It was an act and they both knew it. Patrick was wide awake and he had an itch that had to be scratched and his wife had just given him the perfect excuse to leave the house and get it scratched thoroughly by a little redhead with a pretty mouth.
'What do you think you are doing?'
It was a question she knew he had no intention of answering with any kind of truthfulness.
He sneered at her instead.
'What does it look like, Lil? You're the expert, you tell me.'
He pulled on his socks and, slipping his feet into his shoes, he carried on in the same sarcastic tone.
'I am going back out because it is obvious to me that you ain't going to let me sleep tonight so I might as well be out on the fucking town. I might as well give you something to moan about.'
Lil was nearly in tears, not because she was upset, but because her anger was overwhelming her.
'You are going to walk out because I asked you about your son's birthday and you think that is reason enough to go to your whore?'
Patrick's anger abated at her words. 'What whore? I ain't got a bird, Lil, not a real one, and you know that. I take a flier now and again, but that is it.'
He walked around the bed half dressed, running his hands through his hair in consternation, and, pulling her into his arms, said softly, 'You are one fucking awkward bastard, Lil, when you are cooking a chavvy. I am tired of this. You know what has been happening lately with the Williams brothers.'
He was looking into her eyes and his sensible head was telling him to stay home and make her happy, but his cock and his newfound energy were telling him to go out and have a good fuck. Get all the tension out of his body that only a faceless, uncomplicated fuck could do for a man.
Women didn't understand men and strange: it was nothing personal, it was about shagging, that was all. They were there for the taking, and you took. Simple as that; it wasn't rocket science. With strange you just did it. You didn't worry about them enjoying it too much and you didn't have to be nice to them before or after, though he was; you just bought them a few drinks and had a laugh. If you saw them again you smiled and that was just about the extent of the relationship. If they had delusions of grandeur, you put them in their place with a few choice words and a gentle hand on their backs as you walked them out the door. Now Patrick had the scent of strange in his nostrils and his wife was making him feel like a fucking intruder in his own home: a perfect recipe for him to justify going back out and not feeling too much remorse for his philandering.
'Look, Lil. Of course I want the boy to have a great day but, no matter what I say, you will decide it all in the end anyway. You want a row and I ain't going to let you have one.'
Lily knew exactly what he was trying to do and the knowledge depressed her. She could indeed start a row in an empty house, he was right about that much. But she was right about him and his other life as well. He called them fliers, she called them the reason she couldn't sleep.
'Get back into bed.'
She allowed him to tuck her in, fighting the urge to cry. She ached all over and she was tired and irritable. The twins would be up at six and she would have to be up with them no matter what she felt like. This was the edge he always had over her. She wondered what he would do if she fucked off one night and left him there wondering where she was, who she was with and when she would be back. That would never happen though, and they both knew it.
'Get a bit of sleep, Lil, you need it. I am only making you upset by being here and neither of us want that, do we?'
As Lil lay back against the pillows once more, she was amazed to see her husband finish dressing himself. She watched as he checked his pockets for his wallet and keys and then, kissing her lightly, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. She stretched out in the bed then and the sleep that had eluded her finally overcame her; this was a milestone in their marriage and she knew it. For the first time ever, she was glad he was gone from her. She knew he had come home the conquering hero and she had pissed all over the fireworks. The knowledge saddened her.
Chapter Nine
'What are you doing, boy?'
Pat Junior grinned as he poured the tea out and he basked in his mother's pretend annoyance. He loved it when she acted like he was still too young to do things for himself or for the others.
'Making the breakfast, Mum. Sit down and have a rest.'
Lil laughed happily. 'Have a rest, I only just got up!'
Since his birthday invitations had gone out and his cake had been ordered, Patrick Junior had been like a dog with six lampposts. He was a good kid anyway; he would go to the ends of the earth for her or his sisters and brother but, since the party had been organised and authenticated with hand written invitations, he had been like something from a Hollywood film. He could not do enough for her. Her contretemps with his father had, as always, blown over. She blamed herself for it because she should have had the sense to keep her trap shut and her opinions to herself. She knew that her husband had more temptation before him than most men, and she knew that now and again, he was going to succumb. What he didn't need was her giving him the green light by nagging him out of the door.
She was sipping her tea and nibbling on the toast her son had made her, when she saw Lance's face. It was bruised and scratched. 'What's wrong with your face, mate?'
Lance shrugged. His deep-blue eyes were, as always, devoid of any real emotion; at least that was how they looked to her. She hated herself for thinking it.
Pat stood behind his chair and she realised that his eyes were exactly the same as his brother's, except that she enjoyed looking into her older son's eyes.
'He had a fight at school, Mum.'
Lil sighed. Her frustration at her youngest son's bored demeanour was putting her on edge.
'What are you, Pat? His fucking parrot? Let him answer for himself. He ain't deaf, is he?'
She was sorry for her words and her anger immediately; Pat Junior was crushed by what she had said and the way she had said it. He had always been the buffer between her and his brother and she loved that about him. She felt the usual pang of guilt about her reactions to her younger son and prayed once more that she might find it in her heart to love him like she did all the others. She played the part of the doting mother so well that she believed it herself at times. But seeing Lance bruised and scratched made her feel guiltier than ever because she had not noticed it the night before.
Pat Junior stood behind his brother with one hand on his shoulder, and the other hand shielding eyes that were filled with tears. His head sank on to his chest and Lil knew he was trying not to break down in front of his siblings. She pulled him into her arms.
'I'm sorry, darling. You know I ain't myself lately. You are such a good boy, Pat, and I depend on you, which is wrong.' He hugged her tightly and she felt the solidness of his body; he was becoming a young man. Although Lance was bigger and heavier, he didn't have the tight muscles of Patrick Junior. Lance looked like the older brother but he didn't have Pat's sense or intellect.
'Now, Lance, come here.'
Lil held out her free arm to her second son and felt his hesitation before he moved towards her. She hugged them both to her tightly and Lance squeezed her back as if his life depended on it.
'So, who hurt you, Lance? Tell me.'
He stepped back from her and shrugged like he always did when questioned about anything he was the cause of.
'It wasn't his fault, Mum. It was the bigger lads; they pick on him because of his size.'