Born Evil - Kimberley Chambers

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she noticed the horrified expressions on faces around her, Debbie apologised and quickly left the queue. Sod the allowance, she didn’t need the money that much.

      ‘I want my toy,’ Charlie screamed as they headed home. He refused to walk, chucked himself to the ground, and in the end Debbie had to nigh on carry him over her shoulder.

      Reaching the tranquillity of her flat at last, Debbie locked her son in his room and turned the radio on to drown out the sound of his tantrum. Today had been awful, and to say she’d felt embarrassed was putting it mildly. What the hell had she done so bloody wrong as a mother? Stressed beyond belief, she put her head in her hands and sobbed.

      When his temper subsided, Charlie sat down on his bed. Tall for his age, his looks were a perfect match for his character. Dark-haired and dark-skinned, he had the smile of an angel and the eyes of a devil. As he thought of Mrs Jones, he smiled. Her face had been a picture when he’d called her an old bag. As for shouting out ‘Paki’ in the Post Office, that had been really fun. Giggling, he picked up his teddy and bounced up and down on his bed. As his laugher turned into hysterics, he leapt higher and higher.

      Debbie opened the fridge door and reached for one of Billy’s strong ciders. Her life at the moment was totally shit, an absolute nightmare, she dreaded waking up in the morning.

      Looking back now, part of her secretly wished she had listened to her mum and Peter. At the time, Debbie hadn’t thought she had much going for her before she’d met Billy when really she had. Now she was stuck here in a rut. A horrible, shitty rut that she’d probably never get out of.

      At times she still loved Billy, but deep down knew that he was no good for her. He was one of life’s losers: dossing about, selling a bit of gear, drinking his life away. She knew that if she stayed with him, she’d never have the nice car, spacious house and happy lifestyle that she craved. The area they lived in didn’t help either. It was a rundown, depressing dump, full of junkies, winos and lowlifes.

      Unfortunately for their situation, Billy had years ago managed to wangle a two-bedroomed flat out of the council by telling them he had kids in Scotland who would be coming to stay. Getting out of a one-bed was hard enough, but getting out of a two-bed was nigh on impossible, so they were stuck in the tower block from hell.

      Debbie had often wondered how life would be if only they could get a transfer to Dagenham. Surely if they got out of Barking and were given a nice little house with its own garden, Charlie would be better behaved? Maybe that was all her son needed, a backyard where he could play, run about and let off steam.

      Charlie’s behaviour was a massive cause for concern to Debbie. She knew it wasn’t her fault, everyone told her what a good little mum she was, but she had no control at all over him. Charlie did exactly what Charlie wanted, and some of the things he said and did would shock even the most open-minded person. None of her friends’ children were as badly behaved. They were normal kids. Mischievous but manageable. Trust her to give birth to a problem child.

      The only time her son seemed happy or even behaved to a certain extent was when Billy was about, and that made Debbie feel like an out and out failure. He spent no more than a couple of hours a day with his son, but had a bond and mutual understanding with him that she could only dream of. She was the one who spoiled Charlie, she knew that. Maybe that was why he seemed to have no respect for her, but bargaining with him, buying and giving him things, was the only way she could get him to do as he was told.

      Billy certainly hadn’t helped matters. She’d scold Charlie for swearing, and then Billy would be ecstatic when the child said the word ‘fuck’ or ‘wanker’ in front of him. He’d bounce him up and down on his knee, telling him what a top boy he was. It was no wonder really that Charlie was so badly behaved. He probably didn’t even know what was right and what was wrong.

      Billy kept on and on lately about having another kid. Debbie couldn’t think of anything worse. Still wary of his temper, she’d outwardly gone along with his plan of adding to their brood and agreed to come off the pill. Unbeknown to her partner, though, she was still taking her contraception daily, hiding the evidence in the lining of her handbag. The thought of another child put the fear of God into her. She couldn’t control the one she had and dreaded the thought of a second.

      What Billy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, she’d decided. She knew he wasn’t the type to march up to the fertility clinic to find out why she wasn’t falling. He was far too proud for that, and wanking into a jar certainly wouldn’t be his idea of a family day out.

      If Billy found out that she’d been lying, Debbie knew there would be murder. He still lost his temper on occasions and wasn’t averse to giving her the odd clump here and there. He had improved, though, and had never really lost it with her since the time she’d landed up in hospital. The only digs she’d received since then were due to her brother’s visits. Billy hated it when Mickey turned up, laden with gifts, and every one of his visits caused untold grief afterwards.

      Thankfully, over the last couple of months Mickey had been so busy he’d hardly had time to pop round. He had some new business venture on the go and was spending a lot of time flitting between France and Spain. Debbie never asked him what he was up to, but she’d guessed he was getting hold of cheap booze and fags. Every time he visited, he turned up with bundles of the stuff.

      With Mickey in and out of the country, the only contact Debbie had had with her mother recently was via the phone. This suited her down to the ground, as whenever June was due to visit Debbie flew into a flustered panic and would spend hours tidying the flat up before her mother arrived. Problem was, no matter how much she vacced, dusted and tried to make the place look presentable, within five minutes of arriving her mother always found fault with it. Many times she’d heard the words, ‘Debs, bring in a dustpan and brush, love, you forgot to do under the sofa,’ or, ‘Get us a cloth, Debbie love, your skirting needs a good wipe.’

      Charlie’s behaviour in front of his nan hadn’t exactly helped their relationship. Mickey didn’t seem to take much notice of her son’s naughtiness, but her mum was a different kettle of fish.

      ‘Hello, Charlie, does Nanny get a kiss?’ her mum would ask.

      ‘Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks,’ Charlie would reply as he galloped around the room.

      More than once, June had pulled her aside about this. ‘I swear, Debs, that’s not normal behaviour. Whether you like it or not, I’m telling you, love, there is something terribly wrong with that child!’

      Luckily Mickey always came to her rescue. ‘He’s all right, Mum. He’s just a proper little boy. He’s got the Dawson spirit, that’s all.’

      ‘Mmm,’ replied June, with a disdainful look on her face.

      ‘Mummy!’

      Debbie’s thoughts of her family were interrupted by her son’s frantic scream. Charlie had bounced so high he’d gone head first into his wardrobe and was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

      Shit, Debbie thought. She’d just been about to prepare dinner and do a few jobs. She knew from past experience that once Charlie demanded her attention, she got very little else done. Chucking the chicken and potatoes into the oven, she went into his room, picked him up and carried him into the lounge.

      ‘Are you gonna help Mummy cook Daddy’s dinner?’

      ‘Nooooo,’ Charlie screamed. ‘Wanna play games.’

      ‘Okay,’ Debbie said. The veg would have to wait until Billy got home. Luckily, it was no more than fifteen minutes later that she heard his key in the door.

      ‘Daddy!’ Charlie yelled as he ran to greet him.

      Debbie gave Billy a peck on the cheek, and told him to amuse their son while she sorted out the dinner. Cooking had never been her thing until she’d moved in with Billy and she was still no Delia Smith. Somehow, though, she’d managed to teach herself the basics and now did a mean roast, which was Billy’s favourite.

      Billy tucked into his grub with a smile on his face. As he listened

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