seemed to crackle with an atmosphere, a bad feeling that soaked out of the living room, through the front room and right into the vestibule. I opened this second door quietly and stood rigid, waiting for I knew not what.
‘You filthy bitch.’ His voice was ominously quiet. ‘Trying to pass it off as mine, were you?’ I flinched as I heard flesh strike flesh. ‘I’m sterile, you dirty piece. Sterile, do you hear me? My chances of fathering a child are about a million to one, they told me that in the hospital.’
He hit her again and I heard her moan of pain before she spoke between gasps. ‘But . . . there is a slight . . . chance of you . . . isn’t there? And there’s been . . . nobody . . . nobody.’
‘Tell that to the cat, you stupid bag. How often have you let me at you lately, eh? And do you think I’m blind, with your new frocks and your earrings, walking round like a bloody tart? That is not my kid. Whose is it? I’ll beat it out of you, I will, I will . . .’
Now the sounds were different. This time it was not flesh on flesh, but something solid hitting something soft. I didn’t know what to do, where to turn. For what seemed like hours I remained riveted to the spot, sweat and tears pouring down my face. He was speaking again as he kicked her.
‘I used to say she’d ruined you, didn’t I? Well that was just a joke, you see, just a joke. I’m not joking now though, oh no . . .’
Suddenly galvanized, I shot through the house and into the living room. My mother lay at his feet in front of the range as he drove his foot again and again into her belly which she was trying to shield with very bloody arms. So involved was he in his task that he did not notice me as I crept behind him and brought the rolling-pin crashing on to the back of his skull.
He went down like a stone and I raised my hand to strike again, would have finished him off there and then, but my mother, raising herself slightly said, ‘No, Annie. Get the doctor. He’s killed my baby.’ I noticed then that the rug beneath her was soaked bright red, that her skirt was sodden with blood, that more blood was pouring down between her thighs.
Instinctively, I grabbed some towels from the pulley line and packed them as tightly as I could between her legs, then I flew out of the house, not to the doctor’s, but back to Mrs Cullen. She would know what to do. Mrs Cullen always knew what to do. Within minutes, Allan had been despatched for the doctor, Josie put in charge of the household, while Mrs Cullen and I ran, as fast as her bulk would permit, back to our house.
There was no sign of Eddie Higson. Obviously, I had not hit him hard enough, I thought viciously as I looked down at my mother whose lifeblood seemed to be covering the living-room floor.
‘Get down to the prefabs, Annie,’ said Mrs Cullen. ‘They’ve got them fancy fridges, ask for ice. Go on, ’urry up.’
I picked up a bucket and ran down the backs until I reached the prefabs where I disturbed half a dozen residents with my screaming. They piled the ice into my bucket and, not thinking to thank them, I sped back home. But I was too late, for my mother was already being lifted into the ambulance. Mrs Cullen held me back, because I was all for getting in the vehicle too and I heard myself screaming my mother’s name as the driver slammed the door and shot off at great speed.
‘Is she dead?’ I moaned.
‘Nay, lass. She’ll be alright in a day or two. Are you stoppin’ at Entwistle’s tonight?’ I shook my head. ‘No. Rita’s down with the chicken pox. I’ll have to stop . . .’ Oh no, I couldn’t bear it. ‘I’ll have to stop here.’
‘Did ’e beat ’er up, luv?’
‘Yes,’ I answered flatly. ‘But she’ll say she fell downstairs.’
Mrs Cullen shook her head. ‘That’s what they always say. There must be more folk fallin’ donw t’ bloody stairs than there is folk walkin’ up ’em. Now listen, Annie. Like as
‘You filthy bitch.’ His voice was ominously quiet. ‘Trying to pass it off as mine, were you?’ I flinched as I heard flesh strike flesh. ‘I’m sterile, you dirty piece. Sterile, do you hear me? My chances of fathering a child are about a million to one, they told me that in the hospital.’
He hit her again and I heard her moan of pain before she spoke between gasps. ‘But . . . there is a slight . . . chance of you . . . isn’t there? And there’s been . . . nobody . . . nobody.’
‘Tell that to the cat, you stupid bag. How often have you let me at you lately, eh? And do you think I’m blind, with your new frocks and your earrings, walking round like a bloody tart? That is not my kid. Whose is it? I’ll beat it out of you, I will, I will . . .’
Now the sounds were different. This time it was not flesh on flesh, but something solid hitting something soft. I didn’t know what to do, where to turn. For what seemed like hours I remained riveted to the spot, sweat and tears pouring down my face. He was speaking again as he kicked her.
‘I used to say she’d ruined you, didn’t I? Well that was just a joke, you see, just a joke. I’m not joking now though, oh no . . .’
Suddenly galvanized, I shot through the house and into the living room. My mother lay at his feet in front of the range as he drove his foot again and again into her belly which she was trying to shield with very bloody arms. So involved was he in his task that he did not notice me as I crept behind him and brought the rolling-pin crashing on to the back of his skull.
He went down like a stone and I raised my hand to strike again, would have finished him off there and then, but my mother, raising herself slightly said, ‘No, Annie. Get the doctor. He’s killed my baby.’ I noticed then that the rug beneath her was soaked bright red, that her skirt was sodden with blood, that more blood was pouring down between her thighs.
Instinctively, I grabbed some towels from the pulley line and packed them as tightly as I could between her legs, then I flew out of the house, not to the doctor’s, but back to Mrs Cullen. She would know what to do. Mrs Cullen always knew what to do. Within minutes, Allan had been despatched for the doctor, Josie put in charge of the household, while Mrs Cullen and I ran, as fast as her bulk would permit, back to our house.
There was no sign of Eddie Higson. Obviously, I had not hit him hard enough, I thought viciously as I looked down at my mother whose lifeblood seemed to be covering the living-room floor.
‘Get down to the prefabs, Annie,’ said Mrs Cullen. ‘They’ve got them fancy fridges, ask for ice. Go on, ’urry up.’
I picked up a bucket and ran down the backs until I reached the prefabs where I disturbed half a dozen residents with my screaming. They piled the ice into my bucket and, not thinking to thank them, I sped back home. But I was too late, for my mother was already being lifted into the ambulance. Mrs Cullen held me back, because I was all for getting in the vehicle too and I heard myself screaming my mother’s name as the driver slammed the door and shot off at great speed.
‘Is she dead?’ I moaned.
‘Nay, lass. She’ll be alright in a day or two. Are you stoppin’ at Entwistle’s tonight?’ I shook my head. ‘No. Rita’s down with the chicken pox. I’ll have to stop . . .’ Oh no, I couldn’t bear it. ‘I’ll have to stop here.’
‘Did ’e beat ’er up, luv?’
‘Yes,’ I answered flatly. ‘But she’ll say she fell downstairs.’
Mrs Cullen shook her head. ‘That’s what they always say. There must be more folk fallin’ donw t’ bloody stairs than there is folk walkin’ up ’em. Now listen, Annie. Like as
Similar Books
