'Listen, I need a favour. I overslept round Jade's last night and I'm only just on me way home now. If her indoors is awake, I'm gonna tell her we've had trouble with some motors. I'll say we had a bit of grief with some geezers over in Swanley. If she don't believe me, I'll get her to ring you.'
'All right, no problem,' came the croaky reply. 'Laters, yeah.'
Terry knew his best pal would never let him down. They had been in many sticky situations and tight corners over the twenty years that they had known one another and had stuck together through thick and thin. The only thing which worried Terry was that just lately Davey Boy's cocaine habit had started spiralling out of control. Instead of having a few lines or a gram here and there like he used to, Dave had started shoving it up his hooter, morning, noon and night. Then of course the paranoia and rucks would follow, including one about a month ago with a gang of dudes on the Isle of Dogs. Terry had ended up with four stitches in the side of his head, trying to sort out Davey's mess.
Terry liked the odd line here and there, but only used it sporadically. If something started to take hold on you, in his eyes, it was time to stop. He knew it wouldn't be long before he had to sit Davey Boy down and have a serious chat with him. Terry sighed as he flicked the ignition back to life. Weaving his way out of the two cars that had parked either side of him, he headed back towards Emerson Park and the wildebeest.
Putting the front-door key into the lock, he quietly turned it anticlockwise. So far so good, he thought to himself, as he sneaked in. After disposing of his shoes on the mat, he practised his ballet dancing impression as he tiptoed down the hallway in his black socks. It was beginning to get light now, so luckily he could see where he was going without falling arse over tit.
Seeing the living-room door ajar, he made that his first port of call. He knew that since Michelle's drink problem had escalated out of control, she rarely made it upstairs any more. He normally either found her flopped across the kitchen table, or lying comatose on their white leather sofa. He peeped through the crack of the door and like a fortune-teller predicting a tarot card reading, there she was, sprawled out like a beached whale recently washed ashore.
'The state of that and the price of fish,' he said quietly to himself. When they had first got it together, Michelle had been beautiful. Now, he found it hard to believe what had become of the girl he'd fallen in love with and married.
Michelle was out for the count. Lying flat on her back, the button and zip of her jeans were wide open, with mounds of fat bulging over the top. Terry inwardly chuckled. The thing that amused him most was the fact that apart from doing five gym classes a week, she was an honorary member of both Weight Watchers and Slimming World. It seemed the more she tried to diet and keep fit, the fatter she became. Hazarding a guess, he'd say she'd put on at least two stone in the last year alone. He'd often told her that she should go to the gym and her slimming classes and ask for her fucking money back. She must be the only woman in Britain whose before and after photos looked like they'd been switched the wrong way round.
Suddenly stirring, Michelle woke up and spotted him. Within seconds, she'd leapt up like a banshee.
'You no-good fucking bastard. Who is she? Tell me who she is! I'll fucking kill her.'
'Calm down, it's not what you think. I've had business to deal with.'
Terry grabbed hold of her wrists to stop her lashing out at him and tried to pacify her. Chelle was having none of it. She could tell when he was lying, always had been able to.
'You lying cunt.' Running into the kitchen like a woman possessed, she grabbed the biggest knife she could find.
Billie Jo had been sound asleep until the commotion downstairs started. Her parents had always rowed but just lately their arguments were becoming worse and more frequent.
'Put the knife down, Chelle, don't be so stupid,' she heard her dad say.
'Don't call me stupid, Terry. If I find out you've been cheating on me, I'll cut your fucking bollocks off. I swear on my life, I'll do a Mrs Bobbitt on you.'
Billie ran down the stairs at the mention of the word knife and was horrified to see her mum pointing a big one at her dad. 'Mum, no please, don't hurt Daddy,' she screamed.
Momentarily, her daughter's presence was enough to throw Michelle off balance. Grabbing the knife, Terry shoved her against the wall. He rang Davey Mullins and handed Michelle the phone. 'Ask him where we was. Go on, you fucking nutter, ask him.'
Comforting his hysterical daughter in his strong arms, Terry gently led her up the stairs. 'Ssh, stop crying now, Billie. It's all over now, babe. It was only a silly misunderstanding. Now come on, sweetheart, we're going out later, me and you. You don't wanna be all red-eyed now, do you?'
Once she had spoken to Davey Mullins, Chelle regained her senses. If Billie hadn't come downstairs, she wasn't sure what would've happened. The way she'd lost it, she'd probably have plunged the knife straight through Terry. She'd certainly felt capable of it. Unsteadily, she made her way back into the living room. The thought of him leaving her was too distressing to even contemplate. She still loved him deep down, always had and always would, and the thought of him being with another woman made her turn into someone she didn't recognise. The jealousy she had felt earlier was indescribable. She'd felt a sense of panic, as if her heart was being pulled out of her chest. She wasn't totally stupid. She knew he didn't love her any more. She also knew that if it wasn't for Billie Jo, he'd have fucked off long ago. That's why she drank so much, to blot out the truth.
It had been oh-so-different in the beginning. An only child, Chelle had been spoilt rotten and used to getting everything she wanted from a very early age. She was twenty years old when she'd met Terry in a local pub and she'd known instantly that he was the man for her. Handsome, wealthy and definitely a face, she'd made a play for him and got him. It hadn't been difficult back then. She'd possessed the looks, charm and acting ability to snare whoever she wished.
Within a year, Chelle's façade had started to slip. Desperate not to lose Terry, she'd purposely fallen pregnant. Billie Jo being born was her trump card. The child's birth enabled her to hang on to the man she loved and the lifestyle she craved. If he'd left her then or now, she would be nothing, a no-mark. She couldn't and wouldn't let that happen. She'd kill him before she allowed him to walk out that front door.
Deciding a change of tactic was needed, she pondered over what to do next. She'd been playing Mrs Nice Wife recently and it had been getting her nowhere. A different game-plan had to be put into play.
Still too drunk to think straight, she guzzled the remainder of the wine, before sobbing in a crumpled heap on the sofa. If he was going to get rid of her, trade her in for some newer model, she was determined to go out with the biggest bang possible.
Terry made sure Billie was OK and then got into bed in one of the spare rooms. He could hear Michelle crying downstairs. She'd played the drama queen act for so long during their marriage that she was now an expert at it.
How the fuck has my life ended up like this? he thought silently, as he drifted back to his past. His childhood had been awful. The eldest of three boys, he'd been born into poverty. His father was a drunken brute, who had resented him from the day he was born. His mother was a typical downtrodden Irishwoman who did her best to avoid her husband's violent temper.
Terry's salvation had been starting work. At thirteen, he had got a part-time job at a car lot in Romford for a guy named Benny Bones. Being a streetwise kid, Terry was a fast learner and within months had mastered the trade off by heart. Benny was a cockney through and through. He knew every song, saying and villain that had ever come out of the East End of London. Terry loved his accent, stories and slang. He'd never felt Irish and having never really lived there, he classed himself as an Englishman. Irishmen reminded him too much of his drunken father.
Within a year of working for him, Terry had Benny's repertoire off to a tee, so much so that customers used to think they were father and son. In Terry
's mind they were. Benny was the father he'd never really had.
It was around this time that Terry arrived home one night to see his mother lying on the floor, covered in blood, with her eyeball hanging out of its socket. Dragging his father out of the armchair, Terry proceeded to knock seven colours of shit out of him. All the years of pent-up frustration of being bullied by the bastard were finally released. Ex-boxer or no ex-boxer, a drunken ageing Paddy was no match for the up and coming Terry, whose parting sentence was to tell his father that if he ever touched his mother again, he would come back and finish him off. Terry walked out of the house that night and never went back.
Terry moved in with his boss Benny and over the next year or two used his knowledge to take the car trade by storm. Having saved enough money for a deposit, he then bought himself a little flat situated just off Seven Kings High Road. Enjoying his first taste of independence and throwing himself into his work, he had little or no time to bother with women. Witnessing his parents' fucked-up relationship had put him off for life, and apart from a few one-night stands, he couldn't be bothered.
He was thirty years old when he had the misfortune of meeting Chelle. His mother had warned him about girls like her, but he'd still been silly enough to let her dig her claws in and then trap him. The unplanned pregnancy had been a shock to him. Determined to do the right thing, he'd married her. Within months, he realised he'd dropped a clanger. A terrible wife equalled an awful mother, but determined his daughter would have a stable childhood, he battled on.
Now he was at the point of no return. Gone was the sweet, pretty brunette he'd first met. In its place was a money-orientated, nasty fat bitch with a mouth like a sewer.
'What a poxy night,' he muttered to himself, as he snuggled up under the quilt. He was wrecked now, worn out by it all, and couldn't wait to get some shut-eye.
Part of him felt guilty. If he hadn't come home so late, the row would never have happened. He wasn't bothered about Chelle, she could go and fuck herself. Billie was his only concern and he could tell his daughter had been shaken up by the scene that she'd witnessed earlier. Deciding to make it up to her by spoiling her rotten, he nodded off into a deep, welcome sleep.
Hearing her dad snoring in the next room, Billie wept quietly. The rows between her parents she'd learned to live with, she'd had to, but the events of earlier had nigh on scared her to death. The thought of what might have happened if she hadn't heard the commotion and come down the stairs was too traumatic for her to even think about. Her home life was bad enough, surely it couldn't get any worse. Consoling herself with the thought that it was probably just a one-off, she willed herself to sleep. She had a busy day ahead and didn't want it spoilt by being overtired.
As Billie nodded off to sleep, she was totally unaware of the run of bad luck that was catapulting towards her.
This morning's episode had been the start of it, a taster.
Unfortunately for Billie, the worst was yet to come.
TWO
Michelle woke up on the sofa to be greeted by the hangover from hell. As the events of earlier that day came flooding back, she cursed herself for letting fly at Terry. She was now a hundred per cent sure that he was having an affair. She was his wife for God's sake and women just know these things.
The smell of perfume on his shirts. The fact he left his mobile locked safely in his glove box. She'd even gone as far as sifting through his dirty underwear, checking for stains and that unmistakable smell of sex. She might be a lot of things but silly wasn't one of them. Give him enough rope and he'll hang himself, that had always been her motto, and now she'd gone and blown it. After the earlier showdown he'd be more careful than ever at covering his tracks. Jackanory would have been proud of Davey Mullins' version of events. There were more holes in his story than a pair of fishnet stockings. Swanley my arse, she thought as she gingerly lifted herself off the sofa. Her head was pounding and was making her feel sick. Deciding that the only thing to perk her up would be the good old-fashioned hair of the dog, she headed towards the kitchen. An Alka Seltzer and two vinos later, she started to feel like her old self. Her headache had gone, her hands had stopped shaking and she felt ready to face another day. Hearing footsteps, she froze for a second, thinking it was him. Once she realised it was only Billie, she breathed a sigh of relief.
'Oh it's you. I thought it was your dad.'
Plonking herself down at the kitchen table, Billie came straight to the point. 'Is it all right if I stay at Tiffany's tonight? It's her dad's birthday and they've invited me to go for a meal with them.'
Billie knew the answer would be yes before she'd even finished the question. Her mum didn't give a shit where she went, what she did or who she was with. If she said she was going out with Fred and Rosemary West for a meal, her mother would have OK'd it. Her dad was a different kettle of fish. He wanted to know where she was going, who she was with, spoke personally to all of her friends' parents to check arrangements, and made sure she had a lift to and fro.
'Of course you can stay at Tiff 's.' Michelle breathed a sigh of relief. It was her best friend Hazel's birthday and she'd arranged to go out later with her and the rest of the girls from the gym. The fact she now didn't have to rush back suited her down to the ground, let Sleeping Beauty upstairs have a taste of his own medicine. See if he liked it, if she stayed out all night. Surreptitiously retrieving the wine glass that she'd shoved behind the microwave when Billie had first entered the kitchen, Chelle turned to face her daughter.
'I'm going upstairs to get ready now, Bill. You have a nice time tonight.'
'Thanks,' Billie said, watching her mother swan out of the kitchen.
Trying on outfits galore, then chucking them on the floor in a temper as she realised they no longer fitted, Michelle felt like screaming. Making as much noise as she could to try and wake the no-good bastard sleeping in the next room, she opted for her old faithful black pinstriped suit. Looking in the mirror did nothing to enchant her mood. She instantly decided she was rejoining Weight Watchers first thing Monday morning.
Once he heard the front door slam and his wife's Mercedes pull off the drive, Terry jumped out of bed. He'd been pretending to be asleep for the last hour, even acting out a couple of snores. Hearing his old woman getting ready, he'd guessed she was off out somewhere and rather than facing a Spanish Inquisition, he'd decided to stay put until she'd left. Casually he wandered downstairs.
'Morning, Princess.' Putting his big arms around his daughter, he pulled her close and held her tightly. Billie hugged him back and looked up at him.
'Where was you last night, Dad? Why did you stay out all night? You might have known Mum would kick off.'
'Oh, don't you start on me as well.' Terry felt guilty as he looked at his daughter's worried face. Deciding to bluff it, he carried on. 'I'm a businessman, Bill. I had some shit to sort out. Now forget last night, eh, what do you wanna do this afternoon?'
Billie didn't really feel like doing anything. She'd had very little sleep and was yet to recover from the shock of her mum trying to stab her dad. Seeing her dad's hurt expression at her lack of enthusiasm, she put on her best false smile. 'I wouldn't mind going to Lakeside to get a new outfit for tonight.'
Returning her smile with a false one of his own, Terry told her to get her arse in gear and be ready to go in ten minutes. 'Bollocks,' he muttered, as soon as she was out of earshot. He'd rather go to the dentist and have his teeth pulled out than spend a Saturday afternoon being dragged around Lakey. Four hours later and four hundred quid lighter, Terry loaded Billie's bags onto the back seat and started up the engine. His little princess hadn't been her usual bubbly self today and he was a bit worried about her.
'You all right, babe?'
'Yes fine, Dad,' she lied.
Terry decided she must still have the hump over the silly row they'd had earlier. Standing by the doorway of Top Shop while Billie mooched inside, he'd noticed two boyband lookalikes, mid-twenties, clocking his daughter's ar
se and making suggestive comments about her. Just as he was about to go over to the bench where they were sitting, drag them up by their scrawny little necks and teach them a lesson, Billie had seen what was going on. Screaming at him, she'd given him what for.
'If you show me up in the middle of Lakeside, I swear I'll never talk to you again. I'm not a kid any more, Dad. I'm a young woman and boys are bound to look at me from time to time. I'd have to be a minger if they didn't. You're so overprotective with me, Dad, you make me sick at times.'
Agreeing with her just to keep the peace, Terry had casually slung his arm round her shoulder, giving the two lads in question his most evil look as he passed them. He had what he called a hidden camera lodged inside his brain. Not one to ever forget a face, he debated whether to return to Lakeside alone, hunt down the two little fuckers responsible for the argument and show them exactly whose daughter they were dealing with. Calming himself down, he decided against it. They were only kids after all.
'Oi, waiter, bring us another bottle of champagne over here pronto, will ya?' Proudly perched on her chair in the Chigwell restaurant, Michelle was now enjoying herself immensely. With her voice increasing in volume by the second, she was the life and soul of the party.
Rushing over to the table from hell, Antonio shakily topped up the glasses and quickly made an exit. Four years he'd been working as a waiter in this restaurant and he absolutely hated the sight of this particular group of women. They normally came in on the first Saturday of every month and he'd had such a gutful of them over the years that he'd managed to wangle that particular Saturday as his day off. Now here they were, as bold as brass, on the second Saturday of the month. That was just his bloody luck.
Unable to cope with their drunken, abusive behaviour, Antonio feigned a migraine and swiftly left the restaurant.
'Bye, Princess, have a nice time tonight.' Terry smiled as he watched his daughter walk up her best friend's driveway. Once he made sure that the door was opened and she was safely inside, he sped off to pick up Davey Mullins.
Billie Jo Page 2
