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  BORN BAD

  Heather Burnside

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About Born Bad

  Brother and sister Peter and Adele Robinson never stood a chance. Dragged up by an alcoholic, violent father, and a weak, beaten mother, their childhood in Manchester only prepared them for a life of crime and struggle. But Adele is determined to break the mould. She studies hard at school and, inspired by her beloved grandmother Joyce, she finally makes a successful life for herself on her own.

  Peter is not so lucky. Getting more and more immersed in the murky world of crime and gangs, his close bonds with Adele gradually loosen until they look set to break altogether.

  But old habits die hard, and one devastating night, Adele is forced to confront her violent past. Dragged back into her worst nightmares, there’s only one person she can turn to when her life is on the line – her brother Peter. After all, blood is thicker than water…

  Contents

  Welcome Page

  About Born Bad

  Dedication

  Prologue – 1994

  Part One – 1973-1974

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Part Two – 1979-1980

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Part Three – 1983-1984

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Acknowledgements

  About Heather Burnside

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  For Ellen,

  who would have been so proud

  Prologue – 1994

  Steve Anthony, clinical psychologist, looked at the attractive young woman sitting across from him. Despite her attempts at composure, she bore all the signs of stress. Her face was flushed and she continually dabbed at it with the tissue that she clasped in her sweat-drenched hand. With her other hand she was twisting her forefinger around a lock of her dark, glossy hair.

  He could see that the tissue was becoming sodden so he offered her a fresh one and passed her the wastepaper basket. She uncrossed her legs, which she had been clenching tightly, while she dropped the tissue into the bin and grabbed another.

  ‘So, what do you think prompted this disagreement?’ he asked.

  The disagreement had, in fact, been a major row with her partner, but it was part of Steve’s job to play it down. He didn’t want to add to her stress. Instead, he wanted her to analyse the row calmly so she could perhaps find a way to handle similar situations better in the future.

  Adele was visiting him as a private patient and he respected her decision to seek help. In many aspects of her life she was a successful young lady. That was obvious from her appearance. The clothing she wore and the way she presented herself showed that she was an intelligent, sophisticated and savvy woman.

  But there was one area of her life in which she wasn’t successful. It concerned her ability to maintain loving relationships. Instead of ignoring the problem however, she had chosen to confront it, and had therefore sought his help.

  ‘It started over something trivial,’ she said. ‘I found some hairs in my brush. I knew they weren’t mine because they were blonde. There was only one person it could have been so I asked him. He’d used it without my permission and I got really annoyed because he’d gone behind my back.’

  ‘I see. Do you think you were annoyed because he used something of yours or because he did it behind your back?’

  ‘Both. But mainly because he used my brush.’

  Despite his thoughts about this, Steve was careful in the wording of his next question. ‘Would you have let him use it if he had asked?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Really? I’m surprised,’ Steve replied, keeping his voice deliberately calm so his response wouldn’t sound like a challenge.

  He allowed Adele to digest his words for a few moments, remaining silent so she would feel pressed to respond.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong; I’m not selfish,’ she added, when she realised the implications of her sharp retort. ‘It’s just that I look after my things. It might sound daft but I always wanted a nice brush, comb and mirror set. It’s silver-plated. I saved for ages to buy it, and I don’t really like anyone touching it.’

  Steve noted the awkward expression on her face and knew that the importance she attached to the brush was nothing to do with selfishness.

  ‘So, what happened next?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, he started going on about me being selfish, then about my jealousy, and then things just escalated.’

  With a little probing, Adele went on to describe what had happened during this latest argument with her boyfriend. Steve was convinced that her inability to maintain relationships was rooted in her difficult childhood. Her reaction concerning the hairbrush, and other facts she had divulged in a previous session, hinted at this.

  In order to move forward, Steve would have to explore what would have been a traumatic period in Adele’s life. But she was ready to go to the next stage, and Steve had already decided that this was where they would venture during today’s session.

  When they had finished discussing the row with her boyfriend, Steve said, ‘Adele, I would like to find out a bit more about your family relationships. Let’s start with your brother, as you’ve referred to him quite a bit during our sessions. Did you have a good relationship with him when you were a child?’

  ‘At first, but then things changed. When we were kids we got on most of the time. He was always up to mischief though and some of the things he did were bad, even as a young kid. But I tried to look out for him, being his older sister.’

  ‘OK, do you know what caused the change in your relationship with your brother?’

  Adele sighed heavily and rolled her eyes, ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘OK, well perhaps you’d like to start at the beginning. I’d like you to take me back to your childhood and tell me about your relationship with Peter when you were children. Think about when things may have started to go wrong between you, and try to focus on that. Then we can gradually move onto the present.’

  Adele took a sip of water followed by a deep breath to compose herself. Then, hesitantly at first, but gaining momentum as the memories resurfaced, she began to recount her troubled childhood.

  Part One – 1973-1974

  Chapter 1

  As soon as Adele walked into the back garden of her home in t
he Manchester suburbs, she was horrified by the sight that met her. Among the overgrown bushes and weed-filled borders was an assortment of cracked and mossy flagstones that acted as a path. There, her ten-year-old brother, Peter, stood facing her. He was wielding a large twig which he had stripped bare. For him it now represented a whip; flexible enough to slash rapidly through the air, yet strong enough to inflict damage.

  He chuckled as he repeatedly thrashed his whip onto the paving slabs in front of him. His target was several squirming caterpillars of differing sizes and various shades of green and brown, which he had lined up. Adele could see their tiny bodies writhing as savage blows from the hand-made weapon assailed them, causing their oozing entrails to spill out onto the path.

  ‘Stop it!’ she yelled.

  Peter paused briefly to reply, ‘They’re only insects.’ He laughed and lashed the whip once more.

  ‘I don’t care. It’s cruel and disgusting,’ Adele shouted, becoming annoyed.

  ‘You’re stupid, you are. I’m not doing any harm. Go and mither someone else, Miss Goody-goody.’ His impish laughter had now disappeared, transforming his face into an unwelcoming sneer.

  ‘At least I’m not like you!’ said Adele.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked, staring at Adele while the caterpillars wriggled around on the paving slabs.

  Adele could sense his change in tone but, despite her unease, she refused to give way. ‘You’re always up to no good, you are. You’re gonna get in trouble again if you don’t watch it.’

  ‘Oh shut up, you crybaby! Go and play with your dolls.’ And ignoring her pleas, he went back to meting out his vicious punishment.

  Adele felt her stomach lurch at the sickening sight and cried out to him, ‘Peter, stop it; it’s horrible!’

  Unfortunately, her cries soon reached the ears of their father who sped through the back door, pushing her aside. She noticed that he was still in his shabby vest, and knew that he hadn’t been out of bed long, even though it was midday. He was a menacing sight. The scruffy vest emphasised his bulky muscles, and his rugged features were set in a hard expression. She knew that he wouldn’t take kindly to having his Sunday disturbed.

  ‘What the bleedin’ hell’s going on here?’ he demanded.

  Peter dropped the whip and looked up guiltily at his father. His jaw hung loose but he failed to utter any words of defence.

  Their father didn’t need a reply, however, as his eyes took in the revolting sight. In one stride, he was on Peter, grabbing at his shirt collar and thrusting upwards until his feet left the ground.

  ‘You dirty little get!’ he yelled. ‘Look at the bleedin’ state of that path.’ He released his hold, allowing Peter to drop shakily to the ground. Then, prodding his forefinger into Peter’s face, he ordered, ‘Get it cleaned up… NOW!’

  Peter hung his head in shame and approached the house in search of something with which to clean up the mess.

  ‘Where the bleedin’ hell do you think you’re going?’ roared his father. ‘I told you to clean them up.’

  ‘I’m going for some newspaper to wipe them up with,’ Peter replied.

  ‘No you’re bleedin’ not! You weren’t bothered about newspaper when you put the bleedin’ things there, so why bother now? You can get them shifted with yer hands. And I want every bit cleared up, including that slimy shit that’s come out of ’em. That’ll teach you, you dirty little bastard!’

  He turned and pushed Adele aside again as he trundled back indoors. Just before stepping into the house, he turned his head back and added, ‘And you can get your bleedin’ hands washed when you’ve finished as well.’

  For a few moments, Adele stood still, her eyes fixed on Peter, awaiting his reaction.

  ‘What you looking at, you bitch?’ he muttered. ‘It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t started carrying on, he wouldn’t have known.’ As he murmured these few words, he made a show of wiping up the slimy mess with his fingers, as though deliberately trying to antagonise her.

  Adele couldn’t take any more. She ran into the house retching, and headed straight for her bedroom where she threw herself onto the bed. But the tears didn’t come. At eleven years of age, she’d suppressed her tears so often that it had become an automatic defence mechanism that helped her get through life.

  Adele felt bad. She shouldn’t have carried on so much at Peter, then her father wouldn’t have known. It was bound to annoy him, especially on a Sunday. He was always in a mood on a Sunday. In fact, he was always in a mood any day, but Sundays were particularly bad. It was only recently, as she was growing up, that Adele realised why; it was because of the skinful he had had on a Saturday night. All he wanted to do on Sundays was sleep it off. Then he would sit and pore through the papers whilst their mother, Shirley, made a pretence of cleaning the house, and cooked the traditional Sunday dinner in an effort to please him.

  This was usually the first attempt at cleaning that Shirley had made all week. She spent most of her days gossiping with the neighbours, sleeping or watching TV. Her evenings were spent in a similar fashion, except for the few nights a week in which she tore herself away from the street to go and play bingo.

  Adele got up off the bed and drifted towards the window. She avoided the sight of Peter but looked out instead at the other houses, watching people go about their business. Allowing her mind to drift, she contemplated, for the umpteenth time, her miserable existence.

  Lately she was realising that although this way of life was commonplace within these four walls, there was a different world out there. Talking to her friends had made her understand that her circumstances weren’t the norm, and other parents were different from her own. Other children went out with their families to the cinema or country parks. They had holidays at the seaside and expensive presents for their birthdays.

  The only advantage she had over other children was her freedom. Her father was hardly ever home, so that gave her and Peter a chance to roam the streets and do whatever they pleased as long as news of their mischief didn’t get back to him. Their mother scarcely showed any interest in where they were going or what time they would be back.

  Adele often consoled herself by imagining that one day things would be different. When she was old enough she would get a good job and a rich husband, and she would escape her domineering father and slovenly mother. She would have a beautiful home and children who would never want for anything. It was this dream that kept her going.

  Just then Adele was jolted back to reality by the sound of raised voices downstairs.

  ‘Don’t go, Tommy, I was gonna do you a nice dinner later,’ pleaded her mother.

  ‘Bugger off, I’m going for a pint. There’s nowt to stay in this bloody pigsty for. I’m sick of you, you lazy cow, and those two scruffy little gets!’

  This was followed by a loud slamming of the front door and Shirley muttering something to herself. Adele couldn’t quite hear her mother’s words, but she gathered that she wasn’t happy about him going out.

  Adele had had enough of home for one day, so she decided that she would go outside for a while too. She was heading downstairs when she heard the sound of the door knocker. Worried it was her father coming back, she scuttled back to the top of the stairs. It was only after her mother had answered the door that Adele realised it was her grandma, Joyce.

  She entered loudly and, appearing as bumptious as ever, declared, ‘I’ve just passed His Lordship in the street. He’s got a right face on him, as usual. It took him all his time to say hello. What the bleedin’ hell’s up with him this time?’ The soft features of her plump face had tightened to form an expression of scorn.

  Shirley said nothing, but shook her head from side to side as she led her mother into the living room, leaving the door ajar. Adele would normally have raced down the stairs to greet her grandma, who she thought the world of. Although loud and opinionated, Joyce had a kind heart and was full of good intentions. But the look of resignation on her mother’s face, and t
he tired way she dragged her feet, stopped Adele from following them. She had guessed that they were about to have one of their chats, and overcome by curiosity, she crept down the stairs so she could listen in. She could just about see them both through the gap of the open door.

  ‘Jesus, Shirley love, what the bloody hell’s happened to this place? It looks like a bomb’s hit it and smells bloody awful! It’s worse than last time. I thought you were going to try and get on top of things!’

  ‘Oh don’t start, Mam. Don’t you think I’m sick of it? It’s not me that makes it a tip you know, and what’s the use of tidying it anyway when they only mess it up again?’

  ‘I’m worried about you, love. Every time I come you’ve let yourself go more. You’re just not happy, are you? Has he been at you again?’

  ‘Not really. It’s Peter he’s pissed off with, because he made a mess on the garden path, squashing some caterpillars or summat. I wish he’d leave him alone; he’s not a bad lad really.’

  ‘I don’t know, I worry about our Peter, always up to mischief and getting into fights. I’ve told you, he takes after his side of the family.’

  Their conversation then became much quieter, and Adele had to strain to hear them. Without getting too close, and risking being caught out, she managed to catch snippets of her grandma’s words.

  ‘Bad lot… told you before… bad blood… mad… great-uncle… always fighting… ended up in an asylum.’

  A few moments of silence followed until Shirley said, ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Mam. I’ve no idea what our Peter will turn out like. I’m just glad our Adele’s all right.’

  ‘Aye, she’s a good girl,’ replied Joyce whose voice had returned to its normal level. ‘Keep encouraging her to do well at school so she can bugger off to university or summat. She’ll be bloody better off out of it.’ Joyce’s voice then adopted a sympathetic tone. ‘I do worry about you, Shirley love. You’ve changed so much over the years, ever since you met Tommy. You don’t seem to care anymore and you were never like this when you were younger. Did you go to the doctors like I told you to?’