Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3)

by Sherratt, Mel

  ‘Hey, do you mind!’ Gina glared at him before knocking Rachel’s feet off the coffee table. Then she squeezed herself into the space between her and John.

  ‘Jeez, Mum,’ Rachel complained. ‘You’re too fat to sit on here.’

  ‘Oy!’ Gina felt her skin burning up. But when John joined in with the laughter, she smiled then, glancing surreptitiously at him. She knew it was an act to keep everyone from guessing what he really thought.

  ‘You like me just the way I am, John, don’t you?’ she couldn’t help asking.

  ‘Erm, yeah, course I do,’ said John.

  Pete and Rachel burst into raucous laughter.

  Pete checked his watch, stood up and stretched. ‘I’m off to bed now my belly’s full. I need to be up early in the morning. Got some work on at the builder’s yard. You up for it, John?’

  John sighed. Even knowing Caren would give him hell didn’t stop him nodding. They needed the money.

  ‘Need to be gone by eight.’

  John looked aghast. ‘Eight? I’d better be off.’ He stood up but had to steady himself on the arm of the settee. ‘Bloody hell, Bradley. How many have we had?’

  Pete sniggered. ‘Dunno, I lost count.’

  Rachel stretched her arms above her head. ‘I’m off too. Do you need a hand upstairs, Dad?’

  ‘Cheeky cow.’ Pete grinned. Then he looked at John. ‘Why don’t you crash down there tonight? You look a bit green.’

  ‘I’ll be fine in a minute.’ John held his head in his hands like it was going to fall off.

  ‘Sit there for a while. Gina’ll look after you, won’t you, bird?’

  ‘Sure.’ Gina tried to sound nonchalant. This was turning out to be perfect after all: John faking his head hurting was genius.

  John stood up once the other two had gone. ‘I need some water.’

  Gina followed him through to the kitchen.

  John steadied himself on a cupboard door as he looked for a glass. He staggered back before opening another one.

  ‘Here, use this.’ Gina handed him a mug.

  He belched noisily and grinned like a naughty schoolboy. ‘Ta.’

  The sound of water gushing rang in her ears. It spurted everywhere as John tried to put the mug underneath the tap. ‘Fuck!’

  Gina turned it off quickly. John looked down at his soaked T-shirt. He laughed; she began to laugh with him. Daringly, she took hold of the hem and shrugged the garment up and over his head. John laughed some more. Gina was a little put out then: he was more wasted than Pete. And the only way she could get to kiss him was if he leaned down. Five foot nothing against nearly six foot didn’t quite work out. Still, an opportunity was an opportunity.

  She reached for his belt buckle, undoing it quickly. ‘I think these need to come down too,’ she said, ignoring the fact that John’s eyes were closing and he was leaning on the worktop as if his legs were going to give way.

  She slipped her hand in and around him. Leaning forward as she began to stroke him to life, she dared to kiss his chest. Gentle butterfly kisses.

  John gave out a groan. At long last, he began to come to life. Gina glanced up and saw him throw back his head. She laughed inwardly: at least he could get it hard enough after all that booze.

  ‘Oh, that’s good, Caz,’ he said.

  And the magic was spoilt.

  Gina’s shoulders drooped and she stepped away from him. ‘I’m not Caren,’ she snapped.

  John’s eyes opened. For a moment, he looked dazed as he struggled to figure out his whereabouts. Then he saw Gina.

  ‘You have got to be joking!’

  ‘It’s no joke.’

  John went to speak again but he couldn’t find the words. Gina smiled as he left in a hurry. She had him exactly where she wanted him. Although she recognised the shock on his face, she knew it was good for him. He’d sleep with her soon, she was certain of it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning, Ruth awoke from her nap as the door knocker banged down heavily. She checked the time: ten fifteen. After taking the boys to school, she’d slept on the settee, last night’s hangover taking its toll. She sat up but didn’t go to the door; she wasn’t in the mood for visitors – and it would more than likely be that Josie Mellor again. She’d tried to get in twice more since the last time she’d left a card. At this rate, Ruth would have a full deck soon.

  ‘Ruthie?’ A voice came through the letterbox. ‘Ruthie, it’s me.’

  Martin!

  Ruth staggered to her feet and rushed to the door. ‘Martin!’ She flung her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you.’

  ‘Good to see you too. Can I come in?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll make coffee.’

  ‘Great, although I’d prefer something stronger.’

  She smiled at him. It was then that she saw what he had with him.

  Martin stepped into the hall, chucking down the black bag full of his belongings. He shrugged off his holdall, leaving that to fall too. ‘I’ve got nowhere to go, babe. It’s only for a few days.’

  Ruth frowned. ‘You can’t stay here. It’s not –’

  ‘Relax, I’ll be as quiet as a mouse. No one will know that I’m here.’

  ‘But –’

  Martin leaned forward and put a finger over her lips. ‘Put the kettle on, there’s a good girl.’

  As bold as brass, he took the stairs two at a time and disappeared. Ruth sighed and made her way through to the kitchen. By the time she’d boiled the kettle, Martin literally had his feet underneath the table.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked him.

  ‘Got evicted. Couldn’t manage without you.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Stay here for a couple of nights until I get settled somewhere else.’

  ‘You’ll have to leave then.’

  Martin sighed. ‘Chill out, Ruth. I won’t be here for long.’

  ‘And you’ll have to sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I’ll shack up with you until I find another bed.’

  ‘You’ll do no such bloody thing!’

  Martin reached across for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. ‘You’ve become quite the brave lady since we split up.’

  Ruth pulled her hand away. She stared at him, wariness clear in her eyes. Martin hadn’t even tidied up his hair that morning. His clothes looked as though he’d been wearing them for a couple of days, his facial hair saying the same thing. In his heyday, he’d been a looker. Now, nearing forty, his dark hair was receding rapidly, his teeth decaying slowly. Prominent crow’s feet were visible even when he didn’t smile; eyes wide and beady like an owl.

  Martin reached for her other hand. This one, she didn’t move away. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to fight him right now. And maybe he’d stop her from self-harming, or from hurting one of the boys. Suddenly, she could see the positive to having him back for a while – providing he hadn’t bought Tracy Tanner along with him.

  She smiled. ‘Something stronger now?’

  Once she’d settled Martin in, Ruth realised she’d have to go to the shops. She needed food: she couldn’t remember the last time she’d cooked something that hadn’t come from a packet. Martin had given her twenty pounds – it wouldn’t go far after she’d bought him the cigarettes and lager he’d asked for as well, but it would get them something decent to eat.

  Deep in thought, she hadn’t been prepared to bump into Gina.

  ‘Oy! You!’ Gina screeched as she spotted her. ‘I want a word with you.’

  Ruth put her head down and continued, walking past another neighbour in their garden.

  But Gina wasn’t going to be ignored. She let the gate bang shut as she rushed over to face her. ‘You want to watch your step, ignoring me like that.’ She grabbed Ruth’s arm. ‘I might lose my temper.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘My mum said she saw you hit your little lad last week.’

  ‘I – I
– we all do it,’ she replied. ‘He was obviously being naughty.’

  ‘But he’s too little to stick up for himself. You shouldn’t hit him.’

  ‘I didn’t hit him hard,’ Ruth decided to say, unsure of exactly what Gina had seen her doing.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t –’

  ‘Surely your children had a smack when they were naughty.’

  ‘This isn’t about me.’ Gina folded her arms. ‘This is about you.’

  ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than have a go at people?’ someone shouted from behind them.

  Gina swivelled on the spot and came face to face with Caren. ‘Mind your own business,’ she snapped. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘Do you get a kick out of bullying people?’

  ‘I’m not a bully.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  Gina took a step nearer to Caren. ‘Say anything else and I’ll ram my fist into your face.’

  Caren sighed. ‘That’s you all over, isn’t it? You and your family. Threatening behaviour is the coward’s way out.’

  ‘Quit while you’re ahead,’ she warned.

  ‘Or what? If you hit me, beat me to a pulp even, I’ll be here tomorrow. If you hit me again, I’ll still be around.’ She took a step nearer to Gina, hoping to intimidate her with height as well as words. ‘I knew you were a nasty piece of work when we were at school, and that I could understand because we were sixteen and didn’t really know any better. But we’re in our thirties now; you should try growing up a little.’

  Gina felt her skin reddening and she raised her fist. ‘Bitch!’ she seethed.

  As the two women glared at each other, Ruth took the opportunity to continue on her journey. When Gina noticed, she shouted to her. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. You might have got away this time, but you’ll keep.’

  Caren sighed. ‘For God’s sake, will you listen to yourself? You sound like one of those wayward daughters of yours – they’re always fighting from what I hear around the estate.’

  ‘Leave my daughters out of this!’

  ‘Well, it’s obvious where they get their traits from. You’re hardly a role model – nor that husband of yours.’

  Gina narrowed her eyes. ‘You ought to get your own house in order first before you start knocking mine. You and John aren’t so perfect.’

  ‘Are we going to do tit for tat over each other’s family now?’ Caren folded her arms and leaned on the garden wall. ‘Come on, then. Bring it on.’

  ‘I’m not bringing my family into this discussion.’

  ‘Why not? You’re happy to slag off everyone else – like Ruth who’s doing her best – but no one can say anything about you. Doesn’t seem fair to me, that.’

  ‘If you want to bring families into it, you haven’t slept with my husband so I think I win that round.’

  Caren faked raucous laughter. ‘Like I’d want to do that.’

  ‘For all your cleverness, you are a little thick at times. You don’t understand, do you?’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘Listen to what I said.’ Gina proceeded to pronounce her words like she was speaking to a toddler. ‘You may not have slept with my husband but I’ve slept with yours.’

  Gina had Caren’s full attention then – and a fair few neighbours who had come out to see what was going on too.

  ‘Tuesday night, pub night,’ she continued. ‘John came home with Pete. I cooked them a fry up. Pete was smashed and went off to his bed. And your fella and me got down and dirty on the kitchen floor.’

  Caren’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You’re having a laugh. No one in their right mind would crawl around on your kitchen floor; they don’t know what they’d catch. Can you see the pattern on your tiles anymore?’

  Gina played her trump card. ‘When did he have his appendix out? That scar on his groin looks fairly old to me.’

  Caren visibly paled. How would she know about John’s scar? Her mind told her it was something as simple as it being discussed in a conversation: her heart had them shagging away on the kitchen floor.

  Suddenly she lurched forward, hand raised high in readiness to slap Gina good and hard. But Gina blocked her. She grabbed her wrist and held on to it tightly.

  ‘Tut tut. Fighting isn’t the answer to everything, Mrs Williams.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ said Caren.

  Gina shook her head. ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘You are! You must be. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do –’

  ‘Ask him.’ Gina knew she was in the prime position. Caren wouldn’t ask him: John would deny it anyway. But it would put doubt into her mind and her cosy life.

  ‘Ask him,’ she repeated.

  Once in the safety of her home, Caren stood in the middle of the living room and gulped back tears. Don’t let her get to you, she told herself. She’s lying: John wouldn’t do that. She searched out her mobile and rung him.

  ‘Is it true?’ she snapped.

  ‘Is what true?’

  ‘You and Gina Bradley?’

  A pause.

  ‘I can’t talk to you now.’ Another pause. ‘Not here.’

  ‘Why? Is that stupid fucker Pete there with you?’

  ‘Yeah, can we do this later? I’m in the middle of plastering a wall and I need to –’

  Caren disconnected the call.

  No.

  No!

  She thought back to last week, when Pete had taken John out after he’d molested her in the garden. Were he and Gina in this together somehow? She knew it sounded irrational but surely there couldn’t be any truth in it?

  Calming down quickly, Caren wiped at her cheeks where a few tears had fallen. That was it: Pete and Gina were doing their best to get back at her. John wouldn’t sleep with Gina. Moving here had tested them to the limits over the past few weeks but, apart from Pete’s visit, everything had been okay for a few days. Yes, she knew John was working on the side, but the cash was good, and it wouldn’t be forever. He had an interview for a job next week. If he got that, all their prayers would be answered and Pete would be out of their hair, unable to lead John astray – at least in theory anyway.

  No, she would ignore them; their sort hated that.

  Her mobile phone beeped the arrival of a text message. It was from John.

  Its not wot u think. I was drunk, she tricked me.

  Caren stared at the tiny display screen. She sat up abruptly and read it again.

  Its not wot u think. I was drunk, she tricked me.

  She frowned.

  Its not wot u think. I was drunk, she tricked me.

  She gasped. Gina was telling the truth.

  Gina lit a cigarette as soon as she set foot in her kitchen. She sat at the table, busily puffing away, pleased with her little outburst – for all of a few minutes before doubt began to creep in.

  What would happen if Caren said anything to John? Gina would have to deny it, even though half the neighbours had heard her say it. One of them was bound to say something to Pete down at The Butcher’s Arms. Nothing stayed a secret on Stanley Avenue. She should know; she was usually the one spreading the rumours. Then again, maybe people would hold their tongue. The Bradley family were not to be messed with. Everyone knew that.

  Gina sighed loudly. Sometimes she could be so stupid. Pete would kill her if he thought for a moment it was true – he could stop John from coming over and where would that leave her? And if Caren did start a row with John, Gina would have some lying to do. She’d have to think about it this afternoon, get her story right or she could end up with more than a red face. More likely she’d get a backhander from Pete.

  But the one thing that riled her most was that she should have saved the information for later. Once he’d slept with her a couple of times, the story would have been more convincing, more hurtful too. It would have wiped that smug look off Caren’s face. Everyone would know that Miss Fucking Perfect couldn’t keep her man satisfied.
r />   Gina sighed again and took another drag of her cigarette, a long drag that made her cough loudly. Now he’d never sleep with her and she’d come so close.

  From the minute she’d scuttled off down Stanley Avenue with Gina Bradley screeching obscenities after her, Ruth had dreaded returning home. With every footstep back, she became more and more agitated, feeling the stickiness on her recently heeled scar oozing blood as she dug her nails in over and over.

  She practically sprinted past Gina’s house, expecting another torrent of abuse. But all was quiet, on both sides of the road. Wondering if the woman from number twenty-four had given Gina Bradley more than she’d bargained for, she relaxed a little.

  Martin was lying on the settee in the living room watching the television when she put down her shopping on the kitchen table.

  ‘Make us a brew, would you?’ he shouted through to her. ‘I’m parched.’

  And I’m knackered after lugging your lager home, thought Ruth. Still, it would be good to have someone around to talk to; someone to belong to. There had been no mention of an apology, why he’d done what he’d done. Neither had there been any explanation about Tracy Tanner. She wondered who had finished the affair: it was obvious that something had happened.

  ‘Where’s that tea?’ Martin shouted through.

  ‘Coming up.’ Ruth frowned. How had she thought she could do this? Now she had three of them to cater for and she didn’t feel capable of looking after herself.

  The kettle switched off. Ruth popped tea bags into two mugs and continued to put the shopping away.

  ‘Where are you getting the tea from? China?’ Martin appeared in the doorway.

  ‘It’s nearly ready.’ Ruth opened the fridge. ‘Just getting the milk.’

  He leered at her. ‘Bloody hell, Ruth, you’ve got a right pair when you bend down.’

  Ruth peered down at her chest. The neckline of her jumper wasn’t showing that much.

  Martin came behind and put an arm around her waist. He pressed himself to her. ‘Can you feel that? You’ve made me hard already.’ He kissed her neck. ‘Might as well not waste it.’