Free Georgia by Lesley Pearse Page B

petty criminal, cared for the sick, the lame and the mentally unstable, why then couldn’t she see what she was doing to her own husband?
    Laughter on the stairs made him sit up sharply. The record had long since finished, yet he hadn’t noticed. He peered at his watch. It was twenty to twelve and he’d drunk half the bottle of gin.
    ‘She won’t be back for hours,’ he sighed, getting up unsteadily. ‘I’d better go and see what they’re doing upstairs.’
    The furniture seemed to be in the wrong places. He banged against the settee, almost falling and he had trouble opening the door. It was cooler in the hall and only then did he notice he was still carrying the gin.
    Christine was smooching with John on the stairs. One rounded shoulder was free of her dress, an inch of white dimpled flesh above her stocking tops showing as Brian reached the first step.
    ‘’Allo, ’allo,’ he grinned. ‘What ’ave we got ’ere?’
    Christine jumped a few inches away from the boy, pulled down her skirt and blushed charmingly. The earlier artful hairstyle was more like a tousled bird’s nest now. Blonde tendrils surrounding her mascara-smeared face. She looked like a fallen angel, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
    ‘Hallo, Mr Anderson,’ she said. ‘Come to join the party?’
    The boy stood up and Brian saw he had an erection.
    ‘I thought I might liven things up,’ Brian smirked at the pimply-faced boy. ‘But don’t let me interrupt you!’
    ‘Can I have some of that?’ Christine giggled, fluttering her eyelashes and pointing to the bottle.
    ‘I’ll give you a drop in return for a kiss!’
    Christine picked up a glass just behind her and held it out to him.
    Brian lunged forward at her, almost tripping. The boy caught his arm.
    ‘Steady on!’
    ‘I’m just a little squiffy,’ Brian said, plonking a wet kiss on Christine’s cheek. ‘But it’s my daughter’s birthday so why shouldn’t I be?’
    He glugged some of the gin in Christine’s glass, then moved on past her, leaving the pair of them whispering behind him.
    They were playing that record again, the same one Georgia had played almost non-stop since Christmas Day.
    ‘Till I kissed ya’. He’d found himself humming it in the car, singing it in the bath, but it had never sounded so good before.
    He paused on the landing by the open playroom door. A small table lamp over in one corner was the only light. Four couples were shuffling round the floor, girls’ heads buried in their partners’ shoulders. The decorations were drooping down low over their heads, cigarette smoke swirled lazily up to the ceiling and the other twenty or so kids sat around the edges of the room locked in one another’s arms.
    But Brian barely noticed anyone. All he could see was Georgia in the middle of the room, Peter’s mouth coming down to hers.
    Her upturned caramel face glowing in the soft light, full red lips open slightly, her breasts straining against the tight red bodice.
    No woman had ever looked like that for him. He felt a quiver run down his spine, a stirring inside him.
    ‘Come on in then!’ Christine was at his elbow, drawing him into the room.
    Georgia barely moved. She turned, smiled at him, then looked back at Peter.
    Brian felt a rush of jealousy. Next to Peter he felt dwarfed, fat and old. The golden hair, the firm resolute chin, those bright blue candid eyes all irritated him.
    This boy had it all, looks, brains and now Georgia. He would never get to fifty and wonder what had happened to his life.
    ‘Hallo Daddy,’ she took Peter’s hand and walked towards Brian. ‘It’s not twelve yet is it?’ She kissed him just as she always did, one small hand touching his cheek lightly.
    ‘Thought I’d see what you are up to,’ he lurched to one side, holding the wall for support. ‘Are there any spare girls for me?’
    ‘Daddy!’ Georgia frowned reprovingly. ‘You’ve been drinking!’
    ‘Only one or two,’ he said. ‘I brought some up for you