Born Evil

by Kimberley Chambers

  As Debbie tried to repair the damage, she was furious to see that he’d also drawn in crayon over her fresh white tablecloth. That was the final straw. Grabbing him by the arm, she dragged him kicking and screaming up the stairs, then locked him in his bedroom.

  ‘I want my daddy. I hate you!’ he shouted through the door.

  Determined not to let Charlie spoil her night, Debbie went into her bedroom to get changed. She’d bathed and washed her hair earlier, and all she needed was a bit of slap and a change of clothes. As she looked in the mirror, she smiled. She looked passable now. She’d tanned up well, the garden had seen to that. The recent dentistry work which had repaired her two front teeth, kindly paid for by Mickey, had added to her confidence no end. The only hang-up she still had was about her wonky nose, but she could live with that, if the rest of her features looked okay. Even her hair had grown back and been trimmed in a trendy layered cut.

  Realising that the shouting and swearing in Charlie’s room had stopped, she quietly opened the door and was relieved to find him sleeping peacefully. Curled up on top of the quilt in his Batman pyjamas, he looked almost angelic. It was hard to believe that this was the same child who spewed out vulgar words, morning, noon and night. Where he got them from was a mystery. He swore more now than when Billy had been around.

  Tiptoeing down the stairs, Debbie went to check on the shepherd’s pie.

  Steven Arthur Roberts tried on his third and final shirt. Realising he’d put on weight and couldn’t do up the buttons, he took it off and put on the first one again. It was almost three years since Steve had last worn a shirt and that had been for a funeral. Noticing he was running late, he grabbed the keys to his pick-up truck and steamed out of the door.

  Debbie re-laid the table and sat twiddling her fingers. Nerves getting the better of her, she headed to the fridge to pour herself a glass of wine. She didn’t really know why she felt the way she did. Big Steve had been a good mate for a few months now. At first she would never have believed that she could feel anything other than friendship for the hulking, muscular, shaven-headed sort who happened to be her brother’s best friend. But lately her feelings had changed. The more time she spent in Steve’s company, the more she liked him. For some reason or other, he made her feel safe, secure and womanly, and all of a sudden she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  ‘All right, Debs?’ Steve greeted her gruffly when he arrived on her doorstep. He handed her a cold bottle of Chardonnay.

  ‘You look nice, Steve. I’ve never seen you in a shirt before.’

  Embarrassed but quick witted, he replied, ‘I thought I’d make the effort. Anyway, you can talk … you’ve got a skirt on. I didn’t know you had legs!’

  Thrusting a beer at him, Debbie burst out laughing. ‘Get your arse in there and sit at the table, you tosser.’

  The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. Steve wolfed down his own dinner and finished off Debbie’s. The pair of them drank plenty and didn’t stop bantering and laughing, throughout the meal and afterwards.

  Charlie woke up just the once, but Debbie managed to settle him down again quickly.

  She then stuck on the video of An Officer and a Gentleman and Steve took the piss all the way through it. As the credits rolled he glanced at his watch. It was one in the morning and he knew he had to say something. It was now or never.

  ‘Better make a move, Debs,’ he said, picking up his keys.

  ‘All right. Thanks for coming round, I really enjoyed it,’ she replied, meaning every word.

  Steve hovered awkwardly by the door. He was sweating like a pig. He stuttered and stammered as he tried to find the right words. ‘Debs, can we go out? You know, on a proper date, like? I’ll take you somewhere really nice. If you don’t wanna go, I’ll understand and still be your mate.’

  Debbie looked at the gentle giant standing three feet away from her and felt nothing but admiration for him. ‘Of course I’ll come. I thought you’d never ask me, you silly sod.’

  Overjoyed by her response, but not used to being in this situation, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. It was the type of kiss you’d give to an aunt you didn’t like. He promised to ring her the next morning, then shot out of the door like a greyhound leaving the traps at Romford.

  Giggling at his shyness, Debbie poured herself the last drop of wine left in the bottle. She’d had a wonderful night and being asked out was the icing on the cake. Steve was such a nice guy and looked out for her like her brother always had. Billy she had found physically attractive, but with Steve it was different. Over the months he’d been coming round she’d fallen for him as a person. He was kind, generous and extremely funny. Debbie finished her drink and went happily to bed.

  Steve opened the front door and was relieved to see that Mickey wasn’t there. He wanted to think over all that had happened tonight and didn’t need his best pal winding him up.

  Unable to stop smiling, he cracked open a can of Foster’s and flicked through the TV channels. He was ecstatic that Debs had agreed to go on a date with him. He couldn’t wait to take her out properly and decided he would treat her like a queen; she deserved it, and he would never let her down.

  Steven Arthur Roberts, aka Big Steve, had been born in a tiny flat above a hardware shop along the Bethnal Green Road. The eldest of two boys, Steve had been extremely close to his mum, Maureen. Big Mo, as she was known, had brought up him and his brother on her own and he was devastated when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and cruelly taken from them. At sixteen years old, determined that his younger brother Lee would not fall into the hands of Social Services, Steve took up the reins. With the help of his Auntie Doll, he brought up his brother himself and did a bloody good job of it.

  Apart from his mum and Auntie Doll, Steve had had very little to do with women, though. At school he’d ignored the girls. He was more interested in making a few bob and boxing than in messing about with birds. After leaving school, he met a girl called Sandra in a pub one night. Forward, and as rough as old boots, Sandra seduced him and he lost his virginity to her. He was gutted when he found out she was the local bike and had only shagged him for a bet.

  Put off women for a long, long time after that, he was twenty-two when he met Julie. She was a lively one, a bit of a party girl with bleached blonde hair and a thing for Spandau Ballet. Steve treated her really well and spent all his hard-earned money on her. He worked hard, running a shoe stall for a geezer in Roman Road Market.

  Julie spent all her spare time on the stall with him. Steve thought it was because of her love for shoes as well as him, but unfortunately it turned out she was shagging the geezer opposite who had a stall selling discount handbags. Once he had found out the truth, Steve went to work the following Saturday morning and beat the object of her affections into next week. The market inspector and the police were called, and so was Steve’s guv’nor who had no choice but to sack him on the spot.

  Jobless and loveless, Steve decided women were nothing but fucking trouble. He started ducking and diving for a living, someone had to put food on the table for his little brother. It was around this time that he met Mickey, only a kid then himself and also working on the market. A couple of dodgy deals later, Mickey jacked in the Roman and the pair of them set up in business. With Steve’s brawn and Mickey’s brain, they worked well together and had never looked back since, apart from Mickey’s short spell inside. Steve was not involved in that. He hadn’t liked the set-up and had opted out, urging his pal to do the same, but Mickey being Mickey had learned the hard way.

  Finishing his beer, Steve turned the telly off and happily climbed the stairs. He was in love and it felt great. Being older and wiser now, he knew this time was different. Debbie was nothing like the Sandras and Julies of this world and he was determined, given a chance, to make her the happiest girl alive.

  Grinning, he jumped into his pit. Third time lucky, as the old saying goes. She was the one, he knew it. He could feel it in his bones.

&n
bsp; TWENTY

  STEVE RANG, AS promised, the next day and the big date was arranged for the following Saturday evening. June was overjoyed and booked herself in to baby-sit.

  That morning, Debbie jumped on a 103 bus and dragged her whingeing son to Romford where she intended to purchase a new outfit for her big night out. She hadn’t bought anything new for ages, partly because of money worries, and partly because she rarely went out and didn’t see the point in wasting what little spare cash she had on herself when she could spend it on Charlie instead.

  Her mum was living and breathing Debbie’s news, though, and slipped fifty quid into her bag, telling her to treat herself to something nice to wear for the big occasion.

  Shopping with Charlie was an ordeal, however. By the time she hit the third shop, Jane Norman, Debbie had had a gutful and wanted to get home.

  As she picked up a top, she heard a commotion behind her, turned around and found Charlie lying on the floor amongst a pile of clothes. Unfortunately, he’d swung on a rail and toppled the bloody thing over. Embarrassed, Debbie picked up the only thing she even remotely liked, an army-green safari dress. She apologised profusely to the young shop assistant, hurriedly paid for the item and left the shop red-faced, hoping against hope that the bloody thing fitted.

  Later on that evening, she was pleasantly surprised with the results. The dress clung to her and the style suited her to a tee. She’d already made her mind up that if it looked like shit, she’d wear her old faithful black dress and take the new one back on Monday morning. Thankfully, now she wouldn’t have to.

  To finish her outfit off, she chose thick black tights, long black boots, a black handbag and a cute little bolero. Debbie wasn’t used to wearing frocks, but this one was a bit of her. The accessories she’d chosen added femininity to it and she was more than happy with the result.

  Debbie headed downstairs to seek her mother’s approval. ‘Well, how do I look?’

  Tears of pride welled up in June’s eyes. ‘Oh, Debs, you look beautiful. I can’t believe we’ve finally got you in a bleeding dress.’

  Charlie turned away from the cartoon he was engrossed in and stared at his mother. He knew she was going out with that horrible man who kept coming round and was determined to put his little boot in. He chose his nasty voice and spoke extra loudly. ‘You look fat, Mummy. Pig, pig, pig,’ he chanted.

  Seeing the hurt expression in her daughter’s eyes, June took matters into her own hands. ‘Right, bath-time for you and then bed,’ she shouted to her grandson, wishing she could leave him alone in the bathroom and that the little bastard would drown.

  ‘Nooooo,’ screamed Charlie, lying face down on the floor while he punched and kicked the carpet.

  ‘Well, behave yourself then. One more word out that vulgar little mouth of yours and I’ll put you to bed for the night, understand?’

  Charlie might have been a lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them. He knew by the stern sound of his nan’s voice that she meant business.

  ‘Sorry, Nanny. Sorry, Mummy,’ he said with false remorse.

  Ignoring him, June turned to her daughter. ‘Let’s go into the kitchen. We’ll have a nice glass of wine and you can tell me all about you know who.’

  Charlie watched them both leave the room. ‘You know who’ meant ‘Big Fat Bastard’. Did they really suppose he was so dumb he didn’t know who they were talking about? He could read, write, understand and spell like a good ’un, and they’d have to be a damn’ sight cuter to get one up on him. Annoyed, he turned his attention back to Wacky Races. His mum had introduced him to the programme. It had been a favourite of hers when she was a little girl and she’d bought him all the videos. Charlie loved Dastardly and Muttley. They were his favourites, and always cheered him up when he felt angry with life.

  Steve sprayed himself with Kouros aftershave and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He’d shot up the Bethnal Green Road this morning and invested in a new suit and shirt. Pleased with his smarter image, he headed downstairs to the anticipated piss-taking from Mickey.

  ‘Well, well, well. If it ain’t Weight Watchers’ answer to Johnny Cash. You look like you’re going to a funeral, you cunt. What did ya buy black for?’

  ‘Fuck off, Mick,’ Steve said, half-laughing but annoyed at the same time.

  ‘Where you taking her then, the fucking Ritz?’ Mickey was surprised by the effort his pal had gone to, but secretly chuffed all the same.

  ‘I’m taking her up West. I’ve booked a nice little Italian and then I’ll take her to a couple of clubs I used to do the door on. We might even end up in Stringfellows – just go with the flow, like. What you doing? You going out yourself, Mick?’

  Mickey took a sip from his can of Foster’s. ‘By the looks of it, I might as well sit here and prepare me best man’s speech! No, seriously, I’ve having a night in. I feel absolutely shattered. I’m gonna order a Chinese later … takeaway that is, not a bird … and have a few cans, stuff me face and watch Match of the Day.’

  ‘Right, I’m off then,’ said Steve, picking up the keys to Mickey’s Merc.

  ‘You can’t take our Debs out in that monster of a truck. You’ll look like something out of the Dukes of fucking Hazzard,’ Mickey had pointed out earlier, before offering his friend the use of his car for the evening.

  Driving towards Debbie’s, Steve was as nervous as hell. His heart was beating ten to the dozen. He felt like a schoolboy about to have his first wank.

  ‘He’s here, Debs,’ June shouted excitedly when she heard the doorbell go.

  Debbie answered the door and was presented with the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen, let alone received. ‘Oh, Steve, they’re beautiful! You shouldn’t have. Come in a minute, so I can put them in water.’

  Steve shuffled into the hallway and stood awkwardly by the staircase.

  ‘Where you gone?’ Debbie shouted. ‘Don’t be shy, come and say hello to me mum.’

  After shaking June’s hand and giving her a polite kiss on the cheek, he chatted to her for about ten minutes, mainly about Mickey.

  Determined not to be forgotten, Charlie wandered into the kitchen.

  Steve ruffled his hair. ‘All right, son?’

  ‘You’re not my dad. Go away. I hate you,’ came the charming reply.

  June shoved him back into the lounge and smacked him before returning to apologise. ‘I’m so sorry, Steve. He’s a little shit, honestly.’ She lowered her voice and shut the kitchen door. ‘Between me and you, he’s got a lot of problems. Been through a bit too much, what with his father and all that.’

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. Mickey’s told me the score,’ Steve replied.

  Debbie opened the kitchen door. ‘Ready to make tracks?’

  ‘Don’t she look lovely, Steve? Beautiful, ain’t she?’ June said.

  ‘Mum, shut up, will you!’

  Squirming, Debbie shoved Steve out of the door before her mother started with her baby photos.

  ‘Sorry about that, Steve. She’s a bloody nightmare.’

  Starting up the engine, Steve smiled at her. ‘She’s right, though, you do look beautiful.’

  ‘Not you an’ all. Just shut up and drive, will ya?’ Debbie said, punching him playfully on the arm.

  The Italian restaurant that Steve had chosen was top drawer and the food was exquisite. With neither of them used to too much class, they had a right old laugh trying to work out what the dishes on the menu were. Eventually they included the waiter in their banter with Debbie joking, ‘We’re only used to pie, mash and liquor. Give us a hand to order, mate, eh?’

  After three bottles of wine and some of the best pasta he’d ever tasted, Steve’s nerves had gone and he was his normal, entertaining, piss-taking self.

  ‘Where we going next then?’ Debbie asked, as he shouted for the bill.

  ‘I used to do a lot of door work in this neck of the woods. I’ll take you to a couple of the clubs I used to work at. We’ll drop the motor off first, tho
ugh. There’s a pal of mine who lives five minutes round the corner. I’ll leave the car there, we’ll get a cab, and me and Mickey’ll pick the car up tomorrow.’

  Having never been for a night out in the West End before in her life, the clubs Steve took her to were a proper eye-opener for Debbie and she loved every minute of it. They met rich people, wacky people, tourists … it was a world she had only heard about before.

  When Steve left her for a few minutes to visit the Gents, Debbie sipped her cocktail and thought what a loser Billy had been. What she’d seen in him, she would never know if it turned round and smacked her in the face. Steve was different, a proper geezer. The way he’d been greeted in the three clubs they’d visited so far showed her just how respected and popular he was.

  ‘What you thinking about?’ Steve asked, rubbing his wet, freshly washed hands on her cheeks.

  ‘Just thinking about you and how different you are from Billy. He was such a wanker, Steve. What was I thinking, eh?’

  Planting a soft kiss on her forehead, Steve smiled at her. ‘Forget Billy boy. We all make mistakes, girl. Your past is your past. Me and you, we’re the future. Now, how do ya fancy Stringfellow’s?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ she cried, clapping her hands excitedly.

  As she stood in Stringfellow’s later, drinking yet another cocktail, Debbie thought she’d died and gone to heaven. Recognising two soap stars, a footballer and spotting a TV presenter, whom she couldn’t quite place, she couldn’t believe that she, Debbie Dawson, was standing here amongst these famous people. With Billy she’d never gone further than the Hope and Anchor in Barking. She couldn’t believe the change in her luck.

  When Peter Stringfellow headed their way, shook Steve’s hand and ordered them a drink on the house, she stood rooted to the spot, eyes like organ stops. As he walked away, she frantically nudged Steve. ‘How do you know Peter Stringfellow?’

  Taking a sip of his drink, Steve casually said, ‘Just through the doors and stuff. He knows Mickey as well. We’ve been here a few times over the years.’