bag, haven’t you?’
Sharon nodded, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face. ‘You’ll be fine, Debs. I’ve gotta go now … the doctors are waiting to operate.’
‘And,’ Debbie whispered, grabbing her arm, ‘promise me, Sharon? If I die and my baby survives, look after it for me. Tell my brother and everyone what Billy did to me. Make sure he doesn’t get his hands on the baby. If I’m okay, keep quiet, and say nothing to no one, apart from Donna.’
‘I promise,’ Sharon said.
Debbie’s last thoughts, as the anesthetic took hold, were of her own funeral. She could visualise her mother, shoulders hunched, being supported by Peter. She could see her brother Mickey sobbing at the graveside.
Overcome by tiredness, she closed her eyes.
SEVEN
BILLY MCDAID SAT ON a wooden bench, trying to muster up the courage to walk through the glass doors ahead of him. It was over forty-eight hours since the birth of his son, and he was desperate to visit both Debbie and the boy.
He’d been constantly ringing the hospital since the morning after Debs had been admitted, but getting any information out of the bastards had been like extracting blood from a stone. Today, however, he’d decided to try a different tactic and, amazingly, it had worked.
Albert, one of the old regulars who drank in the Hope and Anchor, had made the phone call for him, pretending to be Debbie’s uncle. Glad to be rid of the suspected abuser with the Glaswegian accent who kept ringing up, the hospital had swallowed old Albert’s yarn and told him the facts. Hence Billy’s arrival at the hospital, armed with a bunch of flowers and a teddy bear, waiting for the right moment to go in.
Deciding that after what he’d done to Debbie there was never gonna be a right moment, he took a deep breath and marched through the glass doors. Shit or bust, he needed to be with his family.
Debbie took a sip of lukewarm tea and looked lovingly into the cot beside her bed. He was gorgeous, her son, tiny but perfect. She was amazed that she had actually created such a beautiful creature. The nurses had only allowed him to be in the same room as her since this morning. They’d said she wasn’t well enough before that. Her injuries were bad, but not as serious as the doctors had first suspected.
A collapsed lung, two fractured ribs and a broken nose were the result of Billy’s frenzied attack on her. The staff had been pleased with her progress, though, and Debbie no longer cared about her injuries. She was alive, her baby was okay, and that was all that mattered. The only distressing thing for her now was that she’d been advised not to breast-feed.
Not wanting to dwell on what she couldn’t do, Debbie had decided it was time to think positively. At one point in the ambulance, her breathing had been so bad she’d thought she was dying and wouldn’t be around to see her precious baby.
Her friends Sharon and Donna had both been fantastic, absolute stars. Sharon had turned up with a bag full of night clothes and underwear, and had also offered her a place to stay when she was discharged.
‘I’ve made room already,’ she told Debbie. ‘You’ll be fine, living with me, until the council sort you somewhere out. I know it’s not ideal living next-door to that bastard, but don’t worry, I’ll look after you, I promise.’
Debbie was especially grateful that Sharon had kept her word and told no one about what had happened.
‘Wendy and Jenny asked me round the shops and I just told them you’d gone into labour early. They’re like the
News of the
fucking
World
them two. Good job I never slipped up or everyone in Barking would have been told by now,’ Sharon had laughed.
Debbie prayed her Mickey didn’t turn up again soon. She just hoped that, because she hadn’t rung him with the promised landline number, he wouldn’t call in at the flat unexpectedly. If he did turn up when she got back, she would just make the excuse that the baby
Sharon nodded, unable to stop the tears from streaming down her face. ‘You’ll be fine, Debs. I’ve gotta go now … the doctors are waiting to operate.’
‘And,’ Debbie whispered, grabbing her arm, ‘promise me, Sharon? If I die and my baby survives, look after it for me. Tell my brother and everyone what Billy did to me. Make sure he doesn’t get his hands on the baby. If I’m okay, keep quiet, and say nothing to no one, apart from Donna.’
‘I promise,’ Sharon said.
Debbie’s last thoughts, as the anesthetic took hold, were of her own funeral. She could visualise her mother, shoulders hunched, being supported by Peter. She could see her brother Mickey sobbing at the graveside.
Overcome by tiredness, she closed her eyes.
SEVEN
BILLY MCDAID SAT ON a wooden bench, trying to muster up the courage to walk through the glass doors ahead of him. It was over forty-eight hours since the birth of his son, and he was desperate to visit both Debbie and the boy.
He’d been constantly ringing the hospital since the morning after Debs had been admitted, but getting any information out of the bastards had been like extracting blood from a stone. Today, however, he’d decided to try a different tactic and, amazingly, it had worked.
Albert, one of the old regulars who drank in the Hope and Anchor, had made the phone call for him, pretending to be Debbie’s uncle. Glad to be rid of the suspected abuser with the Glaswegian accent who kept ringing up, the hospital had swallowed old Albert’s yarn and told him the facts. Hence Billy’s arrival at the hospital, armed with a bunch of flowers and a teddy bear, waiting for the right moment to go in.
Deciding that after what he’d done to Debbie there was never gonna be a right moment, he took a deep breath and marched through the glass doors. Shit or bust, he needed to be with his family.
Debbie took a sip of lukewarm tea and looked lovingly into the cot beside her bed. He was gorgeous, her son, tiny but perfect. She was amazed that she had actually created such a beautiful creature. The nurses had only allowed him to be in the same room as her since this morning. They’d said she wasn’t well enough before that. Her injuries were bad, but not as serious as the doctors had first suspected.
A collapsed lung, two fractured ribs and a broken nose were the result of Billy’s frenzied attack on her. The staff had been pleased with her progress, though, and Debbie no longer cared about her injuries. She was alive, her baby was okay, and that was all that mattered. The only distressing thing for her now was that she’d been advised not to breast-feed.
Not wanting to dwell on what she couldn’t do, Debbie had decided it was time to think positively. At one point in the ambulance, her breathing had been so bad she’d thought she was dying and wouldn’t be around to see her precious baby.
Her friends Sharon and Donna had both been fantastic, absolute stars. Sharon had turned up with a bag full of night clothes and underwear, and had also offered her a place to stay when she was discharged.
‘I’ve made room already,’ she told Debbie. ‘You’ll be fine, living with me, until the council sort you somewhere out. I know it’s not ideal living next-door to that bastard, but don’t worry, I’ll look after you, I promise.’
Debbie was especially grateful that Sharon had kept her word and told no one about what had happened.
‘Wendy and Jenny asked me round the shops and I just told them you’d gone into labour early. They’re like the
News of the
fucking
World
them two. Good job I never slipped up or everyone in Barking would have been told by now,’ Sharon had laughed.
Debbie prayed her Mickey didn’t turn up again soon. She just hoped that, because she hadn’t rung him with the promised landline number, he wouldn’t call in at the flat unexpectedly. If he did turn up when she got back, she would just make the excuse that the baby
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