Blinded by love and obstinate by nature, Debbie glared defiantly at her mother.
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Mum. Billy already knows about the baby and he’s over the moon. He’s dying for it to be born and can’t wait to become a father. I love him so much and I’m keeping the baby whatever you say. You’re just gonna have to accept it, or you’ll end up losing me and your unborn grandchild. As for calling Billy a wrong ’un … you’d know all about that, Mother, wouldn’t you?’
June looked at her daughter with a mixture of pity and disgust. She needed to talk to her Peter. He would know how to handle the situation.
‘Get out of my sight, Debbie. You wait till Peter gets home from work. I’m gonna tell him what you said to me and he won’t be very happy.’
‘As if I bloody well care! He’s hardly me father now, is he?’ Debbie screamed, and slammed the kitchen door.
June sat down at the table, put her head in her hands and sobbed. Both her children had now fucked their lives up, and she wondered where she’d gone so bloody wrong.
She’d disowned Mickey, her son, a while back, when he’d got caught hijacking a lorry load of cigarettes with a gang of well-known villains he’d been knocking about with.
Her Peter had gone totally apeshit and demanded she wash her hands of the lad. It hadn’t helped that the story was front-page news in the local paper. She and Peter had had to endure the shame, stares and gossip for weeks.
Unbeknown to her husband, though, June still discreetly enquired after Mickey. She’d heard through the grapevine that he was due out of prison in the next few weeks. He’d served his sentence in Wormwood Scrubs and had written to her from here a couple of times, pleading with her to visit him. June had tearfully read the letters that her first-born had sent and felt nothing but love and compassion for the son she still adored. But, after careful consideration, she’d torn them up and severed all contact with him.
It had been the hardest decision she’d ever had to make, but in her eyes it was the only one left to her. She’d had to choose her husband over her son.
Now the same thing was going to happen with Debbie, Peter was gonna go mad when he heard she was pregnant. Unless Debs agreed to get rid of the baby, June knew that he would make her daughter move out of the house.
Peter wasn’t an ogre, just a strict, highly regimented man of integrity, with a high opinion of himself and his family. He was also preparing to stand as a Tory councillor in the forthcoming local election and certainly wouldn’t welcome any bad press.
June poured herself another brandy, dreading what was to come. Without Peter she was nothing, a nobody. In many ways he’d been the making of her. He’d turned her from a rough East End girl into a respectable member of the community. He’d moved her from a shit-hole house in Poplar to a nice little cul-de-sac in Rainham. He’d taken on her kids as his own and given her a purpose in life, a chance to better herself, and she’d grasped that opportunity with both hands. She couldn’t throw it all back in his face by siding with Debbie, she just couldn’t. Not when her daughter was making the biggest mistake of her life.
Debbie lay on her bed. She felt like crying with frustration. She bit her trembling lip as hard as she could and drew blood. The pain stopped the tears from coming. She knew there was going to be a showdown when Perfect Peter walked through the door.
Well, he wasn’t her dad and she was sick of jumping to his bloody tune. This baby was hers, and she wasn’t taking shit off no one. He’d been good to her, had Peter, but his attitude really wound her up. Both he and her mother were shoved so far up their own arses, it was as though reality didn’t exist for them. In their world, dinner parties, Masonic events, local politics and golf club meetings were much more important than what was going on in the real world.
Debbie had never had the pleasure of meeting her real father. She’d been only eighteen months old when he’d kicked the living daylights out of her mum and brother and left the house for the last time. Her brother Mickey, who was seven years older than she was, remembered him well and said he’d been an out and out cunt, a total scumbag.
Johnny Fuller was his name and part of Debbie wished she’d had the chance to meet him. Just the once would have done the trick. It would have satisfied her burning curiosity to know exactly where she came from.
She had no chance of that now, though. Six months ago her father had been found dead outside a betting shop in Whitechapel. He’d died of a single stab wound, a homeless alcoholic.
As Debbie heard the front door bang downstairs, she forgot about her real dad. Pulling the quilt over her head, she prepared herself for one of her stepfather’s lectures.
Twenty minutes later, there was a tap-tap on her bedroom door, and a surprisingly calm Peter entered her room. Perching himself on the end of her bed, he came straight to the point.
‘If you decide to have an abortion, Debbie, your mother and I will give you our one hundred per cent support. I’ll pay, send you to the best private clinic available, and your mum and I will accompany you, so you won’t have to go through this alone. However, if you are adamant about keeping the baby, then I’m afraid you’ll be on your own. Your mum and I will have no option other than to wash our hands of you.’
Debbie took a deep breath as she pulled down the quilt and prepared to stand her ground.
‘Look, Peter, I know I’m only young, and I appreciate your concern and Mum’s, but I want this baby. I love Billy and he loves me. What can be so wrong about two people in love having a baby together?’
Looking at her disdainfully, Peter spoke slowly, clearly, in his most patronising voice.
‘Debbie, Debbie, Debbie … you are so young and naive, my dear child. What am I going to do with you? Billy McDaid is not a very nice person, my love. He has a terrible track record with convictions for violence as well as drink- and drug-related offences. Eight years ago he was locked up in Pentonville for a vicious assault on an ex-girlfriend.’
Debbie’s eyes were burning with fury as she leaped off the bed.
‘I don’t believe you – you’re making it up! You’re only saying all this so I’ll get rid of the baby. I bet my mother’s put you up to this, hasn’t she?’
Peter slowly shook his head from side to side and looked sadly into the eyes of this strong-willed girl bent on defying him.
‘Everything I’ve told you is for your own good, Debbie. Your mother was so worried when you started courting this lad that I decided to have him checked out. I have well-connected friends, as you know, so getting the low-down on him wasn’t that difficult. I can assure you, everything I’ve told you tonight is the absolute truth. He’s also lied to you about his age. He’s not twenty-nine, he’s thirty-five years old. The ball is in your court now, and the decision is entirely yours. Get rid of the baby and Mummy and I will help you as much as we can. But, I have to be brutal about this, Debbie, if you decide to keep it, I want you out of this house by next weekend. Your mother and I have our reputations and also my standing in the community to consider.’
As he quietly shut the bedroom door, Peter said a silent prayer for the girl he’d brought up as his own and grown so very fond of. He was satisfied he’d done his utmost, his very best. Composing himself, he went downstairs to comfort his tearful, heartbroken wife.
‘Wanker,’ Debbie mumbled, as soon as he was out of earshot. ‘Lying fucking bastard.’ She was absolutely seething. Billy wouldn’t lie to her about his age, and as for all the other shit … she didn’t believe a word of it. It was definitely a ploy, just so she’d get rid of the baby. His