Free Bad Girl by Roberta Kray Page B

blatantly. Helen squirmed under their scrutiny, aware of being judged. Her clothes, she knew, were drab in comparison to theirs – a pair of dark grey trousers and a striped jumper that was a size too big for her. Gran had always insisted on buying clothes that were ‘practical’ and that she could ‘grow into’.
    ‘Where you from, then?’ Debs asked.
    ‘Farleigh Wood,’ Helen said. ‘I live in Camberley Road.’
    ‘What kind of music are you into?’
    Sensing that this was some kind of test – and one that she could easily fail – Helen gave a small shrug. ‘I like lots of things.’
    ‘I like the Jackson Five and David Cassidy best,’ Karen said. ‘Debs reckons she’s going to marry Mick Jagger.’
    Helen, who had been grudgingly allowed to watch The Partridge Family on Saturday nights, said, ‘I like David Cassidy too.’
    Karen gave a giggle. ‘How come you speak funny?’
    Tommy gave his daughter a nudge with his elbow. ‘She doesn’t speak funny, love. She just speaks different. She’s not common like you.’
    Helen, who was not used to any kind of banter, was shocked by the remark, but Karen found it outrageously funny. She threw back her head and laughed out loud. Grabbing her father’s arm, she tugged on his sleeve and gazed up at him.
    ‘Am I, Dad? Am I really common?’
    ‘Common as muck,’ he said. ‘Perhaps your cousin can teach you some manners. Although I doubt it. I reckon you’re a lost cause, darlin’.’
    ‘A lost cause,’ Karen repeated, clearly pleased by the verdict.
    ‘There’s nothing wrong with her manners,’ Yvonne snapped. ‘But if she has got any bad habits, we all know who she’s picked them up from.’
    Tommy raised his eyebrows, but didn’t seem overly stung by the criticism. ‘Yer old dad’s in the doghouse again,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘She’ll be sending me up to me room next.’
    Suddenly a loud, barking voice came from behind them. ‘Oh, so you’re back, are you? Good of you to honour us with your presence. I thought you were supposed to be running this bleedin’ pub.’
    Helen whirled around to see a fat, ageing man standing in the doorway. He had a large drooping face with folds of flesh under his chin, red-veined cheeks and sparse grey hair combed over a pinkish scalp. His eyes, dark and menacing, glowered at her uncle.
    ‘Five minutes,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ll be right down.’
    ‘Five minutes, my arse. It’s packed down there.’
    ‘Okay, okay. Don’t lose yer rag. I’m coming.’
    The man gave a grunt, apparently satisfied. It seemed as if he was about to go, but then Yvonne piped up.
    ‘Aren’t you going to introduce Joe to his granddaughter, Tommy?’
    Helen heard a thin hiss of breath escape from Tommy’s lips. She saw him look daggers at his wife before shifting his gaze back to his father. ‘This is Helen,’ he said finally.
    Joe, who until that moment had completely ignored the third child in his living room – perhaps presuming she was one of Karen’s school friends – now focused all his attention on her. His dark eyes seemed to bore into her soul and there wasn’t an ounce of friendliness in them. ‘Tell me this is a fuckin’ joke.’
    ‘No joke,’ Tommy replied.
    ‘No way. No fuckin’ way! I’m not having Lynsey’s brat in this house.’
    Helen shrank back, moving closer to her uncle. Yvonne’s welcome hadn’t been exactly enthusiastic, but this was something else entirely. She could feel her legs beginning to shake again. The man was vile, horrible. How could he possibly be her grandfather?
    ‘It’s only for a week or so. She’s got nowhere else to go.’
    ‘Over my dead body.’
    ‘If you like,’ Tommy said. And there was something in his voice that Helen hadn’t heard before, something hard and cold and determined. The two men locked eyes in a battle of wills. There was a scary silence in the room that seemed to go on for ever. Joe Quinn was the first to look away.
    ‘Ah, do what