Josephine Cox - Born Bad

‘I wasn’t scrounging!’ The woman was close to tears. ‘I was just asking the time, you miserable old devil.’

Clad in a plain dark dress fastened at the waist with a broad belt, she looked nothing like a beggar; yet she appeared waiflike, and there was an air of desolation about her that could be mistaken for hunger of a kind.

In her early thirties, she was painfully thin, with long, fair hair and small, distinctly pretty features. Her soft grey eyes told a story; of great sadness, and fear.

As she darted her anxious gaze up and down the street, the fear was like a living entity in those sorry grey eyes.

When the hand fell on her shoulder, she gave a small, frightened cry. ‘It’s all right!’ The man was a friend. Grey-haired and weathered, he was old enough to be her father.

These past years, because of her situation, he and his wife, Pauline, had taken it on themselves to watch out for her. ‘I saw you just now,’ he said as he led her away. ‘That bloody stupid man! He mistook you for some kind of beggar, didn’t he?’

She wasn’t listening, because now her attention was drawn across the street to the café, where Kathleen and Tom were settling themselves at the table. Kathleen was standing, talking to the little boy, and when suddenly she looked up, the young woman was shocked to her roots. ‘Oh, my God! It really is her! IT’S KATHLEEN!’

The man followed her nervous gaze. ‘Who’s Kathleen?’ he asked. ‘Is she a friend?’

Now she was talking to herself. ‘She’s got a child with her. Whose child is that?’ Seeming confused, she turned to the man. ‘She’s got a child! Kathleen’s got a child . Who does it belong to?’

As though a light had flicked on in her mind, she gave a soft, uneasy laugh. ‘Is it … is it?’ Giving a wry little smile, she shook her head. ‘No! It can’t be, can it?’

The man gave her a gentle shake. ‘Stop it now. You’re doing yourself no good being out here like this.’ He felt her hand. ‘You’re freezing cold, lovey. We’d best get you inside.’

She gave him the sweetest smile. ‘Did you see though? Irish Kathleen’s got a child with her.’ She had no way of knowing what it meant, but it gave her a warm feeling inside.

‘Would you like to go over and see her, this Kathleen? You could ask her whose child it is. That would put your mind at rest.’

‘No!’ Shrinking from him, her eyes swam with tears. ‘I was wrong about the child. I know that now. Besides, Kathleen would not want to see me.’ Just then in that raw moment, she remembered it all. ‘She was my friend once, but I lied to her.’

‘I see.’ Although he didn’t see at all. Nor did he understand her reluctance to say hello to someone who had once befriended her. ‘All right then. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to.’

‘I want to go now, please.’

He had seen her like this before and it was a sad thing. It was even sadder to see her so obsessed with the child. It concerned him greatly.

‘We’d best go. I’ll make you one of my special cups of hot chocolate – do you a power of good it will.’

She nodded. ‘In a minute.’ Alan was landlord of the Bedford Arms, the pub on the corner. She trusted him and his dear wife Pauline above all others, but she would not be drawn on Kathleen.

‘Did you have a falling-out with that lady?’ he persisted.

‘I did not fall out with her! I already told you, she was my friend.’

‘Then you really should talk to her. After all, you need all the friends you can get.’

‘I’ve got you, haven’t I?’ She gave him a hug. ‘And Pauline?’

‘Yes, of course you’ve got me, and you’ve got Pauline, but you can never have enough friends, and this Kathleen does look a kindly old thing. You ought to get in touch with her … make amends for whatever it was that made her send you away.’

‘She didn’t send me away. I left. We all left.’ Unwilling to get into any further conversation, she threaded her arm through his and set him walking. ‘Hot chocolate sounds nice.’ She licked her lips at the thought of it.

He chuckled. ‘You’re a stubborn little devil when you choose,’ he muttered. ‘But I suppose you know best, after all.’

Back at the Bedford Arms, she made her way to the Ladies toilets, where she washed her face and combed her hair and peeked at herself in the mirror. The image that came back was pitiful. The long fair hair was dull and lank, the skin blotchy with tears, and the grey cloudy eyes had lost their sparkle.

‘Who are you?’ she asked of the image.

‘Judy Saunders,’ came the reply.

‘No! Not Judy Saunders.’ She shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘Who are you … really ?’

She gave a harsh little laugh. ‘You’re a bad woman, that’s who you are. You lie and you cheat, and you’ve done terrible things. It’s good that you’re married to a man you don’t love. It’s good that you’re paying the price.’

Bunching her fist, she thumped it into her chest. ‘You should be dead!’ When the tears began again, she couldn’t stop them, and then she was laughing, soft, wild laughter like someone insane.

Running the cold water tap, she cupped her hands and splashed the water over her face for a second time. For what seemed an age, she stared at herself again in the mirror; what she saw was a shadow, without substance, without life.

‘Judy Saunders.’ She gave a snort of disgust. ‘Look at yourself! You look dead, you feel dead, so why are you able to walk about, taking up valuable space; bothering ordinary good folks in the street? You are nothing! NO ONE! You’re not loved and you’re not wanted, so why don’t you just end it? Go on, Judy. Do it properly, here and now.’

‘Judy!’ The woman’s voice startled her. ‘Alan’s made you a hot drink. What are you up to? Come on.’ The woman’s voice became anxious. ‘JUDY. Come out of there!’

The young woman quickly composed herself. ‘It’s all right, Pauline. I’ll be out in a minute.’

She looked at the scars on her arms, her empty gaze following the long meandering red lines where the knife had split open the flesh. She was shocked. Whenever she caught sight of the scars, she was always shocked.

It was hard to realise how low she had sunk.

Taking a moment to loosely flick her hair, she then lightly stroked her lips, pinched her face to give it a glow, and finally she unrolled her sleeves to cover the scars.

One last look in the mirror to make sure she looked something approaching normal, then she painted on a smile, and was ready to face the world for another day.

Lately though, the days seemed to get longer and heavier. And the burden of living was almost too much to bear.

PHIL SAUNDERS WAS looking for trouble, but that was nothing new. ‘Who’s for a pint down the pub?’ Stripping off his overalls he scanned the room, his hard stare alighting on his work-mates who had yet to respond. ‘What? None of you fancies a pint? I don’t believe it!’

‘Looks like you’re on your own, matey.’ That was Jimmy Clayton, a stick-thin man in his late forties, with a straightforward, no-nonsense manner.

‘Oh, really?’ Incensed, Phil Saunders squared his broad shoulders. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘It means what it says.’ The other man made a wide gesture with outstretched arms. ‘Look around. Do you see anybody rushing to join you?’

‘Oh, so now you speak for everybody else, do you? Anyway, what makes you think I give a sod whether any of you come or not? Matter o’ fact, it’s just as well, ’cos I’m a bit particular about my drinking partners.’