Debbie Doll | Ringo Starr ✅

1

I knew that daddy had met somebody, and I knew that he liked her a lot. I knew that he was happy with her, and I also knew that he wanted to marry her... but I did not know that we were moving to the Dingle, the poorest area in the whole of Liverpool, to live with her and her son, who was twenty-three and seven years older than me.

Daddy walked ahead of me up to the front door, a box of my belongings in his arms. He knocked on the front door of Elsie Starkey's house, and then took a step back. I tried to watch him but found that I couldn't see above my own box. I was short, and could very rarely see over anything. I sighed and took a step back too, hoping that I didn't trip over something.

I heard the door opening, and a kind-sounding voice greeting my father eagerly, calling him by his name. I heard the sound of kissing, and I fought the urge to smile.

I was glad that my dad was happy.

"Ritchie!" The kind female voice barked. "Come and help with the boxes!"

"But it's cold, Elsie." I sighed. He sounded so reluctant - almost as reluctant as I had been when daddy had told me that I would be getting a stepbrother. I wondered if he wanted a stepsister, and what he thought of me.

"Oh, no, it's fine, I -" I cut myself off when somebody took the box from me. A boy. Well, a man. I instantly closed my mouth.

"Ritchie!" The woman exclaimed, "hurry up! It's cold out here." She looked at me, and for the first time, I looked at her. She was portly, shorter than daddy and an inch or so shorter than Ritchie, who I assumed was her son. But even then, she was still a good inch taller than me. "You must be Debbie," she smiled at me. I smiled back. "Come inside, Debbie darling, it's cold." She waved me past Ritchie, and I did as she instructed, breathing out a sigh of relief as she rested a hand on the middle of my back as she led me inside and straight through to the kitchen.

The room was small, and looked as though it needed to be decorated quite badly - mine and daddy's home had been decorated just before mummy had died, when she had inherited some money from a distant relative.

I wished that we were back there, now.

The woman, Elsie, sat me down on a chair at the dining table, which only had three seats. I wondered where we would get another from now that there were four of us living in the small terraced house, but I didn't dare ask.

"Now," she said with a smile as I looked up at her, "cup of tea?"

I nodded, smiling at her as I hummed in reply. "Yes please, Mrs Starkey." Her and dad were only engaged.

"Bags are in the tin, cups are in the cupboard. Kettle's always on the stove - my Ritchie loves a cup of tea, so if you're making one and he's home, just assume that he wants one, too."

She left the kitchen. I took several seconds to process all of what she had said and quickly realised that she wanted me to make my own tea.

Well you do live here now, I said to myself, she's hardly going to be your skivvy, is she?

I filled the kettle from the tap, which was covered in hard limescale. I grimaced and tried to ignore it, instead concentrating on how full the kettle was getting. When it was done, I put it on the hob and looked around for a box of matches to light the fire with.

"Um, Mrs Starkey?" I called reasonably quietly, not knowing where she was in the house. "Mrs Starkey?" I had no answer. I continued to look, opening all of the drawers in the kitchen and growing more flustered with each passing second. I felt uncomfortable in this house; like it wasn't my own and I was only a visitor - I was, in a way. I didn't plan to stay for more than a year or so - as soon as I was old enough to move out, get a job and support myself, then I would. I didn't want to be living with daddy and his new soon-to-be wife forever. I wanted to let him have his life in peace, without the worry of me.

"Oh, sorry Debbie darling," Mrs Starkey said as she breezed into the kitchen, Ritchie following behind her. He was dragging his bare feet. I tried not to watch him as he came into the kitchen and threw himself into the seat that I had been sitting in. "Did you call me?"

"Yes, I, um," Ritchie was picking some paint off the back of the chair. I bit my lip as I tried to ignore him further, "I couldn't find any matches?"

Mrs Starkey scowled, looking at Ritchie. "You've got them, I suppose?"

He didn't even look up from the chair he was destroying. He just shrugged.

"Richard," she warned, putting her hands on her hips, "don't make me -"

"Gave 'em to John." Ritchie paused, now looking up - and directly at me. "Guess you'll have to go without your tea."

"She was making you one, too." Mrs Starkey scowled at him, "why would you give them to John?"

I wondered who John was, and what kind of reputation he had. I wondered why Mrs Starkey seemed to dislike him, based on the way she said his name.

Ritchie shrugged again. "He couldn't find his lighter."

"Mrs Starkey, I could just run to the shop and buy some more," I offered, "it'd be no problem."

She turned to me and smiled, "that's a very lovely offer, Debbie darling, but it'll be Ritchie who goes to buy some more." She looked at her only son, "and he'll be using his own money to do so."

Ritchie stood upright, looking like he was ready to roar. He didn't seem to be in a good mood - I didn't even know him and I could tell that.

I wondered if the new presence of daddy and me had caused his mood.

"Mrs Starkey, I really don't mind - I wanted to a pack of smokes, anyway."

"Oh, you don't have that horrible habit too, do you, Debbie darling?" Mrs Starkey sighed, looking at me disappointedly. I almost felt bad for smoking - but it was something that mum had done, and I had picked it up off of her - though she had never known that. "Well, Ritchie will show you the way in case you get lost - you don't know this part of the city, do you?"

I shook my head and smiled, "that won't be necessary, Mrs Starkey -"

"He'd be delighted." She shot a pointed glare at her son, who frowned but didn't say anything in reply to his mother's words. She turned back to me, "and it's Elsie, darling." She turned to Ritchie, "did you take her box upstairs?" Ritchie nodded. "Run up and fetch her coat, would you?"

"She can go herself." Ritchie hissed, looking at me through his eyelashes, a scowl on his face.

"I didn't ask if she could go herself, I asked you to go for her."

Mrs Starkey - Elsie - crossed her arms against her chest and stared down her son for almost an entire minute, the three of us standing in silence as a battle waged silently between the two of them.

Eventually, Ritchie caved. He sighed and strode out of the room, making a point of stopping in front of me and glaring at me, his nose twitching in disdain, for several seconds before he left.