Chapters (48)
- Cover
- THEFEUD
- Dedication
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
Joyce kicked off her shoes and put her slippers on. ‘Did you see his shoes? He’s definitely worth money. Look, I know it’s hard for you, Stan, but Jess isn’t a little baby any more. Most of my friends were married at her age. I want her to have the best in life and that Eddie’s got class stamped all over him. He’s got lovely manners and he’ll take good care of her, I know he will.’
Stanley cracked open another beer. He’d had the day from hell and all he wanted to do now was watch Ironside. ‘Do you mind if I watch the telly now? And if you’re gonna keep on about it, no, I wasn’t overkeen. In my opinion, Eddie’s far too old for our Jess, and, no, I didn’t notice his bloody shoes.’
Joyce laughed. ‘I knew you had a hangup about him. I know he’s a bit older than her, but you’re such an old fuddy-duddy. I bet if she’d have brought Prince Charles home, you’d have found fault with him. You just won’t let go of her, will you, Stan?’
For the next hour, Joyce wouldn’t shut up. It was Eddie this and Eddie that.
Unusually for Stanley, he completely lost his rag. ‘For Christ’s sake, Joycie, I’m no man’s fool. The bloke’s a wrong ’un and I know it. He’s thirty years old, a divorcee with two bloody kids. As for them going to the pictures, I don’t believe a word of it. Jessica’s probably round his flat as we speak with her knickers around her ankles. They’re probably right in the middle of creating more kids for the smarmy, villainous bastard.’
Furious, Joyce stood up and hit him with the broom. ‘How dare you talk about our daughter like that? She’s got morals, our Jessica. What are you, some bloody pervert?’
Seething, Stanley jumped out of his chair. He rarely gave an opinion in this house and when he did he got called a bloody nonce. More than anything else in the world, he wanted to pick up Joycie’s broom and smash her right over the head with it. Maybe that would make the stupid, naive woman see sense. Filled with self-loathing, Stanley ran to the serenity of his shed. Once inside, he sat on his wooden bench, put his head in his hands and cried.
His old mum had mapped out his life for him at a very early age. ‘Stanley, always remember son, it’s better to be a live coward than a dead hero.’