Blow Your House Down

Book 41: Virago Modern Classics

by Pat Barker

Genres: General Fiction; Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

A serial killer stalks prostitutes with profound and unexpected consequences in this riveting novel from the Booker Prize-wining author of Ghost Road A city and its people are in the grip of a killer who is roaming the northern city, singling out prostitutes. The face of his latest victim stares out from every newspaper and billboard, haunting the women who walk the streets. But life and work go on. Brenda, with three children, can't afford to give up while Audrey, now in her forties, desperately goes on 'working the cars'. And then, when another woman is savagely murdered, Jean, her lover, takes desperate measures...

Release date: October 27, 2016

Publisher: Virago

Print pages: 176

Sample

There were two beds and a wardrobe in the room. To get between them you had to stand sideways and shuffle your way along.

Brenda was in a hurry to get out and grumbled as she bent down to tuck a blanket in. ‘I don’t know, when I was your age I was making me own bed.’

Her daughters, getting ready for bed in the corner, turned and looked at her. Lindsey, the elder by two years, said, ‘I don’t see why I have to go to bed the same time as our Sharon.’

‘Because if I let you stop down you’d only have a carry-on and wake everybugger up. Besides, you’d start picking on your Uncle Norman, you know you would.’

‘It’s him picks on me.’

Brenda pulled back the sheets on the other bed and a powerful smell of urine filled the room. ‘Sharon, I wish you’d tell me when you’re wet. I could’ve had this changed this morning if you’d told me.’

‘God, what a stink,’ said Lindsey.

Brenda rounded on her, ‘Shut your face, you. You want to think on, she’s been ill.’

‘I couldn’t help it, Mam.’

‘No, love, I know you can’t. But you’ve got to tell me.’

Brenda bundled the wet sheets together and thrust them out onto the landing. There wouldn’t be time to put them into soak even, and if Norman saw them he’d start playing his mouth.

In the bedroom behind her the girls had already started to quarrel.

‘Well, it does stink.’

‘It isn’t my fault.’

‘I don’t know who else’s fault it is. It’s your piss.’

‘The doctor says it isn’t my fault.’

‘He doesn’t have to sleep in it.’

Brenda swept back into the room. ‘And since when have you had to sleep in it? The only muck you sleep in’s your own.’

‘I don’t wet the bed.’

‘No.’ Brenda pulled Lindsey towards her and scooped up a handful of hair. ‘And you don’t wash your bloody mucky neck either, do you? You could plant a row of taties in that. Go and wash it.’

‘Aw, Mam.’

‘Never mind Aw Mam. Do as you’re told. And take your bra off. You’re not meant to sleep in it.’

‘Kerry says if you don’t keep it on in bed you start sagging.’

‘Sagging!’

‘She’s got nowt there to sag,’ said Sharon.

‘I heard that!’

Sharon raised her voice, ‘Pair of fried eggs!’

‘I don’t know what you’re in such a hurry for,’ said Brenda. ‘It’ll happen soon enough.’

Lindsey came back into the room, drying her neck. ‘Did you have much bust at my age, Mam?’

‘I didn’t know what a bust was at your age. Anyway, it’s all rubbish, sagging. They don’t sag till you’ve had bairns. Then every bloody thing sags.’

‘Aw! But you wouldn’t be without us, would you, Mam?’ Lindsey butted her mother, half-jeeringly, half-longingly, in the breast.

‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’ But she stroked Lindsey’s hair before she let her go. ‘Now come on, Sharon. This’ll get done quicker if you help.’

The sheet ballooned out over the bed. As Sharon bent to tuck it in Brenda noticed how thin her arms and shoulders were. ‘I wish you’d eat more.’

‘I’m alright.’

‘Well, you don’t look it.’

They finished the bed in silence. When both girls were tucked in Brenda said, ‘Your Uncle Norman’s stopping in tonight, so you’ll be alright.’

They looked at each other.

‘We don’t need anybody to stop in,’ said Lindsey. ‘We can take care of ourselves.’

‘It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s our Kevin.’

‘Well, so what?’ Lindsey said. ‘Kevin cries, he comes in here. Norman doesn’t bother with him.’

‘Uncle Norman.’

‘It’s bloody stupid. We can look after Kevin.’

Brenda decided not to argue. ‘Anyway, he’s staying in tonight. Now I don’t want to hear any talking. If I hear a squeak out of either of you I’ll be back up them stairs and I won’t half salt your tails. I’ve had just about enough.’

She kissed them goodnight. Sharon clung onto her until Brenda untwined her arms. ‘I won’t be late,’ she said. ‘Now you go to sleep like a good girl.’

‘Can I have the landing light on, Mam?’

‘It gets in my eyes,’ said Lindsey.

‘Then look the other way. Goodnight.’

Before going downstairs Brenda went in her own bedroom to check on Kevin. He was fast asleep, and scowling. She pushed his fists under the blanket, but he only took them out again. The size of them. He’d always had ruddy great mitts on him, right from him being born. ‘My God, I think this’n’s gunna be a boxer,‘ the midwife said. And it was true. Other babies you looked at their hands and you thought Aw! Not Kevin. If ever a bairn come into the world with its fists up it was him.

She smiled as she bent and kissed him goodnight.

There wasn’t a sound from the girls’ room. Not even Lindsey and she was never quiet. Must be the shock of a clean neck. Brenda raised her eyebrows, listened again, and tip-toed downstairs.

No Norman, of course, and he’d promised he’d be in by nine. She hesitated, wondering whether she dare go out and leave the kids in on their own. Lindsey was old enough. Dear God, plenty of bairns younger than her got left in on their own. But she’d never done that with hers. She’d always thought, well, suppose something did happen – how would I feel?

No. Definitely not. If he didn’t turn up soon she’d pop round Audrey’s and tell her it was off. Apart from anything else it wasn’t fair on her leaving her stuck in waiting.

Just as she was on the point of giving him up, he arrived. She looked him up and down. He was swaying on his feet, pretending to be drunker than he was because he knew it would rile her. He wasn’t that far gone: he was at the nasty-nice stage when most of their rows took place. She was going to have to watch her tongue.

‘Dinner ready?’

‘In the oven.’

‘In the oven.’

‘Yes, that’s right, in the oven. I could’ve left it on the table but if I had’ve done it’d be stone cold by now.’

He turned from her without a word and went into the kitchen. She could hear him banging and clattering about, grumbling because there were a few dishes in the sink. When she could stand it no longer she followed him in.

‘There’s no need to wash up. There’s plenty more in the cupboard.’

‘Do we have to use every plate in the house before you’ll get off your arse and wash up? Anyway why can’t Lindsey do it? She’s big enough.’

‘If I want Lindsey to do owt, I’ll tell her. Anyway, you don’t need a plate, it’s on a plate already.’

She got it out of the oven and slapped it down in front of him.

‘Well?’ she asked after a while. ‘Is it hot enough?’

‘Luke.’ Spoken grudgingly with his mouth full.

‘It was hot enough when it was got ready.’ Brenda tried to stop herself and failed. ‘I thought you said you’d mind the bairns?’

‘I am minding them, aren’t I?’ He looked away. ‘I got on talking.’

‘You mean you got on drinking.’

‘No. Talking. If you must know I ran into Bill. Me Mam’s bad again.’

‘She always is when she wants owt doing. What is it this time?’

‘She’s bad. I’ve said I’ll have a look round. In the morning. It’s alright.’

Silence.

‘You can still go out.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m going. It’ll be a run round the block at this rate.’

‘I just hope Sharon doesn’t wet the bed again.’

‘Nobody’s asking you to see to it.’

‘You want to rattle her chops a bit. That’d sharp cure her.’

‘Now just you listen.’ Brenda leaned across the table and tapped the end of his nose. ‘Keep it out. Right? Them bairns are nowt to do with you.’

‘They’re nowt to do with me, but I’m expected to stop in and look after them.’

‘I don’t see you at the back of the queue when the money’s spent.’

He pushed the plate away from him. ‘Now that’s one thing you can’t say.’

‘Aw, gerraway, man. Do you think I’m keeping you on what you give me? Doesn’t keep you in cigarettes.’

‘It isn’t my fault I can’t get a job.’

‘Oh, come off it, man, you’d run a mile.’ She was going the right way for a clip round the ear, but she couldn’t stop. ‘You make me sick, you and your bloody mother. Least little thing goes wrong you’re running round there for a bit of titty. And your Bill’s no better. She’s never let you either of you grow up.’

‘You need talk. What about Kevin? You’re making a right little pouf out of him.’

She stared at him. ‘He’s four.’

There was silence while she put on her coat.

‘How long are you stopping with her?’ Brenda asked.

‘Oh, I thought I’d just look in. See how she was.’

‘Aye and we’ve heard that before.’

She touched his shoulder as she went past. ‘Anyway, don’t stop up.’

‘And you watch what you’re doing, mind.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me.’ She pulled a face. ‘I was born lucky.’

Audrey was peering into the mirror above her mantelpiece, stroking mascara on to her upper lashes. ‘I’d just about given you up,’ she said.

‘I was stuck in waiting of Norman. His mam’s playing up again. He’s off round there tomorrow.’

Audrey shifted the direction of her gaze. ‘You got your period?’

‘No.’ Brenda laughed. ‘Why, do I look as if I have?’

‘You look tired.’

‘Well, I am tired. I’m tired of bloody Norman.’

‘Now you know you don’t mean it.’

‘I do. If he goes back home this time he can stop.’

‘Well, tell him. If that’s how you feel.’ Audrey was putting her lipstick on. She paused, and grunted through stretched lips. ‘You’d miss him.’

‘I’d miss a pain in the arse, but it’s not to say I want one.’ She caught Audrey looking at her. ‘Oh, he is. He’s always on at the bairns. Pick, pick, pick – he doesn’t know what to pick at next. And he hates Lindsey, ’cos of course she won’t take it. He gets it back.’ She picked at her nail varnish. ‘He puts me very much in mind of my husband. He was always running round to his mam, I used to tell him he should’ve married her. Oh and she used to give him anything he asked for. He only had to say and her hand was in her purse. “There you are, my son.” And of course it all went on booze. I never got sight nor sound of it. Or the bairns. But she did, she ruined him.’ She grinned. ‘I tell you one thing; if he goes, it’ll be a long time before there’s another.’

‘You’re young to say that.’

‘I don’t see you bothering.’

‘Never have done. Oh, I don’t say I don’t like a night out now and then. And I like men as friends. But as soon as I see that little gleam in their eye, I think, No.’

‘It’s a good job it doesn’t take everybody the same way. I mean, look at Elaine.’

‘Yeah. Look at Elaine.’

‘Yes, well, I know he’s a sod. But you try telling her that. She wouldn’t thank you for it. Sun shines out of his arse as far as she’s concerned.’

‘And he treats her like muck. I walked back from the hospital with her yesterday. And mind, she did open up a bit then.’

‘Is she alright?’

‘It’s still in there. You believe me it’d be a blessing in disguise if she lost it. She just keeps on bleeding, you know. She’s no idea of her dates or anything. She says three month, but I’m blowed if I can see it. I think it’s a small baby and she’s a hell of a lot further on than she thinks she is.’

Audrey was on her knees by the sideboard, searching among the jumble underneath it for a pair of shoes.

Brenda said, ‘Last time I saw her she was gunna pack it in.’

‘I’ll believe that when I see it. You mark my words she’ll be walking down that street when she’s like a house-end. I can’t see him letting her stop.’

‘No. Nor me. I think she’ll be like Kath. You know what happened to Kath, don’t you? She was actually with somebody when her waters broke.’

‘I’d like to’ve seen his face.’

‘And his wife’s. Well, he’d go home drenched. “A funny thing happened on my way home from the pub ...” ’

They laughed, and Audrey said, ‘No, I can’t see her giving it up.’

‘And let’s face it, if you do go on, you’re raking it in. It’s the one time you really do make money.’

‘I know. Do you know, when I was expecting our Stephen, I used to stand in front of the mirror and his dad had just gone and I was feeling really down. And I used to look at meself and I used to think, My God, who’d fancy that? I should’ve gone and stood on a corner, I’d’ve sharp found out who fancied it.’

‘Poor Kath.’

Audrey paused in the act of putting on her coat. ‘You were fond of her, weren’t you?’

‘I still am. What there is left.’

‘Yeah, well, she’s let the drink get a hold. Speaking of which ...’

They looked at each other and laughed.

‘No, seriously,’ Audrey went on, ‘Do you think we’ve got time?’

‘Why, aye. I don’t fancy going out cold, especially a night like this.’

‘It’s not still raining, is it?’

‘Pissing.’

‘Aw,’ Audrey looked in the mirror again. ‘I dunno why I bother. Least little bit of damp it frizzes.’

‘Put a rain hat on.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Well, I would. Get yourself stuck under one of the arches, whip it off.’

Audrey got out a polythene hat stamped with pink umbrellas and put it on. ‘Look at that. Fry’s Turkish Delight.’

‘I hope not. They only cost 14p.’

‘Cheeky bugger!’



Brenda and Audrey ran the last hundred yards down Northgate and arrived at the Palmerston flushed, wet and out of breath.

‘I’ll have to go for a pee,’ said Audrey, hopping from leg to leg.

‘You’ve only just been.’

‘It’s the rain,’ said Audrey, and ran.

‘What’ll you have?’ Brenda shouted after her.

‘Anything. Lager-and-lime.’

That wouldn’t help much when she was stood out in the rain again.

Brenda went into the back room and stood at the bar waiting her turn to be served. After a while a group of women in the far corner spotted her standing there and waved.

The place was crowded, as it always was by this time of night. Other pubs were livelier, with music and skin shows, and more comfortable too. The Palmerston’s dingy lino and balding plush seats had been there as long as anybody could remember. But to the women who used its back room the Palmerston was special. They drank in all the pubs, moving in a nightly gavotte up and down Northgate, along Church Row, down Melbourne Terrace, under the viaduct, and back into Northgate again. But the Palmerston was different, and that was because of its owner, Beattie Miller.

Last Christmas one of the girls had suggested holding a raffle with a bottle of gin for whoever came closest to guessing Beattie’s age. Too hard, everybody said, and it was too. Her hair was red, there was make-up on her face an inch thick, cracked and flaking into the wrinkles round her mouth and eyes and when she went round collecting up the dirty glasses she moved with extreme cautio. . .