Born Bad

Like a predator, he had swooped on her when she was at her lowest; over the years he had moulded her to his will, skilfully quashing all her resistance.

After Harry was gone, the family rejected her, and the nightmare worsened. For a while, she was totally lost, until Phil Saunders took her under his wing.

At first he was kind, sometimes funny and wonderful, always there, waiting, watching, ready to take care of her; a much-needed shoulder to cry on. But then slowly, subtly, almost without her realising it, he became her jailer.

He knew exactly how to torment her mind – about Harry having deserted her, and the callous way in which her family had kicked her onto the streets. He goaded her about the other, faceless men who had used and left her, and other bad things that still haunted her, so much so that she had no self-respect, no sense of identity.

Phil Saunders had drained her of ambition and purpose. He knew her past. He knew her fears, and for his own gratuitous ends, he had played on those fears until now, she truly believed that no one else would want her – that she was less than worthless.

Like a young fool she had gone to him – willingly, blindly. More and more she grew to depend on him.

He had succeeded in that, if nothing else.

There was a time, long ago, when she lived in hope that something, or somebody, would rescue her. But they never did.

And why would they?

PART TWO (#ulink_ca082bdc-a555-5f57-bbc0-18f91d8f99a4)

Bedfordshire, Autumn 1956 (#ulink_ca082bdc-a555-5f57-bbc0-18f91d8f99a4)

Man and Boy (#ulink_ca082bdc-a555-5f57-bbc0-18f91d8f99a4)

Chapter Six (#ulink_12ac3c02-8f11-5d01-802f-064c39b4ce86)

DON ROBERTS SAT at the kitchen table, his troubled mind going back over the years. Not so long ago he had been a strong, proud man. He had a wife and family, he held down a good job and he had a future. Now, all that was behind him.

At the age of sixty-eight, he was a stocky man with a cropped grey chin beard and round blue eyes. He still had the strength of a man not yet past his prime, and when there was no work to do around the house, he would make himself busy outside, or stride across the fields from Heath and Reach, through the woods and beyond.

Now though, seated at his daughter’s kitchen table, his mind fled back over the years. He remembered the day as if it was only yesterday; that fateful day when Judy told them she was carrying Harry Blake’s child.

So much water had gone under the bridge since then. His wife Norma had passed on. Shortly afterwards, he had sold his home and moved in with his eldest daughter Nancy and her family. It wasn’t so bad while he was still out at work all day, but now that he was retired, he realised that it had been a big mistake.

So many regrets; so much heartache. Yet out of all the aching memories, the one that pained him the most was that shocking incident over seventeen years ago, just before the war.

To this day, he bitterly regretted how he and his wife had turned their daughter Judy out, at a time in her young life when she needed them most.

‘Sammie!’ Nancy’s voice shattered his thoughts.

‘What?’ Sammie was impatient. This was the third time her mother had called up the stairs to her.

‘Have you packed your suitcase yet?’

‘Not yet, no. I’m reading!’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why will that girl never do what she’s asked to do?’ Swinging round, Nancy addressed Don. ‘Honestly, Dad, what’s the matter with the child?’

Don smiled knowingly. ‘She’s young, that’s all. She’s got a million more important things on her mind than packing a case.’ Grandfather to Nancy’s two children, Don understood them far better than she ever could. ‘Leave her be, and she’ll do it all the quicker,’ he promised. ‘That’s how kids are.’

‘Well, she’d best get a move on. Her father’s only at the garage, filling up the car with petrol. Woe betide her if she still hasn’t done it by the time he gets back.’

Tall and slender, with auburn hair and an air of authority, Nancy Wells bore no resemblance whatsoever to her younger sister, Judy, long ago labelled the black sheep of the family.

‘Sammie! You’ve got half an hour at most, before your father gets back!’ she shouted up to her daughter for the fourth time. ‘Oh, and you need to find David. He seems to have gone missing.’

‘For crying out loud, will you stop panicking, Nancy. You’ve plenty of time yet,’ Don said.

Nancy threw herself onto a chair, her arms spread out across the kitchen table. ‘They wear me out at times,’ she moaned. ‘I haven’t even had a cuppa this morning, let alone any breakfast.’ She gestured to the sink. ‘Put the kettle on, Dad,’ she told him. ‘You make a pot of tea, while I go and sort those two out.’ Before he could answer, she was up and away, marching with a purpose towards the stairs.

Don gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Here we go again.’ He got up to do as he was instructed. ‘That’s a frightening sight and no mistake, our Nancy on the warpath. She never learns, does she, eh?’ Lately, he had got into the habit of talking to himself.

After his wife passed on some years ago, Nancy had persuaded him to sell up and move in with her and her family. At first he had resisted, but since he was lonely at the time, it had not taken long for him to change his mind.

Since then, he had often regretted his decision. Nancy was such a particular person, pernickety and fussy about almost everything.

While filling the kettle with water, he summed up Nancy’s character to a tee. ‘“Do this, do that … Don’t forget to make your bed. Take the dog for a walk and make sure she has her biscuits. Oh, and put the kettle on, Dad!”’