Born Evil. Kimberley Chambers

offie. His woman deserved a treat and he was just the man to buy her one. Browsing the shelves, he bought a bottle of wine, a box of Milk Tray and six cans of Strongbow. He’d had a good day today and had nicked at least a fifty. Deciding to really push the boat out, he headed to the local Chinese, and ordered a tenner’s worth of takeaway.

      ‘I’m home, hen,’ he called cheerfully as he entered the flat. ‘I’ve brought you loads of goodies, lassie.’

      Debbie had had a good afternoon since her mother and brother had left. After the initial awkwardness, it had been really nice to see them and although no arrangement had been made to meet up again, she knew all she had to do was pick up the phone. She hadn’t had a go at Mickey after all. Her mother, for all her faults, had seemed genuinely pleased to be with her. Debbie had even put up with June doing her Hyacinth Bucket bit, allowing her to vac, polish and do some ironing.

      After her family had left, Debbie had for once managed to get Charlie off to sleep. She now felt miles better after some much-needed shut-eye herself. In fact, she’d only woken an hour ago.

      ‘Surprise!’ Billy announced as he stood in the doorway.

      ‘Bill, come and look at all this stuff!’ Debbie called to him excitedly. She’d just been going through all the bags her Mickey had left for Charlie and he’d bought some blinding gear. Baby jeans, cord dungarees, little boots, the tiniest Nike trainers you ever did see, a baseball cap, toys … he’d thought of everything.

      ‘Look, Bill,’ she said again as she clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘Mickey got all these up Bethnal Green. He reckons there are some fantastic baby shops there. He said he’ll take me and I can pick out whatever I want.’

      As Billy stood there with the Chinese in one hand and the carrier bag in the other, he felt like a complete and utter prick.

      ‘What you brought me then, Bill?’ Debbie asked cheerfully.

      ‘Nothing much,’ he said dejectedly. ‘Only a Chinese and that.’

      She jumped up and slung her arms around his neck. She’d already decided not to mention the fact that her mum had visited, just in case it upset him. ‘Oh, you’re a darling. Go and dish it up, Bill, I’m starving! Let’s get stuck in while Charlie’s still asleep.’

      Billy walked into the kitchen and threw the Chinese on to the worktop. He took the Milk Tray out of the bag and slung the box straight into the bin. His blood was boiling and he was fucking fuming. He’d thought Debs would be over the moon with his surprise, but no, her cunting brother had had to arrive here first like fucking Santa Claus and make his present look like a burnt offering.

      As he chucked the special fried rice on to the plates, he took a few deep breaths. He had to keep his temper in check, couldn’t lose it, not now.

      ‘Mickey fucking Big Shot Cunt,’ he muttered to himself, as he shovelled prawn balls on the side. He hated being belittled and, for the second time in months, Deb’s brother had managed it quite easily.

      ‘What you doing, Bill? Hurry up, I’m starving!’ Debbie shouted innocently.

      ‘Coming, dear,’ he growled, gritting his teeth with anger. He couldn’t be made to feel a loser any more by her brother. He’d had enough of it. He’d have to put a stop to his visits, cause a row, do something. Mickey fucking Dawson was hardly Reggie Kray. The sooner he got the cunt out of their lives, the better.

       NINE

       December 1994

      ‘DO YOU MIND waiting behind for a few minutes, Debbie? Only I need to have a word with you in private.’

      Debbie sat down on one of the plastic chairs and watched all the other mums and kids straggle out of the building. Feeling her cheeks redden, she braced herself for the worst. She didn’t have to wait long. Two minutes later Charlie’s teacher sat down next to her, a pitying expression plastered across her face. In her most patronising voice, Mrs Jones listed all the naughty things that Charlie had been caught doing that particular week. These included punching a little girl, spitting at a little boy and showing his willy to her and everybody else in his class.

      As her son sat on a nearby chair, rocking in his seat and giggling uncontrollably at the stories of his own antics, Debbie cringed with horror. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to deal with this kind of situation, but she still didn’t know what to say.

      She cleared her throat. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Jones. I promise I’ll have a word with Charlie’s father as soon as I get home, and I can assure you he will be punished for his bad behaviour.’

      Mrs Jones nodded her head sympathetically. In all her years of teaching children, she had never come across one as intelligent as Charlie. He was approaching genius level developmentally. Streets ahead for his age, he was three going on thirteen. But so far as his behaviour went, he was the worst child she had ever taught. He was rude, constantly swore, had an extremely violent nature and was way too sexually aware for his tender years. Mrs Jones glanced at the child, still gleefully rocking on his chair and pulling faces at her. Turning her attention back to his mother, she felt nothing but relief as she delivered her final blow.

      ‘I’m so sorry, Debbie, but I think it would be best all round if you found another nursery for Charlie to attend. We’ve been extremely patient with him and given him so many chances, but we simply haven’t the staff to deal with him here. He seems to need constant attention and we have to divide our time equally between all of the children.’

      ‘He won’t misbehave again, I promise, Mrs Jones. Please, just give him one more chance?’ Debbie pleaded.

      ‘No,’ said the teacher firmly. ‘Charlie has had too many chances as it is. Recently we’ve had far too many complaints from the other parents. I’m afraid we have no choice other than to ask you to remove him. I’m really sorry, Debbie, but we just can’t control him and also feel that he’d benefit from a change of school. As you know, his intelligence is not in question, but unfortunately he needs far more attention than we can offer him here.’

      Debbie stood up. ‘Okay, well, thank you for your time, Mrs Jones.’

      ‘Old bag, old bag, old bag,’ Charlie chanted, and started to laugh hysterically.

      Grabbing her child out of his seat, Debbie dragged him towards the door. Telling him off was useless. He’d obey Billy, but with her it went in one ear and out the other. Five minutes from home, she happened to remember that she’d forgotten to collect her Family Allowance. With Christmas on the horizon, money was much needed so she decided to take a detour towards the Post Office.

      ‘Nooooo, wanna go home!’ Charlie screamed, sitting down on the pavement and refusing to budge.

      ‘Please, Charlie, now come on, be a good boy for Mummy. If we don’t go to the Post Office, Father Christmas won’t bring you any presents next week.’

      ‘Don’t care,’ he replied, folding his arms. ‘Father Christmas not real. I want toys today.’

      Debbie wearily reverted to the only tactic she knew would work. ‘You be a good boy, Charlie. Come to the Post Office with Mummy and you can pick out any toy you want.’

      Smiling, Charlie got up from the pavement. As young as he was, he knew exactly what buttons to press with his silly mummy.

      At the Post Office, Debbie was greeted by the sight of a long queue and her heart sank. Charlie and queues didn’t really go together. Holding his hand and forcing him to stand next to her, she prayed for him to behave and not make a show of her. Her prayers must have fallen on deaf ears. Five minutes later, he pointed at the woman in the sari standing in front of them and screamed, ‘Look, Mum – Paki, Paki, Paki.’

      Debbie was mortified. Billy had taught Charlie his foul and racist language, not her. Coon, Paki, cunt, wanker … she’d heard Billy laugh