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With no one to go around with, Peter sloped off upstairs.

  ‘Well I hope you’re going to put some trousers on when you do go out,’ said Joyce, eying Adele’s short dress. ‘It’s bitter out there.’

  ‘I haven’t got any.’

  ‘Course you have,’ said Shirley. ‘What about the blue ones?’

  ‘They’re too short,’ she said, knowing she had told her mother already.

  ‘Well what about the others, those with the stripes on them?’

  ‘They’re ripped… remember?’

  ‘Well you must have some more.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  Joyce interrupted when she noticed Adele’s sore legs, ‘Bloody hell, Shirley. Look at the state of her legs; they’re chapped to buggery! And it’s no wonder if she’s walking about in short skirts in this weather.’

  ‘She’s got trousers; she just can’t be bothered looking for them,’ Shirley answered defensively and too quickly. It was an obvious lie.

  ‘Have you put ointment on them?’ asked Joyce.

  ‘No, my mam couldn’t find it.’

  Joyce tutted. ‘You won’t get any today either; the shops are shut.’ She was pensive for a few moments before saying to Shirley, ‘Right, send your Peter round to mine. He can bring the tube I’ve got. Those sores will have to be tended to as soon as possible. They look bloody painful. How could you let them get like that, Shirley?’

  ‘I didn’t know they were that bad till she told me last night, and I was going to get some ointment as soon as the shops were open.’

  ‘Just get Peter!’ Joyce demanded, irritated with her hopeless daughter.

  As soon as Peter returned with the ointment, Joyce spread it liberally onto the sore patches on Adele’s legs before handing the tube of ointment to her, ‘Right Adele, that’s yours now. Put it somewhere safe and I want you to rub it on again tonight, and every morning and night, until your legs are better. All right?’

  ‘Yes, Grandma.’

  ‘And if you must go out, you’ll have to put your old trousers on for now. Fetch them here. Let’s have a look at ’em.’

  Adele found her ripped trousers and handed them to her grandma.

  ‘Is that all that’s wrong with them?’ Joyce asked after examining the garment. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, ‘Jesus Christ, Shirley! What the bloody hell’s wrong with you? You could have had these repaired in no time! Fetch me a needle and cotton. That’s if you can find any in this bloody tip.’

  When Joyce had finished mending the trousers, she passed them to Adele. ‘There. Good as new,’ she said. ‘They’ll have to do for now if they’re the only pair you’ve got, but I want you to put them on before you go outside.’

  ‘Thanks, Grandma,’ said Adele, pleased that no-one would be calling her scabby knees anymore.

  *

  When Tommy got out of bed in the early afternoon, Shirley was putting the finishing touches to the Sunday dinner, which her mother had helped her prepare that morning.

  ‘What did she want?’ he grumbled.

  ‘Just visiting,’ said Shirley.

  ‘Well tell her to come a bit bleedin’ later next time. I can do without her big gob waking me up!’

  ‘She probably didn’t think,’ said Shirley.

  ‘Course she did. She does it on bleedin’ purpose to wind me up. I’m entitled to have a lie-in on a Sunday when I’ve worked hard all fuckin’ week, you know! But you wouldn’t know about that, would you, seeing as how you do bugger all.’

  ‘I’ll have a word with her,’ said Shirley.

  ‘Yeah, you better bleedin’ had do.’

  ‘She’s brought something nice for us, though,’ said Shirley, trying to calm him down. ‘Home-made apple pie.’

  Tommy grumbled in response, dragging out a kitchen chair. Adele tensed at the sound of the chair scraping across the floor and the loud thud as her father plonked himself down next to her.

  ‘Come on then, get the dinner served up!’ he ordered.

  It was a traditional Sunday dinner. Despite having help from her mother with the roast, Shirley had prepared the vegetables herself. This was evident from the state of the unpeeled carrots, and the sprouts, which contained dark outer leaves, peppered with black spots.

  The smell of overcooked sprouts had hit Adele as soon as she walked in the kitchen. She mentally prepared herself for the challenge ahead while trying not to heave.

  ‘There you go,’ said Shirley, putting their meals on the table, ‘and there’ll be no apple pie till you’ve eaten all that,’ she added to the children while looking at Tommy for his approval.

  ‘Yeah, get it eaten, and no buggerin’ about,’ he reiterated.

  Adele battled her way through the meal. She used the succulent roast lamb and crispy roast potatoes as a foil to disguise the taste of the bitter outer leaves of the overcooked sprouts, and the occasional grittiness of the bland carrots. She carefully cut chunks of meat and roast potato, ensuring that she would have enough to offset all the remaining vegetables. Then she took each measured forkful; a mix of the foods she enjoyed and those she loathed. By doing so, the meal was just about palatable, but she noticed that Peter had already eaten his lamb and roasters and was now toying with the rest of his food, pushing it around his plate. Her father noticed too.

  ‘Get it eaten!’ he ordered, raising his knife and pointing it in Peter’s direction.

  Peter took a forkful of the sprouts then gagged as he forced them down his throat.

  ‘It’s not bleedin’ poison, y’know. Now get it eaten, and stop pissin’ about,’ said Tommy.

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  Tommy swiped Peter round the back of his head. ‘I don’t give a shit what you like. Do as you’re bleedin’ told, and stop givin’ me your backchat!’

  Peter continued to struggle through the meal and Adele could feel his discomfort as he forced each morsel into his mouth and swallowed. She tried not to watch.

  Then her father got up, shoving his chair away from the table. He left his plate with his meal unfinished. Adele noticed the remnants of sprouts and carrots, and so did Peter who mimicked his father’s actions, putting down his knife and fork on his uncleared plate.

  ‘What the bleedin’ hell do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Tommy.

  ‘You’ve left yours, so I’m leavin’ mine.’

  Adele braced herself as she saw her father’s face turn crimson. She silently willed her brother not to provoke him, but it was too late. The sharp blow from Tommy knocked Peter off his feet, sending him scudding across the kitchen floor and landing next to the oven.

  ‘You cheeky little bastard! What I do is none of your bleedin’ business. Now get back to that table and get your bleedin’ dinner eaten.’

  Shirley stepped between Tommy and Peter, ‘You go and watch the telly, love. I’ll make sure he eats it,’ she said to her husband.

  ‘Get out of my way!’ he ordered, pushing her aside.

  Adele could sense his building fury as he stood over Peter. ‘Right, are you gonna eat your dinner or do I have to make you?’

  Peter cowered against the oven then gasped in shock as heat from the oven door stung him, penetrating his shabby clothing. He gripped his arm where it had made contact with the searing hot metal and squealed as the pain struck. Looking at his father with eyes full of agony and fear, he spun around on his bottom, using his feet to pedal across the kitchen floor towards the back door. But he didn’t get far.

  Tommy tugged furiously at the fastening on his sturdy leather belt, and Adele flinched at the sight of the metal buckle and eyelets as he removed it. He strode across the kitchen, passing Peter then slammed the bolt shut on the back door.

  ‘You’re not bleedin’ going anywhere! I’m giving you one last chance to eat your dinner or I’ll make sure you do, and you won’t sit down for a week,’ he said, wrapping the thick leather belt around his right hand.

  When Tommy had secured the belt, he checked that he had a good len
gth remaining, running the belt and its metal eyelets through the fingers of his left hand. Peter gazed up at him, a look of terror on his face, but he still didn’t go back to the table.

  ‘Tommy, it’s all right. I’ll make sure he eats it,’ pleaded Shirley.

  ‘Just fuckin’ keep out of this!’ he yelled, stepping forward and bringing the belt crashing down onto Peter’s legs. Peter let out an agonised yelp.

  Adele almost choked, her shocked reaction making her inhale sharply. She tried to relax the clenched muscles in her throat while she coughed up her food. Tears of distress sprang to her eyes as her father held up the belt once more.

  ‘No, no!’ Peter screamed.

  Tommy paused. ‘Are you gonna eat it then?’

  Adele held her breath, awaiting Peter’s reply, while her mother remained silent and afraid.

  ‘Well?’ urged Tommy when Peter didn’t respond.

  After what seemed an age, Peter turned his head down to the ground and let out a muffled sound.

  ‘I didn’t hear you!’ said Tommy.

  His reply was so faint, it was almost imperceptible. ‘No,’ Peter whimpered. ‘I don’t like it.’

  Before Tommy had a chance to strike again, Adele rushed to his side and pleaded with him while a mix of tears and mucus ran down her face, ‘Please, Dad. Don’t! I’ll eat it if you want.’

  Tommy’s eyes locked on hers, forcing her knees to tremble as his cold, hard stare bore through her like sharpened steel. Adele was shaking uncontrollably as she awaited his reaction. But then, for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of something behind his eyes. Pity? Remorse? Love? She couldn’t tell, but her father’s raised arm dropped down to his side. He turned to Shirley while he threaded the belt through the loops on his jeans.

  ‘You’re a fuckin’ useless mother,’ he muttered, and she visibly winced. Then he stormed from the room, shouting, ‘Fuck the lot of you!’

  Adele stood, trembling, while Peter stayed on the floor, sobbing. Shirley collected the plates with shaking hands, still not speaking. The tension in the room was palpable until they heard the sound of the front door slamming.

  Putting down the plates, Shirley said, ‘Go and get rid of your leftovers before he comes back. Quick.’

  The children did as they were told, rushing outside to the dustbin then back again. Adele was the first one back inside the kitchen, just in time to see her mother grasping shakily at a bottle of her pills before swallowing two tablets.

  Having recovered her composure, she turned to Adele, ‘Can you clear this lot up for me, love? I need to have a look at Peter’s arm and legs.’

  Without waiting for a reply, she led Peter through to the living room and left Adele clearing away the devastation that had been their Sunday dinner.

  Chapter 8

  The following day Adele and Peter returned home from school to find their mother out. As their father was also out at work, they had the house to themselves.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ asked Peter, pulling down his trousers to reveal a large welt on his leg where the metal eyelets of his father’s belt had struck him.

  Adele flinched, recalling the horror of the previous evening. ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ he boasted. ‘My dad’s not that tough, y’know.’

  Ignoring his attempt at bravery, Adele replied, ‘It would have been worse if I hadn’t have stopped him.’

  Peter bowed his head as he muttered, ‘I know, tah.’ Then, after a pause while he fastened his trousers, he raised his head again and drew his shoulders back. ‘Just wait till I’m older,’ he said. ‘I’ll teach him a lesson. He won’t think he’s so tough then!’

  ‘You should just do as he says then he wouldn’t get so mad,’ Adele said, but before Peter had a chance to reply, Grandma Joyce burst through the door.

  ‘Hiya, Grandma,’ they both gushed, running to her and flinging their arms around her neck.

  Peter eyed the carrier bag she was carrying.

  ‘Eh cheeky, you can put your eyes back in their sockets. It’s not for you,’ she said. Peter’s bottom lip jutted out until his grandma added, ‘I have got something else you’ll like, though.’ She reached into her handbag and withdrew a bar of chocolate for each of them. ‘You’re not to eat it till after your tea so put it away in the kitchen cupboard.’ They did as they were told while Joyce asked, ‘Where’s your mother anyway? I thought she’d have had the tea started by now.’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Adele.

  ‘Right, well while we’re waiting you can have a look at these,’ said Joyce, handing Adele the carrier bag.

  Adele could feel her excitement mounting as she put her hand inside the bag and rummaged through the wrapping paper. She could feel material underneath the paper and her anticipation grew as she withdrew first one, then another, pair of trousers, which looked brand new.

  ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed, holding each of them up to the light.

  ‘Well don’t just stand there looking gormless. Go and try them on and let me have a look at you in them.’

  Adele rushed upstairs clutching both pairs of trousers. She quickly donned the first pair and went to her mother’s wardrobe mirror to admire herself. They were the latest fashion with a wide flare that covered her shoes and a sharp crease down the front of each trouser leg. They were also a perfect fit, and Adele couldn’t wait to show them off to her friends at school. She raced back down to the living room to show her grandma.

  ‘Ooh, you do look a treat,’ smiled Joyce, urging Adele to turn around so she could admire them from every angle. ‘Smashing! They’ll keep your legs nice and warm, won’t they? Do you want to show me the other pair?’

  When Adele had finished trying on the trousers, her grandmother examined her chapped legs. ‘They’re much better,’ she said. ‘Put the ointment on a few more times and they should be healed. And if you wear your trousers when you go outside, it shouldn’t come back again.’

  Grandma Joyce didn’t ask to see the marks on Peter’s legs; she didn’t know about them. Adele decided it was best if she didn’t find out; it would only cause more trouble. Noticing the hurt expression on Peter’s face, Adele knew he had reached the same decision. When he gathered that his grandma had nothing else for him, Peter left the house telling Grandma Joyce that he would be back at teatime.

  Adele’s grandma didn’t stay long and, after she had gone, Adele went out in search of Peter. She found him at the local playground across from the Red Rec. From a distance she could see that he was alone, but he was spinning around and seemed to be clutching something in his hands. Something furry. Was it a soft toy? She was bemused; he hadn’t been carrying anything when he went out. What could it be? Where could he have got it from?

  She speeded up, curious to find out what he was holding. Peter completed several revolutions, his arms outstretched and holding onto the item with both hands. It was when she drew closer that she heard the agonised screeching and realised that it wasn’t a soft toy. It was alive! A cat!

  He was grasping a front paw in each of his hands as he spun the poor animal round, its body outstretched due to the centrifugal force. She gasped, not quite able to believe what she was seeing.

  Shock and anger drove her even faster towards him. ‘Stop it! Put it down,’ she shouted.

  But Peter was enjoying himself.

  When her shouts and screams failed to stop him, she rushed up to Peter and grabbed him, forcing him to a standstill. The shock of the impact made him topple to the ground and Adele reached out to grasp the poor cat. But it was too fast. She felt its fur brush against her skin as it gave out one last frightened yelp, jumped to the ground and ran away.

  ‘Who d’you think you’re pushing?’ Peter shouted as he lay on the ground.

  ‘You’re disgusting and cruel! No wonder no one wants to go around with you. You deserve everything you get!’ she yelled before stomping away from him.

  Peter was equally angry and, as soon as he re
covered, he followed her out of the park, hurling abuse at her. She tried to ignore him, not wanting to end up in another fight. But he wouldn’t stop. By the time they had reached their street, she’d had enough. Adele turned around and faced him.

  Before she had chance to do anything more, Peter shoved her. ‘Don’t you push me!’ he yelled.

  Adele stumbled backwards but managed to retain her footing. Already angry at his treatment of the cat, and his subsequent words of abuse, she retaliated, landing a punch on his chin. Peter rushed forward pulling at her hair and kicking. Within seconds they were both immersed in a full-on fight and were trading kicks and punches.

  In the heat of the fight she spotted her father rounding the corner into their street. He hadn’t seen them yet. He had his head turned while he said goodbye to a friend who was leaving him to continue along the adjacent street.

  ‘Stop! It’s dad,’ she said as panic gripped her.

  They both knew they would be punished if he saw them fighting in the street. Peter pulled away and for several seconds they both remained still, trying to steady their breathing and regain their composure.

  Although the sight of their father’s arrival home wasn’t always a welcome one, in this instance Adele was relieved to see him. She hated fighting with Peter. He was dogged and stubborn, and any fight with him was usually a lengthy one with neither of them willing to back down.

  As their father passed by, they both said hello, and he nodded and mumbled back. Adele and Peter looked intensely at each other once he had gone and Adele knew that their joint concern over their father’s arrival home had surpassed their own squabbles.

  ‘We’d better get home or we’ll be in trouble,’ said Adele. ‘It’s gonna be bad enough when he finds out his tea isn’t ready.’

  Chapter 9

  It was a few weeks later. Recent events were behind them and Adele and Peter had made up. Mrs Hampson had also finally relented and allowed her children to hang around with Adele and Peter, and they were all friends once more.

  Adele was sitting in the school classroom ready for the spelling test that Mr Parry had set. She was eager to start, knowing that she always excelled at spelling.