Born Evil. Kimberley Chambers

put the baby first. I think we must perform a caesarean section, deliver the child, and sort the patient’s breathing out afterwards.’

      Debbie asked to speak to her friend alone for a few seconds, before they wheeled her to theatre.

      Sharon put on a gown, washed her hands in some surgical disinfectant and went in to face Debbie. She spoke faintly, her breathing laboured.

      ‘I’ve told the doctors that I’ve no next-of-kin, so if they need anything signed, I’ve given permission for you to do it. If anything happens to me, I want you to contact my brother Mickey. His number’s in my purse. You’ve still got my 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 had arrived early and, with a bit of luck, by then her injuries would probably be healed.

      In all honesty, though, her brother was the least of her problems. Billy was her main concern and she’d been thinking about him all day. Her head told her that she hated him, despised him, and was well rid. Trouble was, her heart told her differently. She knew he had problems of his own and was worried that, without her in his life, he’d do something stupid. Part of her would always love him, always care for him, and she couldn’t just switch off her feelings. She hadn’t told Sharon and Donna how she felt, nor would she tell anyone else. People would think she was mental and deserved all she got.

      Her thoughts were broken by the sound of her son crying. Debbie buzzed the nurse and waited patiently for her to arrive. She hated having to buzz for help just to attend to her baby, but was under strict orders from the doctor to stay in bed and take things slowly.

      ‘What are you going to call him?’ the nurses kept asking her. She and Billy had both agreed on Charlie for a boy. It was Billy’s idea really; he’d wanted to name him after his dead brother. Debbie hadn’t mentioned this to the nurses, but had just told them she was undecided. This was true. If she wasn’t with Billy anymore, she might as well name him after her own brother, or pick a completely different name which suited the baby more.

      Debbie took her son from the nurse and fed him his bottle. He looked nothing like her, he was more like Billy. As she studied him, she racked her brains for a name that would suit him. For some strange reason, she couldn’t think of one.

      * * *

      Billy ducked out of the way of an oncoming doctor and stood at the entrance to the obstetric ward. He knew that Debs was in a side room, as the nurse had told old Albert so, but he was frightened to ask any of the medical staff for directions. His accent would definitely give him away.

      Feeling more and more like a dickhead, with a teddy in one arm and a wilting bouquet in the other, Billy was quite relieved when a young girl pushing a tea trolley stopped and asked him if he was looking for anyone in particular.

      ‘I’m looking for my sister, Debbie Dawson,’ he lied, imitating a cockney accent to the best of his ability.

      The girl smiled. She liked her new job and wanted to be helpful. ‘Debbie’s in that room over there,’ she pointed, ‘last door on the right.’

      So far, so good, Billy thought to himself. He’d expected it to be an ordeal just to get to Debs, but it had been an absolute doddle. Feeling nervous as hell, he opened the door and walked in.

      ‘Hiya, Debs. Please don’t chuck me out. Can we talk?’ he pleaded.

      Shocked by his unexpected appearance, Debbie felt nervous and awkward. ‘Sit down over there if you want,’ she said.

      Seeing her lying in bed, bruised, fragile and with his son in her arms, brought a lump to Billy’s throat. He hadn’t come prepared with a speech and was stumped as to what to say to her next.

      ‘I’m lost for words, Debs,’ he finally admitted. ‘I cannae explain why I did what I did. All I can say is that I am so, so sorry. I cannae believe how badly I’ve treated you. I know you must hate me and I’ll understand if you never wannae see me again, but I’m begging you, please, give me just one more chance. I’ll get help for my temper, I’ll do anything you say.