record. It reminded her of Jimmy Young, who lived across the road. He was a bad boy who rode a motorbike. He was also very handsome.
Valerie was singing along, merrily basting the potatoes when she heard Alexander arrive home. Her heart beat rapidly and she said a silent prayer he wasn’t half-cut. She would hate him to spoil the kids’ Christmas by kicking off again. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ she shouted out. She could hear the nervousness in her own voice.
‘So-so. Come and say hello to Mum then,’ Alexander bellowed. Irish Tony had wound him up again. ‘I’m more than ninety-nine per cent sure it was your Valerie with Terry Fletcher, Alex. I’m a hundred per cent. I saw ’em holding hands.’
‘Hello, Noreen. Merry Christmas,’ Valerie said, wiping her hands on her apron before kissing the old cow on the cheek. She could tell Alexander had heard more gossip due to the sneer on his face.
‘Oh dear! Looks nasty, that eye. Walk into another door, did you?’ Noreen knew full well her son clumped Valerie at times and she didn’t have an ounce of sympathy for the woman. Valerie was a born flirt and, unfortunately for Alexander, she couldn’t keep her knickers on. Noreen would never forgive her for how she’d treated her son and she rued the day Alexander ever met the whore. His first wife Mary had been a lovely lady.
‘Dad’s still got the hump with Mum. You don’t think they’ll fight again, do you?’ Hazel whispered in her brother’s ear.
Tommy shrugged. He’d been doing a lot of shrugging lately.
Valerie Boyle was a good cook and had gone to town as per usual with the Christmas dinner. The turkey was succulent, the stuffing crispy, the parsnips just on the right side of burnt and the vegetables not too soft.
‘Bit soggy, these roast potatoes,’ Noreen complained, pushing the spuds to one side of her plate.
Tommy glared at his grandmother. She wasn’t a loving woman and he could tell Hazel was her favourite. ‘I like the potatoes. It’s a nice dinner, Mum.’
‘You would say that, wouldn’t you? You’re your mother’s son all right,’ Noreen spat.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Tommy asked.
‘Don’t answer your grandma back, eat your dinner, boy,’ Alexander ordered.
‘You never answered my question, Valerie. What happened to your face?’ Noreen pried. Her son hadn’t mentioned anything was amiss on the journey.
Aware of her children’s eyes on her, Valerie cleared her throat. ‘I tripped and fell down the stairs.’
Noreen pursed her lips. She knew Valerie was lying, guessed she’d been hawking her mutton again. ‘Best you be more careful in future then, eh?’
‘Hello, Rex. Look what I got for you, boy. You’ll like this. It’s turkey,’ Tommy said, stroking his best mate. Rex looked so forlorn living in his kennel, it broke Tommy’s heart. But his dad wouldn’t budge, not even when he’d begged to let Rex inside for Christmas Day. ‘It’s a dog, Tommy. Dogs live in kennels and humans live in houses. Fact.’
Rex nuzzled his head inside Tommy’s navy blue Parka. He hated being out in the cold, alone.
Alexander dropped his mother home early evening, then drove back towards Barking with a face like thunder. Irish Tony’s words had been on his mind all day and it had been an effort playing happy families. He was far too embarrassed to admit the truth to his mother. She’d warned him not to leave Mary for Valerie in the first place, and he felt like a bloody fool.
‘How could you do this to me, you bitch?’ Alex mumbled under his breath. He loved Valerie with a burning passion. She was an absolute stunner and the thought of another man even touching her filled him with rage. He’d always been insanely jealous, couldn’t help himself. Perhaps he should hand in his notice? Quit the oil rigs and stay at home where he could keep a watchful eye on her. Trouble with that idea was, local jobs paid nowhere near what he earned on the rigs and they had a very expensive mortgage. Only other option was to pay this Terry Fletcher a visit and warn him off. Alexander didn’t know the bloke personally but had heard through the grapevine he was married and lived in Barking with his wife and two kids. Alexander didn’t want to turn up at Terry’s door in case the wife chucked him out. That would only push him and Valerie closer together.
Alexander punched his steering wheel in frustration. ‘Slag.’
Valerie Boyle put the Party Susan on the dining table. ‘Supper’s ready, kids. Would you like me to bring a plate of sandwiches in the lounge to you, Alex?’ she shouted out. Her husband was sitting in his favourite armchair, knocking back the Scotch like it was going out of style.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Alexander replied.
‘Whassa matter with Dad, Mum?’ Linda asked. It was clear to all three children that after dropping their nan off their father had arrived home in a foul mood.
‘He’s probably just tired and winding down from work. Why don’t you three take your sandwiches and pickles upstairs, eat them in your bedrooms. You don’t have to go to sleep yet. You can play with your toys upstairs too.’ Valerie was a protective mother, would hate her children to witness any more violence. She had always tried to hide that from them.
‘No. I’m staying downstairs with you,’ Tommy replied. He was determined not to leave his mother alone with his father. That thought scared him.
The girls went to their bedroom and Tommy sat next to his mother on the sofa. His dad had a film on, but Tommy could tell he wasn’t really watching it. His mood was tense and you could cut the atmosphere with a knife. ‘What’s this film about, Dad?’ Tommy asked.
‘It’s about a slag, son. A slag who has affairs while her old man is working away.’
Valerie felt her heart lurch. ‘Please don’t say such things to Tommy, Alex. I have done nothing wrong. I told you that last night.’
‘That isn’t what Irish Tony says. He’s seen you out with your fancy man, holding hands. How often does your mother go out of a night, Tommy?’
‘Not much. Once a week usually, to the bingo,’ Tommy lied.
‘Hazel, Linda, get down here a minute,’ Alexander bellowed.
‘For goodness’ sake, Alex. Please don’t do this, not on Christmas Day. If you want to argue with me, then fine. But leave the children out of it,’ Valerie urged.
Hazel precariously poked her head around the lounge door. ‘What’s up?’
‘Come in the room properly,’ Alexander ordered. ‘Stand in front of me and look me in the eyes, love.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to ask you something.’
‘Me too?’ Linda enquired, looking at Tommy, who stared at her, willing her not to put her foot in anything.
Alexander held his eldest daughter’s hand. ‘Don’t you dare lie to me, Hazel, this is important. I want to know how often your mother goes out of a night?’
Hazel didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t want to get her mum into trouble but neither did she want to lie to her dad. ‘Sometimes she goes out,’ Hazel mumbled.
‘Yes, but how many times? Think back to, say, last week. You can remember that clearly, can’t you?’
Hazel nodded.
‘How many times did your mother go out of an evening last week? Mind, I will check with the neighbours and if I find out you’ve fibbed to me, you’ll get no pocket money for a whole year. Do you understand?’
Valerie squeezed Tommy’s trembling hand. ‘Please stop this nonsense, Alex. The children don’t deserve it.’
Hazel chewed nervously on her lower lip. She got far more pocket money than any of her friends and she