June looked into his eyes. He was so sincere, so sure of himself. Squeezing his hands, she smiled. ‘I hope you’re right, Peter, I really do.’
Her husband kissed her gently on the forehead. ‘Believe me, darling, I’m always right.’
Billy carried Debbie’s case as they walked towards the tower block on the Gascoigne Estate. Gagging as she stepped into the lift, Debbie held her nose to block out the smell. She had been in the same lift plenty of times before, but the stench seemed far worse now that she was pregnant.
Billy lived thirteen floors up, which gave Debbie plenty of time to study her surroundings. They consisted of graffiti, spit, fag butts and stale urine. Noticing her expression, Billy smiled.
‘Aye, lassie, you’ll get used to the smell after a bit, you will.’
Debbie pretended to agree, but made a mental note to use the stairs whenever possible.
‘Now, make yourself at home, hen. I have to pop out for a wee bit, to pick some money up. I willnae be long.’
Debbie took a good long look at her new abode and felt increasingly depressed. ‘An absolute shit-hole’ was the best way to describe it. She’d been here before, lots of times, but always after a drink and of an evening. Her mum and Peter had never let her stay out all night, so she’d never had a chance to see the place in daylight. The flat itself was okay, quite big for a council place, it was just so bare and desperately in need of decorating and some furniture.
Debbie looked into the bedroom and found there was nowhere for her to put her clothes. The one small wardrobe was full of Billy’s stuff. As she sat down on the mattress on the bare floor, which served as the bed, Debbie started to sob. She would have to have a serious chat with Billy, she told herself. She wasn’t coming round here once a week now, bladdered like before. She was a pregnant woman and needed comfort, a proper home.
Billy arrived back two hours later. Listening to Debbie talking between her sobs, he hugged her tightly.
‘Shhh, now. Hey, come on, everything will be okay. I’ve got plenty of money. We’ll get some paint tomorrow, spruce the place up a bit. There’s a second-hand furniture place down the road – I’ll take you there and we’ll kit the place out. I didnae bother with all that shit before, living here on my own, but now you’re here it’s different. Now come on, stop crying, we’ll get it sorted, I promise.’
Billy woke up early the next morning. Debs had been tossing and turning all night, she’d kept him awake for bloody hours. He glanced at her, and was surprised to see that she was now fast asleep. He hoped he’d made the right decision, letting her move in with him. Her performance last night, with all the tears and shit, wasn’t his scene – dramatics had never been his game. He’d thought Debs was different, a laugh. He’d never seen her cry before, she’d always been so happy-go-lucky. He really hoped she wasn’t about to change. For some reason or other, he always attracted nutty women. The last three had been all right until he’d moved in with them. Within weeks they all seemed to turn psycho on him.
Sighing, Billy slung his arm round Debs. ‘Wakey, wakey.’
As he rubbed his erection against her leg, he willed her to respond. He was fucked if he was going to stand painting for hours, buy furniture he didn’t want, and get nothing in return.
Stirring, Debbie reciprocated his kisses. She’d been silly last night, all emotional. This was her new life now. She loved Billy and was determined to make it work.
Billy was as good as his word. He bought a couple of tins of paint and then took Debbie to a tut shop where she chose a sofa, coffee table, small wardrobe, lamp and a chest of drawers. She refused to sleep in a second-hand bed, which pissed him off as he had to fork out for a brand new one. She also demanded saucepans, utensils and a big shop at Tesco.
‘Fucking women,’ Billy muttered, as soon as she was out of earshot. Three hundred and sixty pounds today had bloody well cost him! He just hoped Debs was worth it because if she wasn’t she’d go the same way as all the others had.
Billy took a deep breath as he fought to keep his temper in check. In the past he’d made the mistake of lashing out at women, but he was determined to put all that shit behind him now and make a fresh start.
He really loved Debbie, but prayed she didn’t push him too far. The others had all taken the piss out of him and he wasn’t the type of geezer to take shit off anyone, especially a woman. His mum was to blame for the way he was, he knew that. She had fucked him up. He had tried desperately to forget his damaged childhood, but sometimes when women pissed him off, it came back to him. As he terrorised them, all he could think of was his whore of a mother.
Billy put the last of the Tesco bags in the kitchen, then rummaged through them and opened a can of Strongbow. Greedily gulping the cider, he calmed himself down. This was a new start for him and he had to make it work. If he didn’t, his evil bitch of a mother would have won.
SIX MONTHS INTO Debbie’s pregnancy, the cracks in Billy’s resolve began to show. Spending most of her time in the flat alone, while Billy spent his in the pub, had become second nature to Debbie, so she was surprised when he insisted she attend a pal’s wedding reception, which was being held in a local pub.
‘Do I have to come, Bill? I can’t drink, and I feel so fat and frumpy.’
‘Aye, I want you to come. All my mates are taking their other halves, so I need you to be there for me.’
As she got ready that night, Debbie felt like shit. She’d made good friends with a couple of the neighbours, Sharon and Donna, and was usually quite happy to spend her time at home with them while Billy was out gallivanting. After powdering her face, she applied blue eye shadow, squeezed herself into the one black dress she possessed, and stood facing the cracked mirror which hung next to the wardrobe. The sight of her reflection didn’t do her mood any good. ‘Bleeding hell,’ she muttered. She’d overdone the bronzer and felt like an orange that had become too big for its skin. Studying herself, she picked holes in her appearance. Her shoulder-length brown hair looked thin and lifeless. Her nose was a bit too big for her face, and her teeth had always been crooked. When she’d been slim her features hadn’t bothered her so much, some people had even called her attractive, but now she was fat it was a different story. She felt unsightly.
‘You ready, babe?’ Billy stood at the bedroom door, looking smart in his light grey suit.
Plastering on a false smile, Debbie pecked him on the lips. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
To her dismay, both lifts in the block were out of action, and by the time she’d walked down the thirteen flights of stairs she felt absolutely knackered.
The party was awful. The pub was a shit-hole, everyone was slaughtered and the DJ was a blind man. She’d have tried to enjoy it if only she could have had a drink, but standing in the corner on her own all night, with only a glass of Coke for company, wasn’t much fun. Billy had introduced her to everyone earlier. He’d even stood with her for the first hour, but now he was drunk and up at the bar with the lads.
Debbie found herself studying him. He looked really smart tonight. Like her, he was no oil painting. Billy was skinny and pale, with light brown hair and sharp features. Attractive in his own way, though. She loved his Glaswegian accent, it made her laugh, and he was always cool and self-assured.
‘It’s Debbie, isn’t it? Debbie Dawson?’
Swinging around to see who was talking to her, Debbie vaguely recognised the short lad with blond cropped hair, but couldn’t think where from.
‘Darren,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Darren Jackson. I was in your class at junior school.’
Once the penny had dropped the evening flew by for Debbie and she spent the rest