The Runaway by Martina Cole

lighter flecks in his eyes and the beginnings of the dark shadow around his cheeks. Saw the strength of his brow and chin, and the harsh set of them. She shook her head sadly, swallowing back the words she wanted to say to him. To yell at him.
    Eamonn slouched back on the settee, picking nervously at a small slit in the arm, pulling out wads of horsehair, the tremor in his hand noticeable to both of them now.
    ‘What do you want, Cathy? Do you want to end up like your mum, lying down with every Tom, Dick and Harry for a couple of quid? Because that will be your life if you’re not careful. How many women round here moonlight, eh? So-called respectable women with kids and husbands. They look down on Madge but they’re no fucking better. None of them. What you see here is what we will end up with unless we do something about it. People like us are the shit on the shoes of everyone else. We’re the grafters, the lifters, the scrubbers. We’re supposed to be grateful for having a roof over our heads, having enough to eat. I’ve heard it all me life, first at school and then from the Labour Exchange. Well, I want to have too much of everything, not just enough. I want things, Cathy.
    ‘When me mum died, I was left with him, the fucking old ponce! I’ve been dragged all over the bleeding show. Have to live with the knowledge of him and his escapades. Have to watch me step in case his new wife slings me out the door. Have to listen to them, night after night, at it in their bed. Then I have to listen to his drunken ramblings.’
    He pushed his hands through his hair and sighed, before continuing.
    ‘The only way out is up, Cath. And going up in the world for the likes of us means either villainy or the forces - and I’m fucked if I’ll join the army! If Madge has her way, you’ll be flogging your fanny before the year’s out. You know it, and I know it. I’m offering you a way out with me. Me and you, girl, together. I came here tonight because you’re the closest person to me. You’re the only person I really care about. Not just to alibi me. I could get a dozen people to do that.’
    He was near to tears, and sitting beside him Cathy put her arm around his shoulders. Burying his face in her neck he let her hold him until the shameful sobs had ceased. The sixteen-year-old hard man was now a frightened boy. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he whispered, ‘It could just as easily have been me shot tonight, Cathy, and you know that.’
    Holding him close to her, she closed her eyes tightly. Eamonn had done what he felt he had to do, and nothing would convince him otherwise.
    When his hands went to her breasts, she didn’t attempt to stop him.
    Eamonn needed her, and no matter what he had done, what she really thought, loyalty to him overrode everything else.
    He was the most stable element in her life. She worshipped him. Without him she had nothing.
    Kissing the top of his head, she felt his probing fingers, all thoughts of James Carter, guns and policemen forced from her mind.
    Eamonn needed her.
    That was enough to be going on with.

Chapter Five
    Eamonn looked at his father and smirked.
    ‘You did it, didn’t you?’ The older man’s voice was low, tense.
    Eamonn nodded slowly. Maddeningly.
    ‘So what if I did?’ His voice was a curious mixture of childish bravado and manly insolence.
    Eamonn Docherty looked down at his son and felt the pull of him. In all his life he had loved only one thing: his child, his boy. As bad as he had ever been, whoring and fighting were his worst sins. The child of his body, however, was a different kettle of fish.
    ‘Don’t you realise what you’ve done, son?’
    The boy shrugged nonchalantly.
    The large hand that swung out and knocked him from his seat came as a total surprise. As the beating began the boy curled himself into a tight ball, taking the blows, moving around on the floor to minimise the damage.
    Finally spent, Eamonn Docherty leant against the wall of