head first out of it.
Out of his head on drugs, Billy smiled as he eyed the plod. ‘You move one step nearer and the kid’s a goner.’
‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!’
A semi-conscious Debbie was dimly aware of her son calling for her. The realisation of why he was doing so made her lose consciousness completely.
TWELVE
AS SHE PLACED the last of the buffet on to the serving trolley, June stood back, admired her handiwork and smiled tenderly at Peter. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘It looks absolutely fabulous, darling, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
June smiled. It was indeed a feast fit for a king. Cooked meats of various kinds, home-made coleslaw, potato salad, vol-au-vents, sausage rolls, quiche, and the biggest selection of gateaux you could imagine. In fact, there was enough food there to feed the whole British Army, let alone the four couples who had been invited over to join them for Boxing Day.
Today was important to Peter and June was determined to make sure everything would be perfect for him. His friends included the Chief Constable of the Essex police, an up-and-coming Tory politician, and the captain of the extremely posh golf club he’d recently joined.
Peter smiled at his wife and kissed her on the forehead. The sound of the doorbell made him straighten up. It was time to greet the first of his guests.
Mickey Dawson thanked the doctor for his time and pondered his next move. His little sis was in Intensive Care and he was absolutely devastated. He’d only just found out the full extent of her injuries. At first the doctors thought that Debbie had a serious head injury. Thankfully, a brain scan had ruled that out. They’d had to shave her hair down one side to check her out properly and Mickey was dreading her reaction to that. Debs weren’t a bad-looking girl, but had no confidence in her appearance whatsoever. Sporting half a Grant Mitchell haircut would do nothing to improve her already low self-esteem.
Grabbing a much-needed coffee from the vending machine, Mickey sat on one of the battered plastic chairs and tried to get his thoughts in order. He’d have McDaid for this, fucking kill him with his bare hands if he got the chance. But seeing as he’d just been informed that the Glaswegian piece of shit was currently in custody, there was fat chance he could get anywhere near him, unless the scum got bail. The only hope of getting to him was if he was sent to the Scrubs. Mickey had gained a lot of respect and friends in clink and knew he only had to give the word. A nice bucket of sugary scalding water wouldn’t go amiss on good ole Billy boy.
Mickey shook his head at the bastard day he was having. He’d had a well-earned lie in this morning and hadn’t got up till after eleven. By the time he’d bothered switching his phone on it was past midday.
Within minutes, he’d received a distraught phone call from Debbie’s neighbour, Sharon, who had given him a blow-by-blow account of his sister’s savage beating. Billy being violent towards Debbie hadn’t surprised Mickey; he’d always known he was capable of it. But dangling his own kid out of the window of a tower block for ten minutes was beyond belief. The police had apparently had a terrible job trying to coax him into putting the boy down safely before they’d finally arrested Billy.
Sharon had been blunt with him. ‘Look, Mick, I know things are awkward for you, but I can’t look after Charlie for more than a day or two. He’s playing up something chronic, keeps upsetting me own kids, and to be honest, I think he needs to be around his own family. I’m going to stay at me mum’s for New Year and there’s no way I can take him there with me.’
‘Don’t worry, Sharon, I understand,’ Mickey had said. ‘Just keep him for a day or so, till I can sort out somewhere for him to stay. I’m gonna go up the hospital now to see what’s happening with Debs. I’ll call you later, yeah?’
Now he slung the last of his
Out of his head on drugs, Billy smiled as he eyed the plod. ‘You move one step nearer and the kid’s a goner.’
‘Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!’
A semi-conscious Debbie was dimly aware of her son calling for her. The realisation of why he was doing so made her lose consciousness completely.
TWELVE
AS SHE PLACED the last of the buffet on to the serving trolley, June stood back, admired her handiwork and smiled tenderly at Peter. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘It looks absolutely fabulous, darling, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
June smiled. It was indeed a feast fit for a king. Cooked meats of various kinds, home-made coleslaw, potato salad, vol-au-vents, sausage rolls, quiche, and the biggest selection of gateaux you could imagine. In fact, there was enough food there to feed the whole British Army, let alone the four couples who had been invited over to join them for Boxing Day.
Today was important to Peter and June was determined to make sure everything would be perfect for him. His friends included the Chief Constable of the Essex police, an up-and-coming Tory politician, and the captain of the extremely posh golf club he’d recently joined.
Peter smiled at his wife and kissed her on the forehead. The sound of the doorbell made him straighten up. It was time to greet the first of his guests.
Mickey Dawson thanked the doctor for his time and pondered his next move. His little sis was in Intensive Care and he was absolutely devastated. He’d only just found out the full extent of her injuries. At first the doctors thought that Debbie had a serious head injury. Thankfully, a brain scan had ruled that out. They’d had to shave her hair down one side to check her out properly and Mickey was dreading her reaction to that. Debs weren’t a bad-looking girl, but had no confidence in her appearance whatsoever. Sporting half a Grant Mitchell haircut would do nothing to improve her already low self-esteem.
Grabbing a much-needed coffee from the vending machine, Mickey sat on one of the battered plastic chairs and tried to get his thoughts in order. He’d have McDaid for this, fucking kill him with his bare hands if he got the chance. But seeing as he’d just been informed that the Glaswegian piece of shit was currently in custody, there was fat chance he could get anywhere near him, unless the scum got bail. The only hope of getting to him was if he was sent to the Scrubs. Mickey had gained a lot of respect and friends in clink and knew he only had to give the word. A nice bucket of sugary scalding water wouldn’t go amiss on good ole Billy boy.
Mickey shook his head at the bastard day he was having. He’d had a well-earned lie in this morning and hadn’t got up till after eleven. By the time he’d bothered switching his phone on it was past midday.
Within minutes, he’d received a distraught phone call from Debbie’s neighbour, Sharon, who had given him a blow-by-blow account of his sister’s savage beating. Billy being violent towards Debbie hadn’t surprised Mickey; he’d always known he was capable of it. But dangling his own kid out of the window of a tower block for ten minutes was beyond belief. The police had apparently had a terrible job trying to coax him into putting the boy down safely before they’d finally arrested Billy.
Sharon had been blunt with him. ‘Look, Mick, I know things are awkward for you, but I can’t look after Charlie for more than a day or two. He’s playing up something chronic, keeps upsetting me own kids, and to be honest, I think he needs to be around his own family. I’m going to stay at me mum’s for New Year and there’s no way I can take him there with me.’
‘Don’t worry, Sharon, I understand,’ Mickey had said. ‘Just keep him for a day or so, till I can sort out somewhere for him to stay. I’m gonna go up the hospital now to see what’s happening with Debs. I’ll call you later, yeah?’
Now he slung the last of his
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