by Amy Lloyd
‘Who called you this time? Well, it’s my house and I don’t have to let you in. Fine, call the police! Come back when you’ve got an order. I don’t give a sh—’ She slams the door and it’s so loud it makes my eyes shut even though it’s my ears that it hurts. ‘I’m sorry,’ she’s saying. Her hands are on my cheeks and her thumbs wipe away the tears. ‘Mummy shouldn’t have shouted, I’m sorry.’
‘Or slammed the door!’ I tell her.
‘Or slammed the door, you’re right, I’m sorry. There we go, shh,’ she says, and it works because it always does. ‘Don’t do that,’ she says. She takes my plait and pulls it out of my mouth, the hair all soaked with spit. ‘You have such beautiful hair,’ she says as she kisses my head. ‘If you chew it you’ll get split ends.’
‘What are split ends?’ I ask. She wiggles the end of her hair in my face and it tickles like I might sneeze.
‘These,’ she says but I can’t see anything wrong with her hair.
‘Your hair is beautiful too,’ I tell her.
‘Not as beautiful as yours,’ she says.
‘You are beautiful,’ I tell her.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m not.’ She sounds sad.
‘But you are,’ I say and I feel almost desperate. ‘Except …’ I put my finger to her purple eye but she jumps back like I’m going to hurt her. ‘I was going to be gentle! I promise!’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘It’s just that it hurts a lot and I got scared for a second.’
I understand because before she puts the TCP on my cuts I always move my knee around because I can feel it hurting even before it really does.
‘Why are the police coming?’ I ask.
‘They’re not,’ she says.
‘But you said to them—’
‘They probably won’t come. I just said that because I don’t feel like talking to any more bloody social workers right now.’
‘Mum,’ I say, but she’s already apologising for swearing and I can tell that I’m annoying her. ‘Is it … um … is it because of your eye?’ I ask. We don’t talk about him. We talk about the things that are there after he’s gone. Like purple eyes and broken doors. Never him.
‘It’s our nosy neighbours,’ she says.
‘Because of the banging?’ I say.
‘Did it wake you up?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I say. It wasn’t the banging. It was when she closed the door and my room went dark. She turned the key and I knew he was here. But then I heard them, the shouting and the banging, the same as always.
‘It won’t happen again,’ she says like she always does. ‘I promise this time.’
‘I know,’ I lie, because sometimes lying is OK when you only want to make people feel better.
Then someone is knocking hard on the door and we both look at each other and I can tell she’s scared. I grab her hand in case it’s him and I don’t want her to let him in even though he would probably kick the door in again anyway and that’s even worse.
‘Police,’ someone says and Mum goes from scared to mad really quickly and she can’t get to the door quickly enough.
‘You got here fast. You’re not this fast when I call you, though, are you? Come on then, come and do your inspection,’ she says and she keeps talking and talking even while they try to speak.
The policeman is tall and takes off his hat in the hallway and tucks it under his arm. Behind him are a man and a woman who are both wearing smart clothes and holding clipboards. The woman looks at me and she smiles even though Mum is still shouting.
‘Hello,’ she says. The policeman puts his free hand on my mum’s shoulder and talks quietly until she stops shouting. ‘My name’s Debbie and this is Gareth.’
‘’Ello!’ says Gareth. I put my hair in my mouth because I want to hold Mum’s hand but she’s behind the policeman.
‘Would it be OK with you if we just had a word with your mummy in the kitchen?’ Debbie says.
I nod. I don’t know why grown-ups ask things like this because they just do whatever they want anyway.
‘One sec,’ Mum says to them. She picks me up even though she always says I’m too big to be picked up and she puts me on the sofa in front of the TV. She kneels down and puts in a tape. It’s already started because I was watching it earlier before she turned it off and told me I’d seen it too many times today.
‘There,’ she says and she turns to me and takes the hair out of my mouth again. I’m trying to see around her head because I love Button Moon and this is one of the best ones but she keeps moving her face so I have to look at her. ‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she says. ‘Be good. Don’t worry about me, OK?’
This makes me worry because I didn’t know I was supposed to be worried until now. She kisses my head and closes the door after they all leave. I put my hair back in my mouth and crunch it between my teeth. Every now and again I can hear my mum’s voice get louder but it fades again and it’s like waves, in and out, in and out.
Then the door opens and my mum comes in and turns the telly off and I think I’ve done something wrong.
‘It’s OK,’ she says, like she can read my mind. ‘Debbie and Gareth just want to talk to you for a minute. On your own.’
I turn and look at them and they are both smiling as if they don’t mean it.
‘Why?’ I ask.
‘They just want to make sure you’re OK,’ she says.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘It’s all right,’ Debbie says. She comes closer to me. ‘We just want to have a little chat and find out more about you. We don’t bite!’ She laughs. I look at my mum to see why it’s funny but it doesn’t look like she gets it either.
‘Why can’t my mum stay?’ I ask.
‘Because Mum needs to have a word with Sergeant Barnes for a minute, don’t you, Mum?’
I look to Mum to find out why Debbie is calling her Mum and my mum shakes her head and squeezes my hand. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Just talk to them and then they’ll be off and afterwards we can go to the video shop and choose something for tonight.’
‘And chips?’ I say because I can tell she will say yes if I ask.
‘Sausage and chips for my sausage,’ she says and we laugh. ‘Love you. Be polite.’
Debbie and Gareth watch her leave the room and close the door before they look at me again.
‘What are you watching?’ Debbie asks. Her voice is all pushed out and loud.
‘Button Moon,’ I say.
‘And what’s Button Moon about?’ she asks me. I can’t believe she has never seen it and I stare at her for a while until she asks me another question. ‘Is there a family in Button Moon?’
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘And who’s in the family?’
Her voice makes it sound like this is a trick.
‘Is there a mummy in the family?’ she asks. I nod. ‘Is there a little girl in the family?’ she asks. I nod again. ‘Is it like your family?’ I shake my head. ‘Why not?’
‘Um,’ I say. I look at Gareth who is nodding at nothing. ‘Because in Button Moon there’s Mrs Spoon and Tina Spoon but there’s Mr Spoon too.’
‘Is Mr Spoon the dad?’ she asks. I nod again. ‘And your dad, does he live here?’ I shake my head. ‘Does your dad ever come round here, even though he doesn’t live here?’ I stay still. Deborah nods to Gareth and he writes something down. ‘It’s OK, we’ve spoken to Mummy and she says that sometimes he does come round.’
‘He’s not supposed to,’ I say quickly.
‘And why isn’t he supposed to?’ Deborah asks.
I shrug.
‘Did Dad come round last night?’ she asks.
‘My dad?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Your dad. Did he?’
I stay still.
‘It’s OK for you to tell us,’ she says, leaning in closer to me. She smells like the hairdresser’s. ‘Mum has already told us that Dad came over last night. Did you know he came over last night?’
/> I think about it and how I’m not supposed to lie and so I nod.
‘What happens when Dad comes over?’
I shrug and they look at each other.
‘You don’t know? Or you don’t want to tell us?’
‘Um …’ I wish my mum would come back in because I don’t know what they want me to say. ‘When he comes here then it’s loud.’
‘Loud?’
I nod.
‘Why is it loud?’
‘Because of the shouting. Then the neighbours complain.’
‘Does Dad ever shout at you?’
I shake my head.
‘No? Never?’
I shake my head again. ‘I stay in my room,’ I say.
‘Why?’
‘I’m supposed to,’ I say. ‘So Mum locks the door.’
They both look at each other and I know straight away I said something important but I don’t know what it is.
‘Does Dad come over a lot?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Sometimes.’
‘And when he does, does Mum lock the door to your room?’
I nod.
They talk to each other in quick voices. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘You’ve been very good. Do you mind if we just talk to Mum again quickly?’
I shrug. Gareth brings over a roll of stickers like they have at the dentist and he peels one off and holds it out to me. I take it and he ruffles my hair and when he goes I screw up the sticker and pull a chair to the mantelpiece so I can stand on it and see in the mirror. I lick my hands and pat my hair back to where it is supposed to be. Then I can hear Mum shouting at them again and it makes me jump so much that the chair wobbles and I have to hold on to the mantel or I’ll fall off.
Mum’s shouting gets louder as she stomps down the hall and I don’t have time to get off the chair before she sees me and I’ll be in trouble because I’m not supposed to do it.
‘Sorry,’ I’m saying and my knees are shaking while I’m trying to climb down. But it’s like she hasn’t even seen the chair and instead she picks me up and she holds my head against her shoulder so I can’t see who she’s shouting at behind me.
‘If you would just do your bloody jobs,’ she’s saying, ‘I wouldn’t have to lock doors. I wouldn’t have the bloody neighbours complaining to social bloody services because he’d be where he belongs!’
‘Did you report him last night when he came over?’ a man is saying. I grip handfuls of Mum’s T-shirt and squeeze my eyes shut.
‘No!’ Her voice sounds louder with my ear on her shoulder, loud and booming. ‘Because it takes you half an hour to even turn up and it only makes things worse!’
‘You shouldn’t let him in,’ someone says and Mum makes a noise like a growl and she bobs me up and down and her hand swishes my back.
‘If I don’t let him in he just kicks the bloody door down! I’m sorry,’ she says with her breath in my hair. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Until we can find a solution …’ Debbie is saying and then Mum starts to cry.
‘You’re not taking her,’ Mum says. ‘She’s fine. He won’t bother her. I’d kill him if he even—’
‘We are happy for her to stay with a relative if you have someone who can care for her but we need to ensure that she’s safe. I’m sure you can understand—’
‘My sister,’ Mum says, still bobbing me like I’m a baby but it’s too rough and my head bounces on her shoulder. ‘She can stay with my sister.’
‘No,’ I whine and Mum puts me on the sofa and sits with me. ‘I don’t want to. You said we could watch a video and have chips.’
‘I know I did, I know but … what if I ask Auntie Fay if she’ll get you chips and let you watch a video?’
‘Auntie Fay doesn’t let me watch videos when I’m there,’ I cry. ‘And she watches boring things and you’re not allowed to eat while you watch TV!’ And she doesn’t even let you have a drink in the TV room or talk or make any noise when she’s watching something. ‘I hate Auntie Fay!’
‘Mummy will ask her,’ Mum says. ‘I’ll say it’s a one-off. But you have to stay there. I don’t want you to go either but—’
I cry more and Mum tells me it’s not up for discussion and then she stands up and I let myself flop down, and I’m crying even though they’ve all left and it’s just me and it’s pointless because I’m going to Auntie Fay’s anyway.
I’m in the back of the car with Mum and Gareth is driving. Debbie is next to him in the front and no one is talking. I sit as close to the window as possible and stare out. I am ignoring Mum but she reaches out and squeezes my knee and this makes the lump in my chest go up into my throat and the tears come back.
‘Auntie Fay says you can have chips,’ Mum says.
‘Why can’t you stay?’ I ask.
‘Because …’ She sighs and goes quiet for a bit. ‘Because I have some things I need to sort out so that you can come back home.’
I don’t ask when because it’s too scary. She packed my big case, the one that she packed when we went to the hostel.
‘But I’ll be coming over tomorrow,’ she says. ‘And every day, to see you.’
‘Then why am I going?’ I ask.
‘Because it’s safer, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘For now.’
Auntie Fay doesn’t live far away so we are already there before I have time to forgive Mum and that makes me cry again. Mum hugs me and when I look at the house I can see Auntie Fay looking through the net curtains but she doesn’t wave and neither do I. Next door’s dog starts to bark and I cover my ears.
Gareth gets my bag out of the boot and he rolls it up to the door. Mum keeps telling me how she’ll see me tomorrow and when Auntie Fay opens the door even my mum starts crying and so I don’t want to let go of her.
‘Thanks for this, Fay,’ she’s saying even though it doesn’t sound like she’s happy.
‘What’s he done to you now?’ Auntie Fay is asking and then I’m squished between them as she hugs my mum. ‘The bastard,’ she says. ‘Utter bastard.’
‘It looks worse than it is,’ Mum says.
‘Come on then, you,’ Auntie Fay says. It’s her business voice that she only uses for me. ‘We’re going to need to sort your bed out before tea, aren’t we?’
I wrap my arms around Mum’s waist and she says that she loves me in the voice that means she’s leaving. Auntie Fay says, ‘I’ve got her,’ and her fingers start to unpick my fingers and she pulls my arms away and so I wrap my legs around Mum’s legs and when she reaches to get my legs I grab Mum again with my free arm. ‘You’re like a bloody octopus!’ she says, out of breath, and Mum wriggles free and walks backwards towards the car and she’s blowing kisses and I thrash and fight but Auntie Fay is strong and she turns me until I can’t see Mum any more and she takes me inside.
Auntie Fay’s house is always quiet. It’s so quiet you can hear the clocks ticking on the walls. They turn off the telly until there’s something on that they want to watch and they circle all the things they want to watch in the magazine that comes with the Sunday paper. There are bowls of smelly dried flowers all over the place and everything is where it’s supposed to be all the time, and I hate it.
My scream makes everything in the house shake and before she lets go of my wrist Auntie Fay slides the chain on the door because she knows I can’t reach it so when I’m free and I run to the door I can’t open it up. I can hear the car pull away and I panic and I dodge past her through the kitchen and to the back door and run down the garden to the gate at the back but the bolt is rusty and stuck and it takes me ages to open it and then I’m in the lane and I can’t remember which way to go to get home because we never walk. Then Auntie Fay is there again and she’s got me and she’s taking me back in.
‘Ooh, you’re a little bugger sometimes,’ she’s saying and her arms are tight on my tummy. ‘You’ll be bloody seeing her tomorrow!’ She lets me go in the kitchen and I know there’s no point in trying to run away again so instead I crawl under the table
and cry. The plastic table cover hangs down over the edges and I can see the pattern of the flowers through the back. Underneath it is darker and it makes me feel better so I lie in a ball and enjoy the texture of my hair on my tongue.
After a while Auntie Fay leans down and asks me what am I like but I pretend she’s see-through and don’t answer. I hear her run the tap and then she puts a glass of Ribena down under the table and my tummy turns because this is a nice thing to do and I’m being a little bugger.
‘I’ll go and make up your room then, shall I? Someone has to do it.’ She sighs and tuts to herself. ‘And Ryan was so looking forward to having someone to play with this evening. What a shame you’ll be staying under the table.’
Her voice gets quieter as she leaves but I still hear her talking about chips and sausages as she goes up the stairs. When it’s quiet I sit up and drink Ribena but she’s put too much water in or not enough Ribena so it doesn’t taste like it does when Mum makes it. I know Auntie Fay is lying about Ryan wanting to play. Ryan calls me weird and tells me not to go in to his room. But I do want chips and I do want sausage, even though Auntie Fay’s house is scary and different.
Sometimes, when I get scared, Mum calls me her brave little soldier. I try to imagine her saying it, in the voice she always uses when she’s trying to make me less afraid. I whisper it to myself: ‘Who’s a brave little soldier?’ I try to be brave.
9
Her: Now
All week I spend half my nights twisting and turning, trying to get to sleep but the past keeps replaying itself behind my eyelids. The woman in the room above me talks on her phone, pacing the room, and I can hear the old floorboards creaking under her feet and the rise and fall of her voice. From another room on the floor above someone shouts, ‘SHUT UUUUUUP!’ and slams their door and after that the woman speaks more softly but still she paces back and forth, back and forth.
I try to remember my mother’s voice. I try to forget that I never said goodbye.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep I like to imagine killing myself. Jumping from a cliff, the lurch in my stomach when I am freefalling, the spray of the sea on my face for one, two seconds. Then nothing. It helps to think that I can do it if I need to. It makes me feel like I have some control when everything else is going wrong.