The Runaway by Martina Cole Read Free Book Online

Her life would be different. She had decided that much.
    Finally she slept with images of Eamonn before her eyes, a tiny terraced house full of shining furniture, and herself, her belly full of arms and legs, waiting for her conquering hero to come home.
    She had a smile on her face as she slept, and her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed of the good life, her other life. The life she knew was waiting for her.
    One day it would all come true, she had to believe that. Because without her dreams Cathy Connor had nothing, and no one was more painfully aware of that than she was herself.

Chapter Three
    1966
    Madge Connor was having trouble breathing. Clearing her throat loudly, she sat up straighter in her chair and downed the rum in front of her in one swallow. The coughing abated and she smiled lazily before hawking in her throat once more, bringing the spittle and phlegm into her mouth.
    A voice protested loudly: ‘Leave it out, Madge, you’re making me feel sick!’
    She spat into the spittoon by the bar and shrugged. ‘Better out than in.’ Holding up her glass, she signalled for another large drink and lit another cigarette.
    Betty shook her head and sighed. ‘One of these days, Madge Connor, them fags is going to kill you.’
    ‘Blow it out your arse, Bet, and let’s get to work.’
    The barman brought the drink and Madge downed it at a gulp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing lipstick and spit across her face.
    ‘You’re pissed.’
    Madge put on a surprised expression and said sarcastically, ‘No? Thank Gawd you told me, Betty, I’d never have sussed that one by meself!’
    Betty sighed again. ‘You’re always pissed lately, ever since that Irish ponce got married.’ Her voice became softer then. ‘Come on, Madge, let’s get to work before all the blokes are taken.’
    Madge shook her head. ‘I can’t be bothered any more. We’re pissing against the wind there. Can’t you see, we’re too old for this lark?’
    Her faded eyes were alight with honesty and Betty couldn’t stand looking into them any longer. The trouble with Madge was, when she got drunk, she told the truth. And the truth hurt.
    Betty patted her hair, dyed black these days, looking in the bar mirror. ‘Suit your fucking self! I’ve got to earn a few quid even if you ain’t.’ Slipping off the stool, she made her way out of The Blind Beggar pub and towards Victoria Park. She’d pick up the bus and be in Custom House within half an hour.
    As she approached the bus stop she heard Madge’s tell-tale high heels behind her.
    ‘Hold on, girl, I’ll break me neck in a minute!’
    Taking out a crumpled tissue, Betty wiped her friend’s face clean and helped her apply more lipstick. As the bus came into sight two young boys on the opposite side of the street started shouting.
    ‘Oi, you old slappers, how much for a quick flash?’
    Ignoring them, Betty helped her friend on to the bus, oblivious to the hostile stares of the women already seated. Madge and Betty’s cheap fur coats and plastered-on make-up were a dead giveaway. They were ridiculed wherever they went and both stared stoically ahead, as they’d learned to years ago.
     
    ‘Come on, Cathy, let me.’
    She shook her head as she pulled his hands from under her jumper.
    ‘Stop it. You know I won’t do that.’
    Eamonn leaned back against the settee, gritting his teeth. ‘I don’t believe you, Cathy. We’ve done everything else but, and at the last minute you knock me back!’ Jumping up, he arranged himself and pulled up his flies.
    Cathy watched him, full of fear that he’d walk away from her, this time for ever.
    ‘You’re a tease, Cathy, you know that, don’t you?’ he complained bitterly.
    She closed her eyes. The cider he had given her had made her drunk and she wished she was in bed asleep, instead of lying on a settee, half naked and upset.
    ‘I’m frightened, Eamonn.’
    Picking up his coat from the floor, he smiled unpleasantly. ‘Thanks a