Born Evil

by Kimberley Chambers

  Johnny Archibald was a pisshead, a puffhead, and one of life’s losers. In fact, he was the ideal person to help Billy return to his old ways. Within weeks of moving in together, they had both been fired from their job for throwing sickies and turning up late. Billy then decided to go back to what he knew best: selling drugs. He and Johnny pooled their money together and started punting their trade around the roughest pubs in their local area.

  Everything had been hunky-dory until last night when they’d accidentally trodden on somebody else’s stamping ground and all hell had broken loose. Hence the reason why Billy was now locked up in a cell in Glasgow town centre, nervously awaiting his fate.

  Because of his near-death experience at Mickey’s hands, he had had no choice other than to jump bail for the assault on Debbie. It would all come out now, and he wouldn’t see the light of day for a while, that was for sure. He was bound to be stuck here on remand until his case came to court. He’d given a false name last night, but the old bill were having none of it. Deciding to be a man and get it over with, he shouted for one of the officers. Within forty-eight hours of revealing his true identity, Billy McDaid was back in Pentonville, slopping out buckets of piss and shit.

  The relationship between Debbie and Steve progressed rapidly after their first couple of dates. The pair of them had both been nervous about making love for the first time, and had ended up fumbling around like inexperienced teenagers. After losing their initial awkwardness, however, they were now thoroughly enjoying themselves. Steve was so much gentler with Debbie than Billy had ever been. He handled her like a priceless piece of china, whereas Billy had just shoved it in and pumped away. There had been no foreplay of any kind with him, just a quick wham, bam, thank you, mam, generally when he was inebriated or stoned out of his brain. Steve was kind and considerate, in bed and out, and had shown Debbie what true love could really be like.

  The only downside to their relationship was Charlie’s attitude to it. Debbie knew that her son hated her new man. Steve had tried with Charlie, he really had. He’d taken them on as a package, and apart from their lone nights out, when her mum baby-sat, tried to include Charlie in everything they did. At first Debbie had hoped that having a man with Steve’s qualities around would bring her son out of himself, but it had turned out to have the opposite effect. Charlie was now a forlorn figure, lost in his own little world, and as hard as she tried, Debbie wasn’t able to reach him at all. He still played up something chronic when she was alone with him, but when Steve was around he retreated to his bedroom and refused to come out. He talked constantly to an imaginary friend named Timmy, which Debbie found quite alarming. Many a time she’d listened outside his bedroom door and heard snippets of the conversations he was having with his make-believe pal. They included talk of death, torturing animals, and references to sex which were way too disturbing and advanced for a child of his age.

  Charlie’s schooling was another problem. Three times she’d been called in to have a word with his headmistress about her son’s unusual and disruptive behaviour. Now he’d been issued with a final warning.

  ‘We’ll give Charlie one more chance, but after that, you’ll have to find him a different school. Academically he’s very promising, but his behaviour is appalling and he refuses to abide by our rules. His sexual awareness has also become a problem. His bad language and constant innuendos have begun to affect the other children. Thanks to your son, “suck my cock” has become a catchphrase in his class. This kind of conduct is not acceptable, Miss Dawson, and I would advise you to have a very serious talk with Charlie.’

  Not for the first time in her life, Debbie shuffled out of her son’s school, red-faced and truly ashamed.

  Sitting in a rough and ready café along the A13, Steve tucked into his fried breakfast, enjoying every mouthful. As he dunked bread into a yolk, he asked Mickey the question that had been uppermost in his mind.

  ‘Mick, you know I’m taking Debs away this weekend for her birthday … well, I need your opinion on something. I’m thinking of getting a ring and proposing to her. Do you think she’d be up for it or do you think I’m jumping the gun?’

  Mickey gulped down his tea to stop himself from choking. ‘Fuck me! You don’t hang about, do you, mate?’

  Steve laid his knife and fork on the plate and stared intently at his friend. ‘I love her so much, Mick, and things have moved really fast. We get on so well, why waste time? She’s the one for me, I know that and I don’t even care if we have a long engagement. I just wanna put a ring on her finger so I can say that she’s mine, if you know what I mean.’

  Mickey lit up a cigarette and thought seriously about the situation. He wasn’t much of a one for relationships himself. He always had a bird in tow, but he chopped and changed ’em like the weather. Birds were aggro, and business came first with Mickey. That was why he was still single. He had the looks and the charm to pull any girl he wanted, but the dolly birds he tended to go for soon got the pox of him when they realised he was too busy to spend much time with them.

  ‘I dunno what to say to you, Steve. You know what I’m like … relationships just come and go with me and I don’t give a shit about any of ’em. You and Debbie are different, you’ve got something special. I mean, you’re not stupid. If you feel the time’s right, then go for it. I’d love to have you as a brother-in-law, you know that, and I couldn’t pick a better geezer for our Debs.’

  Shaking his best pal’s hand, Steve sat at the table as proud as a peacock. He’d got the okay from Mickey and that meant the world to him. Now it was all down to Debs accepting his proposal. Deciding there was no time like the present, he asked Mickey for one more favour.

  ‘I ain’t got a clue about rings and stuff. Come with us, Mick, and help me choose a nice one.’

  The weekend away to celebrate Debbie’s birthday was a surprise for her and Steve didn’t tell her where they were going until they’d reached the airport. She’d thought they were going somewhere in England, but he’d got hold of her passport on the quiet and sorted out a nice trip to Marbella. A pal of his and Mickey’s owned a villa on the outskirts of Puerto Banus, and because he owed them more than a few favours had lent it to Steve in the hope of wiping the slate clean.

  Steve had played his cards right by inviting Charlie along. He’d even had June sort out a passport for the child, but Charlie had flatly refused the offer of a holiday.

  ‘Nooooo, nooooo, nooooo,’ he’d screamed. ‘Wanna stay here with Timmy. Hate you, hate you, hate you.’

  Thankful that June had agreed to baby-sit, Debbie decided to forget about her troublesome son, even if it was only for one weekend, and enjoy a carefree birthday trip.

  As they arrived at the airport she was full of excitement. She’d only ever been abroad once before, for a week in Menorca with her mum and Peter. Running around in the duty free section, she was like a kid in a sweet shop. ‘Look, Steve. This is well cheap, clock this!’

  ‘You pick out whatever you want,’ he insisted.

  Not used to such kindness but not wanting to take advantage of his good nature, Debbie chose her purchases sparingly, picking only a bottle of perfume, a lipstick and a book.

  ‘It that all you want?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘I don’t need anything else,’ she said honestly.

  The flight was on time and Debbie loved every moment of being on the plane. She spent the first hour gabbling away to Steve and, when he dozed off, read the Jackie Collins novel she’d purchased at the airport.

  On arrival, Debbie drank in everything. The midday humidity. The happy faces of holidaymakers. The nice Spanish man at Customs. Being with Steve made Debbie feel alive. Without having to worry about Charlie, she guiltily enjoyed the freedom she hadn’t felt for a long time. Steve led her to a taxi and spent the entire journey giving her a history lesson.

  ‘Look to your right, Debs. See that massive place over there? That belonged to Charlie Wilson. He was one of the Great Train Robbers.’


  Buzzing with excitement, she craned her neck.

  ‘And see that big white gaff on that hill … that’s Freddie’s. He was into gold bullion. He’s a mate of your brother’s. In fact, I think Mickey’s been out here and stayed with him once or twice.’

  Debbie was astounded. The properties were amazing and she couldn’t believe that her brother and Steve knew all these people. It was a different world from her previous life with Billy. ‘Wow, this is fantastic!’ she said as she stepped into their villa.

  ‘Ain’t bad, is it, girl?’ Steve grunted. Inwardly he was as pleased as punch that the place had turned out to be the nuts, but he wasn’t one to show it.

  ‘You are the best boyfriend I could ever wish for,’ Debbie screamed, as she dragged him towards their own private swimming pool.

  Smiling to himself, Steve patted the ring that was hidden in his trouser pocket. Monday was her birthday. He planned to present her with it late on Sunday evening.

  The weekend passed in a bubble of happiness. They ate, drank, made love, and barely left the villa.

  On the Sunday morning, Steve told Debbie that he was popping out for a stroll, to see a man about a dog.

  ‘I’ll come with ya,’ Debbie said, chucking a sarong over her bikini bottoms.

  ‘You can’t, Birthday Girl. I need to sort out your present.’

  The evening that followed was one that Debbie would never forget as long as she lived. Steve walked into the living area that night wearing grey slacks and a crisp white shirt. He then presented her with a beautiful white gold and diamond bracelet. After telling her to put her glad rags on, he admired her new black dress, took her hand and escorted her to the most exquisite little restaurant she’d ever seen in the whole of her life.

  The bistro specialised in seafood and was set within yards of the beach. Debbie felt like she’d died and gone to heaven as she sipped her fruity wine and watched the waves lap against the shore.

  ‘You order for me, Steve,’ she said, passing the menu back to him. She didn’t have a clue about seafood and didn’t want to make herself look an idiot. Taking the initiative, he opted for the lobster. He knew Debbie wasn’t used to places like this and to be honest neither was he, but he’d had a damn’ sight more experience of them than she had.

  Debbie polished off the last of the sautéed potatoes. After wiping her mouth with a serviette, she smiled at Steve. ‘Christ, that was lovely. It was the best fish and chips I’ve ever had.’

  Steve laughed at her uneducated comment. She was a girl after his own heart. A night at the dogs and a curry was all she was used to, and he bloody well loved her for it.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ Debbie asked, annoyed.

  He was saved from answering by the singer starting his session. ‘“Teardrops keep falling fwom my Spanish eyes …”’ he crooned.

  Steve took Debbie’s hand and dragged her on to the tiny, dimly lit dance floor. ‘I don’t arf love you, girl,’ he mumbled as he wrapped her in his strong arms.

  The rest of the evening passed in a romantic blur as the pair of them danced, drank and sang. At five to twelve, Steve nodded to the waiter to bring out the surprise birthday cake.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, pleeze?’

  Picking up his guitar, Fernando the singer walked towards Debbie and Steve.

  Juan the headwaiter walked out of the kitchen followed by the rest of the staff.

  ‘“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday, dear Debbie, Happy Birthday to you,”’ they all sang in broken English.

  As the cake came towards the table, Steve got off his chair and awkwardly dropped down on one knee.

  ‘What you lost?’ Debbie asked innocently, thinking he’d dropped something under the table.

  Then her eyes fell on the white iced cake.

  The words, ‘Debbie will you marry me?’ leaped out at her in bright green icing. She was speechless. This was totally unexpected and felt almost surreal.

  Luckily Fernando, who loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice, was only too happy to take control of matters.

  ‘Now ve have a special wequest for Debbie. Her boyfwiend Steph vant to ask her vewwy special question.’

  Even though he’d had a skinful, Steve was as nervous as a kitten coming face to face with a Rottweiler. Shaking, he took the mike with one hand while pulling the velvet box out of his pocket with the other. He glanced around. Everyone in the restaurant was staring at him, customers, staff, there was even a stray dog outside that seemed to be looking his way … Suddenly the enormity of the situation hit him and he wished he had done things more privately. Talk about make yourself look a prick, he thought, as he reached for his wine and downed it in one. At last, he found his voice.

  ‘Debs, I’m not the best with words so I’ll keep this short and sweet. Since I’ve met you, girl, you’ve made me the happiest man alive and I love you so much. I know we ain’t been together long, but I also know, without a doubt, that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Will ya marry me, babe?’

  Thrusting the diamond ring towards her, he stared intently into her eyes. The staff, the customers, the singer, even the stray dog, sat rooted to the spot. Would she? Wouldn’t she? The whole restaurant waited in silence.

  TWENTY-THREE

  DEBBIE WASN’T USED to being the centre of attention, and wished the ground would promptly open up and swallow her. For an unconfident person, she couldn’t think of a worse way to be proposed to.

  But as she looked into Steve’s pleading eyes, she forgot about the gawping audience and smiled. She couldn’t be angry with him, not after all the effort he’d gone to.

  ‘The answer is yes, you silly sod. Of course I’ll marry ya.’

  Her reply seemed to take forever to come, and then the whole restaurant erupted into a mixture of cheers and clapping.

  ‘Champagne on ze house,’ shouted an excited Juan.

  Pleased to have his mike back in his hand, Fernando dedicated the first song to Debbie and Steph. ‘Love is in ze air, everyvere I look awound,’ he sang, absolutely murdering the John Paul Young classic.

  Steve wasn’t happy. Twice now the Spanish cunt had said his name wrong.

  ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you when I get you back to the villa,’ Debbie said through gritted teeth as she dragged him onto the dance floor.

  ‘What have I done?’ Steve shrugged his shoulders, a picture of innocence.

  Waving at an elderly couple who were mouthing ‘Congratulations’ in her direction, Debbie answered him like a ventriloquist.

  ‘I’ve never felt such a prat in my whole life. We’re surrounded by people we don’t know from Adam, yet because of you, ya tosser, we’re the evening’s entertainment!’

  Knowing that she wasn’t really annoyed with him, Steve planted a smacker on her lips and carried on the banter.

  ‘I had to do something special. I wanted to give you a night to remember.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve certainly done that, dear. I’ll never forget it till the day I die, you wanker!’

  As the last verse of ‘Love is in ze air’ faded out, Debbie grabbed Steve by the hand and pulled him back to their table, thankful that the showcase was finally over.

  The rest of the evening passed in a happy blur before the pair of them finally left the restaurant about three. Both of them were very drunk and Steve had major trouble opening the door to the villa.

  ‘Fucking wonderful, Steph,’ Debbie joked, plonking herself down on the steps to wait. ‘As if it ain’t bad enough you’ve made a complete show out of me tonight, I’m now gonna sit here freezing me tits off.’

  On about the ninth attempt, the door opened and Steve fell arse up over the threshold. Debbie nearly wet herself, she was laughing so much. Steve picked himself up, picked her up, carried her into the bedroom and flung her down on the luxurious bed. The pair of them were out for the count within minutes, sleeping fully clothed in one another’s arms.

&
nbsp; The next morning Debbie woke up to the hangover from hell. ‘I’m never mixing my drinks again,’ she mumbled as she retched into the toilet.

  ‘You said that after our first date, you fucking lush,’ Steve told her, jokingly.

  After showering and changing Debbie felt slightly better and agreed to go to breakfast with her fiancé. As she watched him tuck into a full English, though, she immediately felt queasy again.

  ‘I hope I’m gonna be all right on the flight. What time we gotta leave?’ she asked, turning her chair around slightly. The grease swimming around on his plate was doing her no favours at all.

  ‘The flight’s at three, I’ve called the cab for twelve,’ Steve replied, squeezing her hand. He wasn’t surprised she felt rough, considering the mixture they’d consumed the previous night. Wine, champagne, shots, Bailey’s … they’d gone through the card. Even he had felt like shit this morning.

  The flight home was slightly delayed, and when they finally got on the plane Debbie slept for the whole journey with her head on Steve’s shoulder. Mickey had taken them to the airport and was waiting patiently for them now in the Arrivals hall.

  ‘Well, how did it go?’ he asked.

  On hearing their good news, he hugged the pair of them. He was just as excited about it as they were.

  By the time they hit the M25, Debbie felt a lot better and had livened up. ‘Honestly Mick, I was so embarrassed at the time, but it turned out to be an hilarious night. The singer in there was such a wanker. “To ze happy couple,” he kept saying. He couldn’t say Steve’s name properly, kept calling him Steph, and then he wouldn’t stop singing songs for us. Steve kept taking glasses of champagne up to the stage for him, then about two o’clock I heard him singing “My Way” and all of a sudden he fell off the stage and had to be helped up by one of the waiters. Oh, Mick, it was so funny, honestly. I wish you’d been there, you’d have slaughtered him.’

  Mickey nearly pissed himself laughing. Taking his eyes off the road, he glanced round at Steve. ‘All right, Steph. That’s them man boobs, ya cunt. I told you to lose some fucking weight.’