Family Betrayal

by Kitty Neale

  ‘I'll drink to that,’ Bob said, ‘but I'd best go in for my dinner first or Sue will have my guts for garters.’

  ‘I don't doubt it. I'll have some grub too, and then if you're up for a drink, I'll meet you in the Nag's Head.’

  A new year, 1963, Chris thought as he waved to Bob before going indoors. Mind you, there was still Christmas to face. Danny might be on the mend now, but it was still going to be difficult. There'd be no big family get-together this year, no parties, and unless Maurice got in touch, it would be another dampener on the proceedings. Come on, Maurice, he silently urged. Surely you're not too busy to pick up a phone.

  Maurice wasn't too busy to get in touch with his family, he was just too ill. The first digs they had found had been awful, the room damp and heating scarce. Norma had been murder, constantly nagging, constantly questioning why they had left Drapers Alley, and only his attacks of asthma had made her shut up. Shortly after, they found this flat in Balham, but once again he had been struck down, this time with the flu. The flat was quite spacious, with the added bonus of being furnished, though of course Norma carped about wanting her own things. The landlord had agreed to let them have their own furniture, but until he was on his feet again, Maurice couldn't make arrangements to pick it up.

  Norma was trying to get him to eat, but he shook his head, turning his mouth away.

  ‘Come on, Maurice, just a little more.’

  He ached, his whole body ached, and with his temperature fluctuating, he was one minute hot, the next cold. ‘No, I don't want it.’

  The bedroom door flew open, Oliver running into the room. ‘Dad, I can't work out how to do this sum. Will you help me?’

  ‘Oliver, not now. Your father isn't up to it.’

  ‘It's all right,’ Maurice protested, struggling to sit straighter in the bed.

  ‘Don't get too close to your father. I don't want you going down with the flu too,’ Norma warned, walking over to her son to take the exercise book from his hand.

  When she handed it to him, Maurice frowned as he looked at the sum. It was long division and he could see where Oliver had gone wrong. ‘Do you like your new school?’

  ‘It's all right.’ Then, adding on a rush: ‘Dad, can I have a bike for Christmas?’

  ‘If you can work out where you've gone wrong with this sum, without my help, then yes, you can.’

  ‘Cor, thanks, Dad,’ Oliver cried with a hop of excitement.

  Norma returned the book and when Oliver ran from the room she asked, ‘Can we afford a bike, Maurice?’

  ‘Yes, don't worry, we're not short of money yet. Mind you, I'll have to look for a job as soon as I'm on my feet again.’

  ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘I don't know, but there's sure to be something I can do,’ Maurice said, trying to sound optimistic, though he doubted he'd find much that paid more than twelve quid a week. He was tired, his head aching. For years he'd kept the family books, earned good money too, but now he feared the future.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Yvonne was happy, happier than she'd been in a long time. A month had passed and Danny was more like his old self, though there was still a change in his personality. Where he had always been self-assured, dominant, he was now softer and she rather liked him this way. He now pulled his weight at the yard, going in every day, and even his relationship with his brothers had changed. There was a camaraderie now that had been lacking before, and from what Danny had told her, things were going well with the business.

  She hurried into the alley, clutching her shopping bags, glad to get inside out of the cold. She'd have a hot drink before popping next door to help Joan, but had only just taken her coat off when the door opened again.

  Sue walked in with the children trailing behind. ‘Watcha, Yvonne. It's bleedin' freezing out there and too cold for the kids to play outside. Now they've broken up from school they're under my feet all day and it's driving me mad. I thought those pea-soup smogs we had in early December were bad enough, but I think this snow is worse.’

  Yvonne smiled at the boys, and though Paul smiled back, Robby just scowled as she asked, ‘What do you want Father Christmas to bring you?’

  ‘There's no such thing as Father Christmas.’

  ‘Yes there is,’ Paul protested.

  ‘Only babies believe in Father Christmas.’

  ‘I'm not a baby.’

  ‘Yes you are.’

  ‘Please, boys, don't start,’ Sue begged. ‘You've been bickering since you got out of bed and you're giving me a headache.’

  Yvonne walked over to the sideboard where she pulled out some paper and a couple of pencils. ‘Come on, sit at the table and if you can draw me a nice picture, I might just find some chocolate for you.’

  Sue smiled gratefully as the boys did Yvonne's bidding, then said, ‘Have you got Pet's Christmas present?’

  ‘Yes, I found her a nice cardigan.’

  ‘What about your Christmas shopping? Have you finished?’

  ‘Almost,’ Yvonne said, indicating her shopping bags. ‘There's still the chicken, but I've got it on order and I'll pick it up on Christmas Eve along with my vegetables.’

  ‘Things are still a bit tight, and I only gave Pet some bath salts for her birthday, not that I was allowed in to number one to see her. I had to rely on Bob to pass them on. Pet never pops in to see me now either, and I haven't got a clue what to get her for Christmas. How is she? Is she any better?’

  ‘No, not really. She hardly talks and I know it's getting Joan down.’

  ‘Have you been invited for Christmas dinner?’

  ‘Of course we haven't. With the way Dan reacts, it's impossible.’

  ‘Yeah, it's funny the way he's taken against Danny. We haven't been invited either, but I can't say I'm surprised. How do you feel about us coming here?’

  Yvonne's mind raced. Sue never cooked a Christmas dinner if she could get out of it, but maybe it wouldn't be so bad having them here. She was itching to break the news that she was pregnant and it would be nice to have them to join in the celebration. ‘Yes, all right.’

  ‘Mind you, it might get up old face-ache's nose,’ Sue said, smiling widely.

  ‘Oh, Sue, don't be cruel,’ Yvonne cried, annoyed that the thought of upsetting Joan seemed to be giving Sue pleasure. ‘With all that's happened she's got little to be happy about these days.’

  ‘Look, Auntie Yvonne,’ Paul cried, waving his picture as he ran to her side.

  Yvonne smiled at his drawing of a Christmas tree, complete with an angel on the top. ‘It's lovely, darling.’

  ‘What about mine?’ Robby said as he too proffered a picture, but his angel looked as though it was hanging by its neck instead of perched on top.

  Yvonne hid her distaste, saying only, ‘Yours is lovely too.’

  ‘Can we have our chocolate now?’

  Yvonne went into the kitchen, returning with a bar of chocolate, which she broke in half, handing it to the boys.

  Only Paul said thank you, but Sue didn't admonish Robby as the boy stuffed it into his mouth. She then cocked her head to one side, musing, ‘I could get Pet some make-up. She once got me to show her how to put it on.’

  ‘I don't know,’ Yvonne said, shaking her head doubtfully. ‘Pet doesn't seem to care about her appearance now. The poor girl went through hell and there's no sign of her getting over it.’

  ‘Why did Auntie Pet go to hell, Mummy? What's hell?’

  ‘Gawd, little pigs with big ears,’ Sue said. ‘Come on, time to go. I still think I'll get Pet some makeup. You never know, it might cheer her up. There's nothing like a bit of powder and paint to make a woman feel better.’

  Yvonne made no comment, just saying goodbye as she closed the door. It would take more than powder and paint to put the smile back on Pet's face, and though it saddened her to see the girl in such a state, she was at a loss to know how to help her.

  In the yard, Danny was arranging stock whilst Bob served a
customer. Chris was outside with the forklift, loading the order onto the customer's van. He'd also come up trumps, securing them a deal with a large, local builder, but things were slowing down on the run-up to Christmas. Still, their profits were good, but without Chris putting cash into the business none of this would have been possible. They had come to an agreement, with Chris taking a bit extra each month until the money he'd put in was repaid.

  Danny felt as though he had come out of a dark tunnel, his brother's words last month finally breaking through the mire of guilt and self-loathing that had swamped him. Chris was right, Yvonne had stood by him and it was more than he deserved. He'd been a bastard, a sick bastard, and would never forgive himself for what happened to Pet, but he knew now that he had to pull himself together for Yvonne's sake. He hadn't wanted to be a father, felt he didn't deserve to be a father, but when his brothers had gone, leaving him and Yvonne to have a good talk, he couldn't fail to see how much having a baby meant to her.

  Reaching up, Danny placed rolls of wallpaper onto the rack. He had always wanted to be the boss, the big man, but now found himself happy just to work at the yard. He was also enjoying a burgeoning, easy relationship with his brothers. Along with that he felt more optimistic about the future. In the past, they had only just kept the yard ticking over, but now they could make a real go of it. Of course, they would never be rich, but they'd still enjoy a good living standard. It saddened him that the old man's dream of living in the country would never happen, but if they gave Mum an extra cut each month, he could have every comfort. Anyway, Danny consoled himself, his mother wouldn't want to live in a big house. She'd work herself to death keeping it clean, and with the old man to look after, she'd be happier in Drapers Alley.

  ‘Danny, have you got a minute?’ asked Bob.

  ‘Yeah, I'm coming,’ he called back, placing the last roll of wallpaper on the rack.

  ‘We've just had a call from Mr Larson. He's starting another project in the new year and wants to place an advance order. It's huge, Danny, and I'm not sure if we can fill it.’

  Chris came in, rubbing his hands. ‘It's bloody freezing out there.’

  ‘Chris, as I've just told Danny, we've got a bit of a problem. Larson wants to place a huge order.’

  ‘How's that a problem?’

  ‘I'm not sure if we can afford to fill it. Look,’ he said, pushing the scribbled order towards Chris.

  Chris whistled, his brows shooting up. ‘Blimey. But if we don't fill it he'll go elsewhere and I doubt we'd get another customer like him. He's the biggest builder in the area. All our other customers are small fry in comparison.’

  ‘Maybe we could try the bank – get a loan,’ Danny offered.

  ‘Yeah, good idea,’ Bob said.

  ‘You said he wants this order for the new year. We'd never get a loan through in time,’ Chris said. He chewed on his lower lip, eyes downcast, before saying, ‘There's only one thing for it. I'll just have to dib up the last of my savings.’

  ‘You've got more?’ Bob asked, voice high with surprise.

  ‘It'll clean me out, but yes.’

  Danny stared at Chris, hating the way his mind was working, but unable to quell his suspicions. Chris had already sunk a fair amount of money into the business, but was now offering more. Yes, he was a single man, but it was still going some to have that amount in savings. His mind went back to the morning they had found the empty cash box in the bathroom. He had blamed George, was sure it was George, but could remember how touchy Chris had been. No, no, it couldn't have been Chris. He was mad even to think it, yet was unable to stop himself from blurting out, ‘How did you manage to save so much money?’

  ‘It wasn't hard. Mum only takes my keep and, unlike you, I didn't keep my money in the cash box. Like Maurice, I put mine in the bank, earning a bit of interest.’

  ‘I didn't know that. You never said, nor did Dad, so I assumed you kept your savings in with ours.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it's just as well I didn't.’

  ‘When we were struggling to raise money for the Wimbledon operation, you didn't offer to put money in. Why do it now?’

  ‘Because this is legit – safe – and anyway, the yard is all we've got left. Why all the questions, Danny?’

  ‘I was just wondering, that's all.’

  It was Bob who broke the tension. ‘Well, all I can say is thanks, Chris. This order will well and truly put us on our feet, and I might just celebrate by buying Sue a bottle of her favourite perfume for Christmas. Now come on, let's grab ourselves a cup of tea while we've got the chance.’

  ‘Yeah, I'm all for that,’ Danny said, and, knowing now that his suspicions had been unfounded, he threw a placatory arm around Chris's shoulder. He'd been daft to think that Chris had stolen the money – it was George, it had to be. ‘Whose turn is it to make the brew?’

  ‘Yours,’ Chris said, walking through with him to the office.

  ‘Here, I've got a good one,’ Bob said whilst Danny filled the kettle.

  ‘Go on then, let's hear it,’ Chris said.

  ‘What do you call a camel with three humps?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Chris said, ‘but no doubt you'll tell us.’

  ‘Humphrey.’

  Danny couldn't help laughing. ‘You silly sod,’ he spluttered, ‘but at least it was clean for a change.’

  Chris laughed too, then said, ‘Here, Bob, I've got one for Sue, but don't worry, it's another clean one.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, go on then.’

  ‘How did the blonde burn her ear?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘The phone rang while she was ironing.’

  Laughter rang out in the office and Danny felt a surge of relief. Because of his stupid suspicions he had almost blown the good relationship he now enjoyed with his brothers. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

  Pet sat close to the fire. Her father was opposite, dozing again, yet she drew comfort from his presence. She knew her state of mind upset him, and tried her best to hide her feelings, but it was so hard.

  The front door opened, Yvonne bright-eyed as she walked in. ‘God, it's bitter out there. Christmas will be here in less than a week and I reckon it could be a white one.’

  Pet said nothing but listened to the conversation.

  ‘Don't talk to me about Christmas,’ her mother was saying. ‘It won't be the same, and with just the four of us for dinner it hardly seems worth the effort. Not only that, we still haven't heard from Maurice.’

  ‘I'm sure he'll be in touch soon,’ Yvonne consoled.

  ‘I hope you're right. Oh, Yvonne, Christmas was once such a happy time, but now there's nothing to celebrate.’

  ‘Don't cry,’ Yvonne pleaded. ‘We have got something to celebrate. I wasn't going to say anything until Christmas Day, but I can't keep it to myself any longer. Me and Danny, well, we're going to have a baby. We're so happy, Mum.’

  Pet felt as though all the blood had rushed to her face. She had kept her mouth shut, said nothing, bottling all the horror inside, but now images of the film she had been shown flashed in her mind. The little girl, the terror she had seen on her face. Chris had denied that they used children … but what if it was true?

  Pet felt bile rise in her throat. Danny was happy – how dare he be happy! Something snapped inside her mind, all the horror, all the hate rushing forward as she jumped to her feet. ‘No! No, you can't be having a baby. Danny isn't fit to be a father!’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Joan cried. ‘Don't be silly, Petula.’

  ‘Him – them – my brothers. They make porn films using children! They're sick. They're monsters.’

  ‘What? Yvonne, I think she's gone mad. I think she's lost her mind!’

  Pet was unaware that her father had awoken, finding that now she had started, she couldn't stop, the words pouring from her mouth. ‘They tried to take over Jack Garston's territory. He warned them but they wouldn't stop, so he took me and he made me watch their films and … and then
he raped me.’

  The bellow stopped Pet's outburst. Her father was making unholy sounds and she spun around, horrified that he had heard.

  ‘Dan, Dan, it's all right,’ Joan cried, rushing towards him, but then he flopped and her voice rose to a screech: ‘Get an ambulance! Yvonne, get help. I think he's had another stroke.’

  Pet stood frozen, but as Yvonne ran to the telephone, her mother turned, her eyes blazing as she spat, ‘Get out of my sight. You've caused this, you and your lies.’

  With a hand held over her mouth, Pet fled the room, running upstairs to throw herself onto the bed. Because of her big mouth – because she'd blurted it all out – her father was having another stroke.Oh, Dad, Dad, please be all right.

  Pet had no idea how long she lay there, her mind in torment, before she heard the ambulance men arriving. Terrified for her father, she ran back downstairs. They were working on him, but from the look on their faces, she feared it was too late. One shook his head, and Pet stood helpless as her mother fell to pieces, wailing, her hands tearing at her hair.

  She ran forward, trying to stay her hands. ‘Mum, Mum, don't.’

  She was pushed away as her mother turned to Yvonne, throwing herself into her arms. ‘He's gone, Yvonne. My Dan's dead.’

  The words hit Pet then like a blow to her stomach and, unable to bear it, she fled the room again. No! No, her father couldn't be dead! He just couldn't.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Joan cried as the ambulance men began to heave Dan onto a stretcher.

  ‘We're taking him to hospital.’

  Joan's face lit up. ‘He's alive! Oh God, I thought he was dead.’

  ‘I'm sorry, missus, he is, but he still needs to be seen by a doctor to ascertain the cause of death.’

  ‘But can't he stay here? I can get our own doctor.’

  ‘I'm afraid not. You see we were called out, so we have to follow through. You'll need to come with us because they'll want to talk to you about his medical history.’

  Joan became aware of Yvonne urging her into a coat, and as they walked outside she said something, but Joan found she couldn't reply. Her stomach was so twisted with grief that she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Along with the grief came guilt. There had been times when she'd be so overwhelmed with exhaustion that she had wished Dan hadn't survived the second stroke. Yet now that he was gone, she just wanted him back, her life empty and meaningless without him.