by Peter Martin
IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY
PETER MARTIN
IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY.
A LITTLE GIRL’S TRAGIC DEATH DEVASTATES HER FAMILY. WILL THEY EVER GET OVER LOSING HER AND FIND THE STRENGTH TO CARRY ON?
When twelve-year-old Billy’s eight-year-old sister is diagnosed with cancer, it shatters their happy and loving family. To see her suffer for months before a painful death tear’s them all apart. Billy’s father takes to drink, his mother has an affair and Billy is left to grieve on his own.
When Billy’s father he finds out about his wife’s infidelity he is heartbroken. He begs her to stay, but unrepentant she leaves him for her lover and asks Billy to come with her. But he opts to stay with his dad.
A year later having heard nothing from his mother, they receive a letter in post from her solicitor filing for divorce. The settlement forces them to sell the house and move into a bedsit, which Billy hates. He is now torn between his mother and father but it seems his mother is more interested in her partner than him.
After losing his job, Billy’s father hit’s rock bottom and again turns to drink. But then out of the blue he announces they are to move in with his mother again. Is this the truth, or is something more sinister going on?
Also by Peter Martin:
A MEANS TO AN END
A DANGEROUS SECRET
MISSING – DEAD OR ALIVE
AGAINST HER WILL
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
EPILOGUE
September 1994
CHAPTER 1
It started at tea time, the day before, a Tuesday. Billy felt sick and had no appetite. He’d gone to bed early and found himself tossing and turning half the night in agony. And he woke feeling so hot and sweaty his pyjamas stuck to him, despite the cool, late-September weather. It must have been that burger he’d eaten at the chippy during his lunch break. Well, never again. He fancied a day off school, but not if he constantly had the urge to throw up.
This was all he needed. Wasn’t his life bad enough? His little sister’s death had hit him hard and even now, six months later, every little crisis brought fear and panic. No one understood how such a catastrophic event might affect a twelve-year-old boy. He’d even lost interest in football, usually his favourite pastime.
As daylight approached, the curtains of his room were swished open, and, screwing up his eyes, he made out the outline of his father coming towards him.
‘Come on, Billy, time to get up,’ he said, shaking his arm.
‘Oh … no, Dad.’
‘Are you feeling any better now, son?’
‘A bit, I suppose –’
‘Good lad. Hurry up, or you’ll be late for school.’
Holding his stomach, he dragged his tall, thin body to the bathroom, shoulders bent like an old man. He pulled his fingers through his jet-black hair and sat on the side of the bath.
Ten minutes later he came downstairs into the kitchen to see his mother standing at the sink. Her thick, black hair was cut to her shoulders, her figure slim in a blue dress, but she was much shorter than his dad. In fact, Billy was now as tall as her.
Nervous about telling her he still felt ill, he flopped down at the table. If he tried to explain she’d give him one of her derisive disapproving looks, as if to say, I know what you’re up to.
‘Don’t you want any breakfast?’ his mum asked, eyeing him suspiciously as he sat there.
‘Yeah, I’ll get a bowl of cornflakes in a minute, Mum.’
His dad popped his head around the door. ‘I’m off to work now,’ he said, ruffling Billy’s hair, which he hated. After kissing his wife on the cheek, he left.
Billy stared at his bowl of cereal, wondering how on earth he’d eat it, aware of his mum’s questioning eyes. She was about to say something, but a knock at the back door prevented her. Billy guessed who it was even before she opened it – that Jane Simpson from over the road. And he was right. The sickly smile the woman gave him spoke volumes. She didn’t like him. Well, he wasn’t her biggest fan either, with her inch-thick make-up, tight jeans and jazzy, low-neck blouses.
‘Cooey, Maggie, it’s only me. Just wondered if you fancied going on a shopping trip this morning?’
‘Love to. When do you want to go?’
‘Whenever you’re ready, dear.’ She raised an eyebrow and glanced in Billy’s direction.
‘If you’ve finished eating, isn’t it about time you went to school, Billy?’ his mum said, glaring. She moved her head to one side towards the door, which meant he’d had his marching orders.
‘But Mum …’ he protested. Why did he have to leave just because she’d arrived?
‘Do as your mother says, there’s a good boy,’ the Simpson woman said.
He dropped his spoon down hard into the bowl. Then scraped the legs of his chair on the tiled floor as he got up to fetch his school bag. Knowing the two women would be whispering and laughing conspiratorially, he rushed through the kitchen.
‘Bye, Mum!’ he shouted, shutting the door with a bang.
‘Yes, bye,’ came his mother’s reply.
On the way to the bus stop he booted every stone, bottle and can he stumbled across, unable to understand why his mum was friends with such a horrible woman. Why was she always around? And usually while his dad was out. After his sister Katie’s death his mum had stuck to Jane Simpson like glue. All right, so she’d lost a baby too, and a husband for some reason, but no wonder. Living close by, Jane had collected money from the neighbours for a wreath for Katie, and since become his mum’s closest friend. But she was forever putting her nose in where it didn’t concern her.
Dexford High was situated just outside Dexford, ten miles away from Birmingham. A small Black Country town, its centre contained many old Victorian buildings, enhanced by a new hypermarket right at its centre.
Once Billy reached school, the pain in his stomach eased. But by the middle of the morning, he got peckish. During break he devoured a bar of chocolate, but soon wished he hadn’t as halfway through the next lesson he threw up a lumpy-brown-cornflake mess all over his desk. On seeing his teacher, Mr McGill, approach, his face flushed and a sour taste came into his mouth; he retched again, and vomit spewed out onto the floor.
‘Sorry, sir,’ Billy said, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his blazer.
‘Never mind, these things happen. All right, better get yourself home, lad.’ Then, addressing one of the pupils, he instructed: ‘Daniel, go to the office with Billy and explain what’s happened. Better ask them to get the caretaker to come up here to clean up this mess.’
Mrs Dawson, the school secretary, phoned his mum, but when there was no reply, she called his dad. And from the gist of the conversation he gathered arrangements had been made for a teacher to drive him home to Clifton Street.
Billy took off his coat and hung it on the banister, breathing in deeply with relief. His only worry now was what his mum might say when she got home, but he couldn’t help being ill.
Ever since Katie’s death, she’d been moody and tearful, taking
her grief out on him. But why? It wasn’t his fault Katie had died. He’d seen everything his sister had endured, the vomiting and the agonising pain of her cancer treatment. So upsetting, especially when she lost her hair. Towards the end she was barely skin and bones. Didn’t he cry as much as anybody? He hurt too, but nobody considered his feelings. He had to deal with his grief on his own. Only his dad took any interest and talked to him, mainly about football – when he wasn’t at work, that was.
With his mum out shopping with Jane, he left his bag in the hall and climbed the stairs, wanting only to lie down and chill out. However, on reaching the landing, he noticed his parents’ bedroom door was closed. Standing stock-still he heard the faintest of noises coming from inside the room. His heart thumped against his chest and he realised he wasn’t alone at all. Oh no, he muttered to himself. He didn’t know what to say to his mum about why he’d been sent home. He knocked lightly on the door before entering.
‘Mum …’ He tentatively opened the door and was hardly able to believe the sight before him.
He gasped. No blankets were on the bed, just two grotesque naked bodies, lying side by side. His mum and Jane Simpson. Billy staggered back, stunned by the sight before him. His face burned. He needed to get out quickly.
They stopped, his mum’s eyes wide with embarrassment, and then the sniggering started. Simpson, of course. Perhaps this was what she wanted all along, Billy thought, as he placed a shaking arm across his face.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, coming in here unannounced?’ his mum screamed, getting off the bed and covering herself with a sheet.
After a few eerie seconds, Billy mumbled, ‘I … I’m not well … Was sick at school … They sent me home.’
‘Get out of here, you idiot!’
Billy’s whole body quivered. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he turned and ran. In the relative safety of his room, he dived under the bed covers, pulling the blankets over his face to blot out the picture of his mother with that woman.
Was this for real, or a nightmare? How could she? Remembering back to the day Katie died, his mum had walked around the house unable to stop crying. And at the funeral too, when she’d screamed so loudly, no one could calm her down. And now this.
He lay there sobbing, not daring to imagine what could happen next. Minutes later he heard the door squeak open. Through the sheets he could just make out her figure standing before him.
She tugged back the covers. Billy gasped, holding up his arms to stop what he thought would come next. She stared down at him, teeth clenched, bottom lip pulled back.
‘How dare you come into our bedroom, you stupid boy! Why do you think the damn door was closed? I’ve told you before, that room is out of bounds.’
She moved closer to him and he felt her hot breath on his face.
‘I didn’t know what else to do …’
‘You never do, do you? I’ve been through hell since Katie died. Jane’s the only person who’s helped me, when all your dad did was drown his sorrows in drink or go to work. We didn’t mean for this to happen, but Jane makes me feel alive again. Surely I deserve something after all the heartbreak I’ve had?’
‘Mum, how could you? And with another woman?’
‘Don’t you dare judge me. And if you tell your dad about this, you’ll live to regret it. You’ll destroy what’s left of our family. Want that on your conscience?’
Billy’s bottom lip quivered. The whole business turned his stomach. And how dare she use Katie as an excuse?
‘You keep your mouth shut, or else. You hear? I’m warning you.’ She wagged a menacing finger close to his face. ‘Not a word.’
How could he say anything? He wanted to tell his dad so badly, but if it split up the family, he daren’t.
His whole body trembled. He hated the person she’d turned into.
‘Good boy.’ Her brown eyes lit up. ‘Forget about what you saw and I promise you everything will be fine.’
‘All right, all right,’ he whimpered.
When she’d gone, he sank back down into his bed, closed his eyes, scared and unable to contemplate what the future might hold. Surely, she wouldn’t leave them for that awful woman? But the image of them went repeatedly around in his head. It was like trying to forget a bad dream.
Billy remained upstairs, mindful of needing to find a way to keep his family together. But first he had to face his father. If he didn’t pull himself together his body language would give the game away, and his dad would realise something was wrong.
Later when his dad came up to his room, he avoided looking him in the eye.
‘How are you, son?’ he asked, sitting down on the bed, tugging at his black and grey-flecked beard, as he did when anxious.
‘I’m okay, Dad, thanks.’ Billy smiled, but felt very uneasy.
‘Can’t imagine what you’ve been eating, son.’
Billy shrugged his shoulders.
‘Thank God it wasn’t anything serious. Couldn’t face any more stress, right now.’
Billy nodded, blinking rapidly to avoid tears.
‘I know it’s stupid, but as soon as I heard, I panicked. Thankfully your mum got home in time.’
‘Don’t be daft, Dad. It’s probably that burger I had for lunch.’
As his father hugged him tightly, Billy felt for him. If he found out about Simpson so soon after Katie, it would destroy him.
CHAPTER 2
On Friday a few weeks later, Billy came home from school, to find his dad soaping down the car. He waved and said, ‘How’s it going, son?’
‘Good, Dad. How come you’re back so early?’
‘Half-day holiday,’ he replied, his face alive with pleasure. ‘Thought this would save me a job for the weekend.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Listen, how about a game of footy later?’
‘Sure, Dad, but aren’t we off to the pub with Mum? It’s Friday night, after all.’
‘Nah, she doesn’t want to go tonight. Said there’s a soppy film on the telly she wants to see.’
‘In that case, great,’ Billy said, giving him the thumbs-up.
A short time later his mum returned from work, a taut expression on her face. She flopped down on the sofa, and yawned, wanting everyone to know how tired she was. Billy stared at her as she closed her eyes for a few seconds. She’d changed recently. No longer was she grief-stricken. In its place was a bitterness that demanded to know why this had happened to her. When she spotted him staring at her, she cut her eyes at him. But before she could say anything his dad walked in with their tea from the chippy.
He laid their portions on plates at the table and opened his own.
‘So how was your day, love?’ he asked, sitting down.
‘Hectic,’ she groaned, walking over and opening her bag of chips. ‘The favourite came in fourth in the big race at Doncaster. A no-hoper won, so we did just fine.’
Billy’s mum worked part-time in a betting shop, and always moaned about how hard she worked, giving little thought to what everyone else did for a living.
‘Don’t you always?’
‘Mostly we do. So how was your half-day off? Hope you put it to good use.’
He told her about cleaning the car and mowing the lawn.
‘That’s what I like to hear. I’d hate to see you sitting around doing nothing. Still taking this one for that game of football?’ she said, nodding at Billy.
‘Sure, as long as you don’t mind.’
‘Course not. I’m shattered. Just want to put my feet up and watch Cry Freedom on TV. You enjoy yourselves.’
Although she’d had plenty to say for herself she now had more interest in the food in front of her than anyone else.
They ate the rest of their chips in silence. All Billy wanted was to get outside with his dad. He recalled one Friday night about a year ago when his dad had arranged a domino evening with his workmates; his mum played merry hell, saying Friday nights were the family’s night out.
Now it seemed she had other ideas.
Because his dad worked such long hours, they rarely went anywhere together, so Billy intended making the most of it. He’d been the best dad in the world until Katie’s death, but since then he often drank too much. Billy supposed this was his way of coping with his loss.
‘OK, son, when you’re ready, we’ll be off.’
The heat of the day was stifling as they walked to the Pig and Whistle football pitch, as it was known locally. The grassed area of reclaimed land had once been a colliery; now it boasted goal posts, and away from the pitch stood a climbing frame and children’s swings.
His dad was already sweating. Billy took off his jumper.
‘Your mum seems more settled lately, don’t you think?’ he said, putting an arm around Billy’s shoulder. ‘It’s been hard for everyone these past few months. None of us will ever get over losing Katie, but I reckon at last your mum is finally learning to live with it.’
Billy sighed, remembering his sister’s death. But why his mum was doing that with another woman, he found hard to fathom. It would be bad enough if it were a man. But with a woman it was gross. All he wanted was for life to return to something resembling normality.
They walked on to the empty pitch; his dad volunteered to go in goal. Billy pretended to be a famous football player, dribbling and shooting the ball, trying to get it into the net. Sometimes he scored but other times his dad made a flashy save, making him laugh. Then they changed around, his dad striving to score, forcing Billy to dive to save it. He loved spending time with his father like this, despite getting his clothes dirty.
After a while his dad got out of breath. Sweat poured down the sides of his face and seeped into his beard. He bent over, holding a hand up in protest.
‘It’s no good, son, I can’t carry on any longer. I’m getting too old for this, or I’m out of practice.’ He rubbed his son’s hair affectionately.
Billy laughed, certain it was a bit of both.
