Free The Footballer's Wife by Kerry Katona

dickhead.
    â€˜You’ve gone quiet. Again,’ Len said disapprovingly.
    â€˜I’ve just been busy since the match.’
    â€˜Ask ’im!’ a shrill rough voice squawked in the background.
    â€˜That’s Gemma. She wants to know if you fancycoming round one night to meet her. We can get some cider in.’
    This was the most grown-up gesture Len could ever remember his son making. He was taken aback. ‘Well, tell Gemma that would be very nice. I can come round tomorrow if you fancy.’
    â€˜Tomorrow any use, Gem?’ Jimmy asked his girlfriend.
    â€˜Well, it’s not like we ever bleeding go anywhere, is it?’ she said. Finishing school obviously left a few rough edges with Gemma, Len observed.
    â€˜Yeah, come round about half seven, Dad. We’re on Thorpecliffe estate. Near the offy. Give us a ring when you get there and I’ll come and get you.’
    â€˜Will do,’ Len said, putting the phone down. His feeling of foreboding was still there. He rang Charly’s phone, and this time she answered.
    â€˜Hi Dad.’ She sounded distracted.
    â€˜You alright, love?’ he asked.
    â€˜I’m fine. Joel’s been in hospital. He’s out now but will have to miss a couple of games. He’s got his foot bandaged – stood on some glass.’
    â€˜And are you alright?’
    â€˜God, Dad, why wouldn’t I be?’ Charly asked, exasperation in her voice.
    â€˜Just checking,’ Len said gently before putting the phone down.
    The next morning Len bought the
Sun
; he thought it was safe to bet that he wouldn’t be featured snarling on page seven. He turned to the back page to see that the main story was all about his daughter’s boyfriend and his injury. This wasn’t news to Len and he was just about to look at his stars, something he’d never admit to reading but something he did every day, when a footnote caught his attention. As instructed, Len turned to page eleven and there on the showbiz gossip page was a picture of his daughter with a bruise blackening her left eye. The article was speculating on the origin of the bruise – Charly had claimed to have walked into the fridge – but Len didn’t have to speculate, he knew full well where it had come from. He ran out of the house and jumped in his Allegro, heading for Manchester.
    Len waited outside the apartment block where Charly had told him that she and Joel were now living, until someone was entering. There was no way that he was calling Charly, the temper he was in. He knew she wouldn’t let him in. Who did this Joel Baldy think he was? Len thought beyond anger. Thinking he can thump his daughter? He wanted tostand up and fight like a real man, thump Len if he was going to thump anyone. He looked at the listing on the lift. They lived in the penthouse; that was easy enough to locate. Len stood in the lift, the blood coursing through his veins. He felt suddenly calm as he watched the numbers to the top floor fly by. He didn’t know how he was going to handle this, and he certainly didn’t know if he was going to be able to keep his temper in check.
    Len stormed over to the door of the penthouse. He knocked and waited. The door opened and Charly stood staring at her father, as if at first she couldn’t quite place why he was there. Len gently took her jaw in his hand and, turning her head to the side, inspected her bruise. ‘Where is he?’ Len asked in a low, menacing voice. Charly looked like a startled fawn as it dawned on her that her father hadn’t just popped round for a cup of tea. Len marched past her into the lounge where Joel was sitting with his leg up on the leather pouf, watching his widescreen TV. Len didn’t wait for him to speak or push himself up in his chair, he just grabbed the young man by the throat and punched him straight in the face.
    â€˜Feel nice, does it, you piece of shit?’ Len punched Joel