A Deadly Deception Read online

  ‘Och now, he’s been all right with you, and me as well. It’s just he takes a good drink.’

  ‘There’s nothing good about it. He spends all his wages. And you’re worrying yourself into an early grave with debt. I’m telling you, Mammy, if you don’t get rid of him, he’ll be the death of you.’

  ‘Get rid of him?’ Mrs Patterson’s eyes widened. ‘He’s my man and he’s not a bad soul, Cheryl.’

  ‘Mammy, he’s an alcoholic. He could get help if he’d admit it but he doesn’t want to admit it. He doesn’t want to stop drinking.’

  ‘It’s just a wee weakness he has. It’s not as if he’s ever raised a hand to me. I mean, you can’t compare me with some of the poor souls that come and go downstairs. Their men have battered them, nearly killed them.’

  ‘Mammy, he’s killing you in his own way. How are you ever supposed to pay the rent? The council would have had us out on the street by now if I hadn’t scraped up enough to pay the arrears.’

  ‘I know, hen.You’re an absolute gem and I appreciate your help. I really do. I’ll try and speak to him.’

  ‘You know fine that won’t do a bit of good. You’ll have to chuck him out. Lock him out. It’s the only way to bring him to his senses.’

  ‘Och, I haven’t the heart. He’s my man.’

  Cheryl rolled her eyes and her mother protested, ‘Where could he go, Cheryl?’

  ‘He could go to AA and get himself sorted for a start.’

  ‘All right. I’ll speak to him again. I promise.’

  ‘I’m going to have to move out, Mammy. I’m entitled to a life. That’s me skint again.’

  Mrs Patterson struggled to hold back a panic of tears.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Cheryl. But you’re right. It’s not fair on you. Do you think if I spoke to the doctor …?’

  ‘Mammy,’ Cheryl groaned. ‘It’s no use kidding yourself. I’m not kidding myself any more. We’ve spoken to enough folk. Daddy’s got to admit to himself what he is and what he needs to do and, as often as not, alcoholics have to hit rock bottom before they do that. Well, I don’t know about you but he’s not going to drag me down with him. Not any more. Amy Sutherland’s renting a flat somewhere near the bus station, I heard. I’m going to ask her mammy where exactly. Maybe I could share with her. If not, I’ll look for some place else.’

  ‘Oh, Cheryl …’

  ‘And I could get a job in a decent place in town. In one of those big fashion shops, maybe. I could do better than slogging away in that dump of a shopping centre in Springburn.’

  Cheryl was getting quite carried away. Her normally pale, creamy skin fired with enthusiasm. Her blue eyes sparkled with pleasure at the imaginary sight of herself swanning about in one of the top-class places in town like Fraser’s or Debenham’s or John Lewis. Either in one of the fashion departments or in make-up. Yes, make-up, she thought. All the top brands had counters and girls in attendance dressed in smart overalls. The customers sat on a chair in front of the counter while the assistant performed a wee miracle on their faces, chatting all the time in praise of the products they were using. They earned good wages, she’d heard, plus commission on all sales.

  John Lewis, right across from the bus station. That would be great.

  ‘I’ll tell Daddy you’re going to leave us if he doesn’t pull himself together. He’ll listen then. He’s fond of you, hen. He wouldn’t want to lose you.’

  ‘Oh yes, he’ll say that. And he’ll bubble and cry as well. And he’ll say he’s sorry. And he’ll change. And he’ll never touch another drop. I’ve heard it all before, Mammy, and so have you.’

  ‘But maybe …’

  ‘No maybes about it. I’m sorry, Mammy. I’ve had enough.’

  Mrs Patterson was trembling now but still managing to imprison her tears. She nodded. ‘Of course. You’re quite right, hen. You deserve a better life than this. I’ve been lucky I’ve had you here for this long. And I’m sorry for taking money off you. It wasn’t right. One day I’ll try and pay back everything I owe you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Cheryl went over and briefly hugged an arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘You don’t owe me anything. And even if I do get a flat, it’s not as if we’ll never see each other again. We can meet up in town and I’ll treat you to a nice tea in a posh restaurant. How about that? And you can visit me as often as you like. As long as you don’t bring Daddy,’ she added, her voice acquiring an anxious note. ‘In fact, promise me that you’d never even let on where I am. I don’t want him turning up drunk and giving me a showing-up.’

  ‘It’s terrible sad,’ her mother said. ‘You used to be that fond of him when you were wee. Remember how he used to take you over to the park and help you catch minnows in the pond and push you on the swings and give you surprise presents? Drink’s a terrible thing.’

  ‘Yes, well …’

  ‘Remember that time you fell and hurt yourself and he ran all the way with you in his arms to Stobhill Hospital?’

  ‘Mammy, what’s the use of looking back all the time? It doesn’t do a bit of good.’

  ‘But he’s still the same good man …’

  Cheryl went across the room to stare out of the window. She was struggling to control the impatience that was threatening to spill over into anger.

  ‘I’m still fond of him. He’s my dad. And I know he’s a good man in many ways but he’s an alcoholic, Mammy. I can’t help him any more, and neither can you. Nothing’s going to change my mind now. I’m going to start looking for a place on my own, or to share with somebody, anybody.’

  The room with its bare brown linoleum and sagging moquette sofa and chairs felt depressing and claustrophobic. Everything else had been sold to raise cash, even the television. Cheryl couldn’t invite a friend home, either a girl or a boyfriend. She was too embarrassed. Apart from the bare, dismal look of the place, there was always the danger of her father staggering in and making a fool of himself. Or doing something disgusting. Once when she’d had a friend in, he’d thrown up, spewed all over the place – including over her friend’s new sleeveless blouse with the big frill down the front.

  She could have died right there and then. It was so terrible. That friend quickly disappeared and never came back. She had passed the word around as well. It was the talk of the place. Until something worse happened. He’d peed in the lift. There had been three or four other folk in it at the time. There had been a warning from the concierge after that. Other folk could ‘take a good drink’ but still behave themselves and ‘not act like an animal’.

  ‘I’m not having it,’ the concierge warned. ‘Maybe other folk can put up with it but I’ve a job to do.’

  Cheryl knew what he meant. Most of the residents just minded their own business. There could be all sorts of things happening, including fights but nobody sent for the police. ‘None of my business’ was the usual comment delivered by neighbours.

  She felt desperately sorry for her mother and had tried as much as she could to help her. However, she truly could not go on being in her present nightmare situation. She got on all right at her work. The problem was she so seldom could go out with the other girls to the clubs or any place at all to have a good time after work. For one thing, she hadn’t enough money. Nearly all of her wages went into the house.

  She longed for new clothes. All she had was one old denim skirt, one pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and a boob tube. She longed to let her hair down and have a laugh and dance the hours away. She longed to have a boyfriend and a bit of loving.

  Fat chance of that. She couldn’t even afford decent make-up. Angry and bitter now, she turned away from the window and said, ‘I’m away across to the park for a breath of air.’

  ‘Aye, OK, hen. On you go. I’ll be all right and it’s such a nice day.’

  Cheryl picked up her handbag, dug into it for her powder compact – the cheapest she could get from Woolworth’s. Rubbish it was. She peered angrily into it as she rubbed a powd
er puff over her face. She could be quite good-looking, given half a chance, she thought. She had a flawless complexion, not like some of the other girls in the shop. One had a face covered in acne. Another girl was horribly fat, whereas she had a nice, slim but curvaceous body and shapely legs. She had natural hair colouring as well, not like most of the girls, who spent a fortune on hair dyes. Her hair in fact was her best feature – long and glossy and golden blonde.

  6

  ‘You can relax here, Janet. This is your home from now on,’ Betty Martin said firmly, ‘until we can fix you up with a more permanent place. But the wheels of the Housing Department are slow in turning so, meantime, my advice is just relax and try to feel at home here. You’re safe, that’s the main thing, isn’t it?’

  Janet nodded. It was all she could do. She was speechless. Everything was so awful. Outside there had been groups of guffawing youths, lads in baggy denims hanging from their bottoms like hammocks. It was as if the trousers were going to drop to the ground at any moment. They wore thin jackets, some with black hoods up that framed pinched, impertinent faces. Others had hoods down revealing hair stuck up in spikes, dyed orange or gaudy green.

  Girls were also hanging about in noisy groups wearing shockingly brief skirts and revealing bare midriffs. Some had hair short and spiky and as garishly coloured as the males.

  Janet had never seen such awful people. Young people in Azalea Avenue, Bearsden, never looked like that. They either went to boarding school and were never seen at all or they attended local private schools and wore respectable uniforms.

  The place was as ugly as the residents. The tower block was one of several, looming high in the sky and creating unwelcoming, icy blasts of wind. It had been warm and calm and quiet in Azalea Avenue.

  She found the entrance hall as bleak and as shabby as the outside of the building. She caught a glimpse, through an open door at one side of the hall, of a man with a moustache in a green council uniform. He was crouched over a desk stuffing his mouth with what looked like one of those disgusting hamburger things. A steaming mug sat in front of him.

  ‘That’s the concierge’s office,’ Betty explained as she led Janet into the lift. ‘Monty, his name is. He’s a really good worker. Very conscientious.’

  The lift stank of stale sweat. And was it cats? Surely they didn’t allow animals in a place like this. It wasn’t even fit for animals. Janet lost count of how many stops and starts the lift made. It seemed to fly upwards forever.

  ‘We’re on the twenty-third floor,’ Betty said and was soon ushering Janet out and striding across the dark-brown painted landing. There were several doors, one of which Betty opened with a key. Once inside, she dumped Janet’s suitcases behind the door.

  ‘This is our office. It’s two flats knocked into one. I’ll show you around here first and give you a key to your safe house. It’s across the landing. Anybody at home?’ she shouted, as they made their way along the lobby. The floor of the lobby was covered with lilac tiles that looked like rubber. The place was still and silent except for echoes of noise seeping in from the landing outside.

  ‘Dorothy must be out on a job,’ Betty said. ‘You can meet her later on. She’s officially the children’s worker. But we muck in and help each other as much as we can.’

  One room had a dark green wall and three lilac walls. It was furnished as a sitting room with a green sofa and two green chairs. There was a coffee table and a standard lamp with a cream fringed top. Another room, with green and lilac walls also, was crammed with two desks, a filing cabinet and office chairs. A place no bigger than one of Janet’s cupboards in Bearsden was crammed with two blue easy chairs and a coffee table. It was used, Betty explained, as a counselling room.

  Then there was a big room which had originally been two rooms, Betty told Janet, but a dividing wall had been knocked down. This could be used for meetings and various things like English classes for immigrants and a play place for residents’ children. There were pieces of paper stuck all over the lilac-painted wall. Lilac and green were obviously the favourite colours in the place. It wasn’t until later that Janet discovered they were the colours of the suffragette movement.

  ‘The colours of the brave souls who fought and died for women to have the right to vote,’ Betty told her. Now Betty indicated the papers pinned to the wall. ‘By the immigrants practising their English writing.’

  Janet noticed a couple of papers ending with ‘I love English. I love my English teacher.’

  Toys filled one corner – a teddy, a Barbie doll, building bricks, a pedal car, a toy cooker with little pots and pans, a board game and a pile of gaudy coloured picture books.

  Back in the lobby, Betty flung open another door. ‘The bathroom, the kitchen, a couple of cupboards. Now we’ll go across to the refuge you’ll be staying in. Here’s your key. Wee Mary, your flatmate, has one and there’s one kept in the office but we always ring the bell first and give a shout to let the occupants know it’s only us. We don’t want to give anyone a fright just walking in.’

  Betty rang the bell and called through the letterbox. ‘It’s only me, Mary.’ There was a shout of ‘Come in’. Then Betty opened the door and led Janet into a long lobby similar in shape and colour to the one they’d just left. A tiny frail-looking woman with a slight stoop and rounded shoulders was standing in the sitting room door. She wore shabby slippers and a wraparound apron. She reminded Janet of her part-time domestic help.

  ‘Hi there,’ Betty announced cheerily. ‘I’ve brought a new lady to share the flat with you. Mary, this is Mrs Janet Peacock. Janet, this is Mrs Mary McFee.’

  ‘Gosh!’ Mary gazed with some awe at Janet. ‘That’s a posh name. You look posh as well, hen. Fancy your man knockin’ the likes of you about, eh? It just goes to show. Come on in.’

  It was on the tip of Janet’s tongue to deny any wrongdoing by her husband. She felt not only ashamed but affronted. Nobody had ever known anything about her private life before. At least, not the truth. But of course, everybody would know now. There was no use denying anything. She suddenly felt like crumpling up and weeping. She had put on a respectable front for so long and with so many people. She managed, however, to continue holding her face stiff.

  ‘How do you do,’ she said to Mary and proffered a leather-gloved hand.

  Mary laughed.

  ‘I feel I should curtsey or something. Fancy a cup of tea, hen? The kettle’s been on the boil.’

  A cup of tea had always been a great source of comfort.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Betty said, ‘Right, I’ll leave the pair of you to it then.’ She had a confident way of talking as well as moving. ‘You’ll show Janet around, won’t you, Mary? And tell her everything she needs to know.’

  ‘Aye, sure.’

  ‘I’ll look back later, Janet, and check you’ve settled in OK.’

  ‘Thank you for everything.’

  ‘Nice big lassie,’ Mary said as Betty left them. ‘Come on, I’ll show you into your room, hen. Where’s your stuff? Oh aye, she’s left your cases in the lobby. Let me take them in for you. In here, hen.’

  Janet noticed that Mary had a bald patch on the back of her mousy brown head. The bald patch awakened frightening memories in Janet, of Charles pulling her across the room by her hair, then punching her breasts until she was gasping for breath and choking with pain. She broke out in a weak sweat at the memory. She had escaped. Yet she still dreaded the thought of his fury when he arrived home. Especially now when he found that she had gone. He’d see that she’d taken everything. Every stitch of clothing and every pair of shoes. (Not that she had a very large wardrobe but what she did have was of the best quality.) She had also taken all her jewellery, some of which was worth quite a lot of money – her mother’s watch and brooch and diamond ring, for instance. Janet sank down on the edge of the bed.

  Mary patted her on the back. ‘Don’t worry, hen. You’re aw right now. Take your hat and coat off. I’ll go and make the tea. Come
back through to the living room when you’re ready.’

  Janet nodded. She sat for the next few minutes trying to calm her breathing. She was in another world, a strange world she had never known, never really believed existed.

  ‘That’s me pourin’ it oot,’ a voice called.

  In a daze, Janet removed her hat, automatically patted her hair tidy. Then she took off her coat and laid both hat and coat on the bed. It was a narrow single bed covered with a cream-coloured duvet. There were two single beds in the room. Surely she wasn’t expected to share a bedroom with the awful woman?

  She found her way through to the living room and sank into one of the dark green easy chairs. Mary handed her a cup of tea and Janet concentrated on keeping her hands steady as she accepted it.

  ‘You’ll feel better after you drink that, Janet. Is it aw right to call you Janet?’

  Janet nodded. The tea helped and so did the comfort of the deeply cushioned chair and the heat that emanated from the electric bar fire. The floor was covered with lilac linoleum but there was a pink and blue and fawn Chinese-type rug under her feet.

  ‘How large is the flat?’ Janet managed at last.

  ‘Well, there’s this living room with that dining area.’ Mary jerked her head towards an alcove in which sat a table and four wooden chairs. ‘There’s a decent-sized kitchen, four bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower as well as a bath.’

  ‘Four bedrooms?’

  ‘Aye. One for you and one for me and two others for any other poor souls that need them.’

  ‘There are two beds in my room.’

  ‘Aye well, you might have come with weans. There’s a cot in one o’ the cupboards and a couple of folding beds as well. Just in case.’

  ‘Goodness.’

  ‘Aye, we’re lucky just now wi’ just the two of us. But even with a crowd you manage somehow. It’s no’ easy, mind, but anything’s better than what we had to suffer before. And it’s just temporary. Ah’ve been here longer because them wi’ weans get priority for council houses, y’see.’ Mary turned away her face and gave a sniffle of distress but within seconds she had turned back and was saying cheerily, ‘But don’t worry, hen. We’ll get on like a house on fire. Want another cup?’