Born Evil

by Kimberley Chambers

  Debbie was mortified. Billy had taught Charlie his foul and racist language, not her. Coon, Paki, cunt, wanker … she’d heard Billy laugh as he’d made his son repeat the words after him. Trouble was, with Charlie being so bloody intelligent, he knew exactly what the words meant and who they were aimed at. As she noticed the horrified expressions on faces around her, Debbie apologised and quickly left the queue. Sod the allowance, she didn’t need the money that much.

  ‘I want my toy,’ Charlie screamed as they headed home. He refused to walk, chucked himself to the ground, and in the end Debbie had to nigh on carry him over her shoulder.

  Reaching the tranquillity of her flat at last, Debbie locked her son in his room and turned the radio on to drown out the sound of his tantrum. Today had been awful, and to say she’d felt embarrassed was putting it mildly. What the hell had she done so bloody wrong as a mother? Stressed beyond belief, she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

  When his temper subsided, Charlie sat down on his bed. Tall for his age, his looks were a perfect match for his character. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, he had the smile of an angel and the eyes of a devil. As he thought of Mrs Jones, he smiled. Her face had been a picture when he’d called her an old bag. As for shouting out ‘Paki’ in the Post Office, that had been really fun. Giggling, he picked up his teddy and bounced up and down on his bed. As his laugher turned into hysterics, he leapt higher and higher.

  Debbie opened the fridge door and reached for one of Billy’s strong ciders. Her life at the moment was totally shit, an absolute nightmare, she dreaded waking up in the morning.

  Looking back now, part of her secretly wished she had listened to her mum and Peter. At the time, Debbie hadn’t thought she had much going for her before she’d met Billy when really she had. Now she was stuck here in a rut. A horrible, shitty rut that she’d probably never get out of.

  At times she still loved Billy, but deep down knew that he was no good for her. He was one of life’s losers: dossing about, selling a bit of gear, drinking his life away. She knew that if she stayed with him, she’d never have the nice car, spacious house and happy lifestyle that she craved. The area they lived in didn’t help either. It was a rundown, depressing dump, full of junkies, winos and lowlifes.

  Unfortunately for their situation, Billy had years ago managed to wangle a two-bedroomed flat out of the council by telling them he had kids in Scotland who would be coming to stay. Getting out of a one-bed was hard enough, but getting out of a two-bed was nigh on impossible, so they were stuck in the tower block from hell.

  Debbie had often wondered how life would be if only they could get a transfer to Dagenham. Surely if they got out of Barking and were given a nice little house with its own garden, Charlie would be better behaved? Maybe that was all her son needed, a backyard where he could play, run about and let off steam.

  Charlie’s behaviour was a massive cause for concern to Debbie. She knew it wasn’t her fault, everyone told her what a good little mum she was, but she had no control at all over him. Charlie did exactly what Charlie wanted, and some of the things he said and did would shock even the most open-minded person. None of her friends’ children were as badly behaved. They were normal kids. Mischievous but manageable. Trust her to give birth to a problem child.

  The only time her son seemed happy or even behaved to a certain extent was when Billy was about, and that made Debbie feel like an out and out failure. He spent no more than a couple of hours a day with his son, but had a bond and mutual understanding with him that she could only dream of. She was the one who spoiled Charlie, she knew that. Maybe that was why he seemed to have no respect for her, but bargaining with him, buying and giving him things, was the only way she could get him to do as he was told.

  Billy certainly hadn’t helped matters. She’d scold Charlie for swearing, and then Billy would be ecstatic when the child said the word ‘fuck’ or ‘wanker’ in front of him. He’d bounce him up and down on his knee, telling him what a top boy he was. It was no wonder really that Charlie was so badly behaved. He probably didn’t even know what was right and what was wrong.

  Billy kept on and on lately about having another kid. Debbie couldn’t think of anything worse. Still wary of his temper, she’d outwardly gone along with his plan of adding to their brood and agreed to come off the pill. Unbeknown to her partner, though, she was still taking her contraception daily, hiding the evidence in the lining of her handbag. The thought of another child put the fear of God into her. She couldn’t control the one she had and dreaded the thought of a second.

  What Billy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, she’d decided. She knew he wasn’t the type to march up to the fertility clinic to find out why she wasn’t falling. He was far too proud for that, and wanking into a jar certainly wouldn’t be his idea of a family day out.

  If Billy found out that she’d been lying, Debbie knew there would be murder. He still lost his temper on occasions and wasn’t averse to giving her the odd clump here and there. He had improved, though, and had never really lost it with her since the time she’d landed up in hospital. The only digs she’d received since then were due to her brother’s visits. Billy hated it when Mickey turned up, laden with gifts, and every one of his visits caused untold grief afterwards.

  Thankfully, over the last couple of months Mickey had been so busy he’d hardly had time to pop round. He had some new business venture on the go and was spending a lot of time flitting between France and Spain. Debbie never asked him what he was up to, but she’d guessed he was getting hold of cheap booze and fags. Every time he visited, he turned up with bundles of the stuff.

  With Mickey in and out of the country, the only contact Debbie had had with her mother recently was via the phone. This suited her down to the ground, as whenever June was due to visit Debbie flew into a flustered panic and would spend hours tidying the flat up before her mother arrived. Problem was, no matter how much she vacced, dusted and tried to make the place look presentable, within five minutes of arriving her mother always found fault with it. Many times she’d heard the words, ‘Debs, bring in a dustpan and brush, love, you forgot to do under the sofa,’ or, ‘Get us a cloth, Debbie love, your skirting needs a good wipe.’

  Charlie’s behaviour in front of his nan hadn’t exactly helped their relationship. Mickey didn’t seem to take much notice of her son’s naughtiness, but her mum was a different kettle of fish.

  ‘Hello, Charlie, does Nanny get a kiss?’ her mum would ask.

  ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks,’ Charlie would reply as he galloped around the room.

  More than once, June had pulled her aside about this. ‘I swear, Debs, that’s not normal behaviour. Whether you like it or not, I’m telling you, love, there is something terribly wrong with that child!’

  Luckily Mickey always came to her rescue. ‘He’s all right, Mum. He’s just a proper little boy. He’s got the Dawson spirit, that’s all.’

  ‘Mmm,’ replied June, with a disdainful look on her face.

  ‘Mummy!’

  Debbie’s thoughts of her family were interrupted by her son’s frantic scream. Charlie had bounced so high he’d gone head first into his wardrobe and was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  Shit, Debbie thought. She’d just been about to prepare dinner and do a few jobs. She knew from past experience that once Charlie demanded her attention, she got very little else done. Chucking the chicken and potatoes into the oven, she went into his room, picked him up and carried him into the lounge.

  ‘Are you gonna help Mummy cook Daddy’s dinner?’

  ‘Nooooo,’ Charlie screamed. ‘Wanna play games.’

  ‘Okay,’ Debbie said. The veg would have to wait until Billy got home. Luckily, it was no more than fifteen minutes later that she heard his key in the door.

  ‘Daddy!’ Charlie yelled as he ran to greet him.

  Debbie gave Billy a peck on the cheek, and told him to amuse their son while she sorted out the dinner. Cooking had
never been her thing until she’d moved in with Billy and she was still no Delia Smith. Somehow, though, she’d managed to teach herself the basics and now did a mean roast, which was Billy’s favourite.

  Billy tucked into his grub with a smile on his face. As he listened to the story of his son being excluded from nursery, he almost fell out of his seat with laughter. Hearing about Charlie showing the whole class his willy, Billy roared, put his plate on the carpet, sat his son on his knee and ruffled his hair. He opened a can of cider with one hand as he tickled his pride and joy with the other.

  ‘You’re such a top boy, Charlie. At least you went out in style, eh, wee man?’ Charlie laughed. ‘Do you wannae know a secret? Your daddy used to flash his willy at the teacher too.’

  Watching father and son giggling together on the sofa, Debbie was seriously fuming.

  ‘You’re meant to be telling him off, Billy, not encouraging him to be naughty. It’s not funny, you know, when he behaves like that. It’s not you who has to go through the embarrassment of it every day, is it?’

  ‘Willy, willy, willy,’ Charlie shouted.

  As he looked at Debbie’s serious expression, Billy’s laughter grew louder. He was well pissed by now. He had been in the boozer since lunchtime and consequently thought Charlie’s antics hilarious. In fact, he couldn’t wait to tell all the lads in the pub that his boy had flashed his cock at the teacher. How funny was that?

  Debbie picked up the dirty plates, stormed out into the kitchen and slammed the door behind her. No wonder her son had behaviour problems with a father who encouraged his every bit of wrongdoing. Why, oh why, hadn’t she listened to her mother and Peter and chosen a better partner to have kids with? It was at that precise moment that she knew she was gonna have to do something, and soon. The longer she stayed with Billy, the fewer chances in life her son was going to have.

  Going back to her mother’s wasn’t an option; Perfect Peter would strangle Charlie in five minutes flat. Deciding that her brother was her best bet, Debbie resolved to get Christmas and New Year out the way, then get in touch with Mickey and ask him to help her. Rubbing her tired eyes, she picked up the tea-towel and dried the last of the plates. She was nervous about her future, but convinced that she was making the right decision.

  Debbie wasn’t a religious girl. As she put the plates away in the cupboard, she had no idea that Him up above had already dealt her hand. Getting away from Billy wasn’t destined to be easy. Downright impossible, maybe. But easy … no fucking way!

  TEN

  DEBBIE WAS AWOKEN early on Christmas morning by an excited Charlie who’d decided to jump up and down on top of her.

  ‘Presents, Mum, presents!’ he screamed. Nudging Billy, so that he wouldn’t miss out, Debbie got out of bed, chucked on her old pink dressing gown, and shuffled out into the kitchen to make a coffee.

  Three o’clock she’d finally got to bed that morning. It had taken her till that time to wrap all of Charlie’s presents. Thirty-two they’d bought him in total and she’d had to hide the bloody things next door in Sharon’s. Her son was a nosy little sod and would have found them weeks ago if she hadn’t kept them well hidden away.

  Billy had brought over half of them home from the many pubs he frequented. Apparently, at this time of year the junkies and lowlifes were out thieving on a daily basis, and toy shops were an easy target for their thieving little hands. They would then go round the local pubs selling their hooky wares for cheap and cheerful prices. The likes of Billy would offer them puff, whizz or cash in exchange.

  Hearing a commotion in the front room, Debbie rushed in and was dismayed to see that Charlie had already opened half of his gifts and chucked them to one side.

  ‘Now stop it,’ she scolded him as he lobbed a football across the room, sending the Christmas tree flying. ‘I told you to wait for Mummy, you naughty boy. Let Daddy get out of bed before you open the rest.’

  Ten minutes later, a bleary-eyed Billy sat on the sofa in his boxer shorts, feeling as rough as old boots. He’d intended on having an early one last night, so he’d be nice and fresh for his fatherly duties today, but he’d ended up doing the exact opposite and hadn’t rolled home till four o’clock this morning.

  As soon as the final presents were opened, Billy thanked Debbie for the jumper and jeans she’d bought him, slung his clothes on, and announced he was popping down to Andy’s to get her presents and another big one he’d brought for Charlie last night.

  He returned over an hour later and handed her a fake Cartier watch, a bottle of hooky perfume and a stolen M&S dressing gown and slippers that were both far too big. For Charlie there was a large plastic car. Billy looked as proud as a peacock as he watched his boy pedalling around, knocking into all and sundry on his way.

  ‘That’s a bit big for in here, Billy,’ Debbie said, horrified by the monstrous-looking thing with which her son was gleefully bashing up the flat.

  Billy put his arms around her. ‘Lighten up, Debs, it’s Christmas and he loves it. Nae matter about the damage, the furniture’s old anyway. Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, but I felt so sorry for Andy sitting downstairs on his own that I invited him up for dinner. The poor bastard has nae family nearby so I said he could spend the day with us.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Debbie said as she marched out into the kitchen to peel the potatoes and veg.

  Andy was pleasant enough but permanently stoned and spent most of his days in his own little trance. He wasn’t particularly the type of influence she wanted around her precious son. Charlie had enough problems of his own without having any more. Deciding to keep her thoughts to herself rather than start World War Three, Debbie lost herself in daydreams of her brand new life. She would have a nice house with a big garden. Charlie would behave impeccably, at home and at school. Maybe she would get him a dog, a cute little puppy for him to play with and love …

  Her daydreams were interrupted by a knock at the door. She wasn’t expecting any visitors so she guessed it was either Andy arriving or one of the girls from next-door. Looking through the peephole, she could see no one.

  ‘Surprise!’ shouted her brother as she opened the door. Debbie’s heart turned over. Her Christmas was destined to be shit as it was, without this. Laden with two big sacks full of presents, Mickey followed his sister into the kitchen and accepted her offer of a can of lager.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t get round before, sis, but I’ve been so busy. You know how it is.’

  Debbie was a bundle of nerves as she dragged her brother into the living room. He usually turned up when Billy wasn’t about and she knew that there was no love lost between them.

  Mickey grinned. ‘All right, Billy, how you doing?’

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ Billy answered politely. Inside he was seething. He hated Mickey with a passion. Just hearing that cocksure voice wound him up practically to the point of no return.

  ‘What have you brought me, Uncle Mickey?’ Charlie yelled, bouncing up and down with excitement as he spotted the two big sacks in the hallway.

  Mickey smiled falsely at the child that he’d tried, but was unable, to like. He was however determined to carry on his role as doting uncle, for his sister’s sake if no one else’s. ‘By the looks of it, Father Christmas has brought you enough as it is,’ he said, winding the kid up. ‘Maybe I should take my presents home with me and give them to some other poor little boy who hasn’t got any?’

  ‘Nooooo!’ Charlie screamed at the top of his voice. ‘My presents, I want them!’

  Billy sat with a fixed smile while he watched his son open the expensive presents his shit-cunt of an uncle had bought him. Charlie leapt up and down with pure delight at his latest haul.

  A toy garage full of cars; a robot that walked about at the switch of a button; a cowboy outfit which looked like the real thing; and finally an electronic train set with stations, people, warning signs … the whole fucking lot! Unable to watch any more, Billy was saved by a knock at the door and Andy’s arrival. He dragged his pal
into the kitchen, handed him a can of Strongbow and downed his own in record time. He was furious, really wild, and needed to calm himself down.

  Opening the kitchen window, he nodded at Andy to shut the door, requested one of his joints and leaned out of the window for a smoke, hoping to mellow his temper. He felt undermined once again, like he was the weak man in his own fucking house. He’d brought his son so many presents, but nothing could compete with the top-of-the-range stuff that Mickey fucking Big Potatoes had turned up with.

  Billy flicked the last of the joint out of the window and took a deep breath before walking back into the living room. Debbie was calling him and he didn’t want to mug himself off, that would really give old Mickey boy something to get his teeth into. ‘What’s up?’ he asked.

  ‘Look,’ she said, handing him a wrapped up box. ‘Mickey’s bought you a present.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Billy said, ungratefully.

  ‘Well, open it then. Look at what he got me,’ Debbie said, her eyes shining.

  Billy glanced at the expensive gold cross hanging around her neck from a thick gold chain.

  ‘Aye, that’s nice,’ he muttered as he tried to get the wrapping off his own present. Billy took one look at the gold hoop earrings inside and quickly shut the box. He knew without a doubt that Mickey was taking the complete and utter piss out of him, and was unable to control himself. ‘Earrings? Bird’s fucking earrings! Do I look like some kind of shit-stabber or what?’

  Mickey gave him a cocky smirk. ‘Well, I knew you wore them,’ he said with assumed innocence, pointing at the two sleepers in Billy’s right ear, one of which had a cross hanging from it.

  ‘Not like these I fucking don’t!’ Throwing the box on the floor in temper, Billy grabbed Andy by the arm. ‘We’re off to the pub,’ he said as he stormed out the door.