Family Betrayal

by Kitty Neale

  ‘Yeah, as a bell,’ Bernie said, then turning to George with a sheepish expression, ‘Sorry, mate.’

  George just nodded, ignoring Bernie as he urged Vince out of the pub. He snatched up his pint again, peeved that the fight had ended before he'd had time to vent his feelings. The pressure was still there – the feeling that his head was going to burst.

  ‘How's your dad, George? I ain't seen him in a while.’

  ‘He's fine. At Sandown races today and no doubt picking out a few nags to have a bet on.’

  ‘And your mum?’

  ‘She's good too.’

  Charlie moved off to serve another customer whilst George leaned on the bar, staring into his pint. It was strange really, but after a fight he always felt randy, and though he'd only landed a few punches, he decided to go home. Linda was sure to be all right now, ready for him to give her a seeing-to. He may have missed out on turning that bastard into mincemeat, but a bit of sex was another way to let off steam.

  He swallowed the pint then slammed the glass down as he called, ‘See yer, Charlie.’

  ‘Yeah, see you,’ Charlie called back, and had George looked over his shoulder as he left the pub, he would have seen the look of relief on the land-lord's face.

  Linda's mother smiled with delight as she opened the door. ‘Hello, ducks.’

  ‘Hello, Mum, how are you feeling?’

  ‘I'm all right,’ Enid Simpson replied. ‘The warmer weather makes all the difference.’

  Linda followed her mother to the kitchen, the lie evident as her mother hobbled in obvious pain to the nearest chair.

  ‘Is your hip playing you up again?’

  Enid dismissed the question. ‘Sod my hip. How are you? Have you still got morning sickness?’

  ‘Yeah, but I'm not feeling too bad at the moment.’

  ‘You look tired, love. How is George treating you?’

  Linda would have loved to blurt it all out – to tell her mother that she was frightened of her husband – that she feared his fists. Instead she lowered her eyes, knowing that there was no way she could worry her mother. Arthritis riddled Enid's body, her face lined with the daily grind of pain, but she never complained and Linda loved her deeply. She forced a smile. ‘George treats me like a princess,’ she lied, ‘and he's dead chuffed about the baby.’

  ‘Are you telling me the truth, Linda? When you come to see us you're always on your own and your dad was saying the same thing only the other day. We'd visit you, but to be honest, on the one occasion we called, George didn't seem pleased to see us.’

  Linda fought for an excuse. ‘George is busy, Mum. He works long hours and when he comes home he's worn out. You caught him at a bad time, that's all.’

  ‘He must get some time off. It's Sunday tomorrow. Why don't you both come to us for dinner? Or we could come to you.’

  Linda tensed, her thoughts racing. ‘It's not a good time at the moment, Mum,’ she lied. ‘George is doing things around the house and we're all upside down. It's not that he doesn't want to visit you, it's just that he's too busy. He's the same with his mother. They live in the same street but he rarely bothers to pop in to see her.’

  Enid acknowledged this with a nod of her head. ‘Yeah, when I come to think of it, your father was the same. When my mother was alive I had to practically drag him to see her, and I could see that the whole time he was itching to leave.’

  ‘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.