthony as he followed behind.

  They stopped a safe distance from Mrs Thomson’s house and Peter spent a few seconds in thought. ‘I tell you what we’ll do,’ he said. ‘The old bag might be ready for us, so instead of knocking on the door we’ll throw stones at it from here. She’ll never be able to catch us then.’

  Anthony looked sceptical but didn’t say anything. Peter wasn’t bothered what he thought. He was confident that Anthony would join in; he’d be too worried about being labelled a coward otherwise.

  Peter chuckled in satisfaction as they hurled stones at Mrs Thomson’s front door. They threw small stones at first, but when there was no response Peter decided to chance his luck and picked up a chunk of brick that was lying by the roads
ide.

  ‘Stop a minute,’ he ordered Anthony. ‘Right, I’m gonna chuck this big ducker so get ready to run.’

  Anthony’s eyes opened wide as he took in the size of the lump of brick.

  Peter hurled the brick, hearing a resounding crash as it impacted with Mrs Thomson’s front door.

  By the time Mrs Thomson came to the door to see what the disturbance was, both boys were out of sight. She waved her fist in annoyance, examining the damage to her front door. The brick had left a small dint and brought off some of the paint.

  ‘Just you wait till I get my bloody hands on you!’ she shouted. ‘I’ll find out who you are, don’t you worry. And when I do, you’ll be in big trouble.’

  Hearing her harsh words, Peter was doubled up in the side street, fighting to contain his laughter. The fact that she didn’t know their identities enhanced Peter’s enjoyment.

  ‘I think we should pack it in now,’ said Anthony. ‘I don’t want her to catch us.’

  Peter thought fleetingly about the consequences and an image of his angry father flashed through his mind. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘It was a good laugh though, wasn’t it?’

  Anthony just shrugged in response and they then made their way back to the street where Peter lived, passing Mrs Thomson’s house on the way. Peter noticed the dint in Mrs Thomson’s door and a smug grin spread across his face.

  ‘See that?’ he asked Anthony, but Anthony wasn’t amused. Peter, on the other hand, felt immense gratification knowing that he had damaged the old bag’s door and got away with it. He had just taken another step towards a life of crime and was soon to find out just how rewarding that life could be.

  Part Two – 1979-1980

  Chapter 13

  Peter, Alan and David were sitting inside a suped-up Ford Escort. They had parked next to a church and across the road from a four-bedroomed detached house in Bramhall. They’d deliberately selected this location in which to park. They were near enough to observe the houses but not near enough to attract complaints from residents objecting to them parking outside their homes. That would have made the car memorable and they didn’t want that.