Blood Relatives Read Online Free PDF Page A

wor always more satisfying than getting away clean and easy.
    ‘Charts!’ I snorted under my breath. ‘Charts!’

Marcella Claxton
    09/05/1976 (survived)
    Friday night, as usual, we all went for a chinky and then on to t’ Marquis of Granby at the end of our road.
    Even Gran came along these days, now that she wor on her tod. Mandy, being too young for pubbing, said she wor going to Emma’s to listen to records. When sis wor fibbing she talked like a dalek and fiddled wi’ her hair. She wor off to see Adam. Her latest diary entries wor full of him. Adam-friggin’-Adam. Mother didn’t say nowt, except ‘Don’t be late.’
    The Marquis wor a large, noisy pub wi’ swirly blue-and-green carpeting, a jukebox and a dartboard.
    Mavis, Mother’s mouldiest friend, had pitched up, as had the neighbours, Nora Gudgeon, her diabetic mother Denise, and her daughter Janice. Mavis squeezed her ample backside onto t’ bench seat between Gran and me. She wor wearing a trowel-load of slap over t’ thin veneer of abuse doled out by hubby Don, and a pong so raking I thought I’d gag if I so much as flared a nostril. I spotted her abuser, across t’ bar, through t’ curling smoke, wi’ Mitch and two other blokes I didn’t know, drinkin’ themsens into a slurry.
    Janice wor sat opposite me, face like a pickled egg. Struck me she wor all dolled up like she’d been planning on being elsewhere. I could sympathise. It didn’t suit me none, sitting wi’ all t’ brassy women, but Mother wor being as stubborn as a goat, using that ‘family together’ baloney to blackmail me into feeling guilty for wanting to stay at home and play my records.
    Janice fiddled wi’ t’ buckle of her wide, white belt. Her nipples wor pushing pertly up against her cheesecloth smock-blouse.
    ‘Our Janice is getting spliced soon,’ chirruped Nora.
    ‘Married? Is that right, Janice?’ said Mavis, leaning forward, her glinting hoop earrings leaning wi’ her, her breasts bunching together in her low-cut glitzy top. ‘When wor all this decided?’
    Janice dropped her chin, and all eyes followed to t’ gentle bump. Looked like it wor decided about four month gone, I thought.
    ‘So, come on,’ Mavis said. ‘Who’s the lucky fella?’
    ‘He’s called Drew,’ Janice said, lighting a ciggie and blowing smoke from t’ side of her mouth. Denise flapped the smoke away wi’ a flash of pink nails.
    ‘Drew? Short for Andrew, is that? So where is he? When do we get to meet him?’
    Janice crossed her arms over her stomach. ‘He’s on a geography field trip. Wi’ t’ school.’
    Mavis said, ‘Kids today, eh. Who’d have ’em?’ Then wi’ a toss of her head toward Mother, she added, ‘If I remember right, Pam, you married dead young, didn’t you?’
    ‘He wor a mistake,’ Mother replied waspishly. ‘We wor divorced before a year wor out … Oh, Janice, luv, not that I mean that it won’t last between yersen and … and …’
    ‘Drew.’
    ‘Drew … just that I married a wrong’un, that’s all.’
    ‘What wor his name …?’ Denise asked, pitching in her tuppence worth. Mavis snatched up her lighter, clicking it furiously against t’ tip of another ciggie ’til Nora struck a match for her, then lit one for hersen.
    Mother hissed, ‘You know damn well, Denise. You know damn well his name.’
    Mother stretched out a smile. I didn’t know if she wor shunting off the topic for her own sake or mine. What wor to know that I hadn’t learnt already by earwigging and nosing about? Some friggin’ carpet salesman, twice her age, who she’d married and divorced like t’ church had revolving doors. It all happened a friggin’ age before I came on t’ scene. And owt that happened before me didn’t really happen. Except in history books and on t’ telly. Of course she didn’t want to blab on about it.
    Denise worn’t done yet.
    ‘Didn’t he take you down to London on honeymoon? Started out wi’ a stall in Leeds market and before