by Lisa Sell
‘Fancy seeing you here,’ Kelly said.
…
Her world tumbled. She knew he wasn’t perfect but had never expected this. Her hero became a villain.
‘How could you, Dad?’ Claire wept.
Alex slumped against the wall where Jen and Johnny had sat, relieved they’d gone. His daughter knowing was embarrassing enough. He considered how to recover their relationship.
Claire caught them in the act.
A reporter never lets go of a story, even if it brings personal loss and pain. Claire suspected Alex was hiding something and she recorded each time he left the house. His “just popping to the shop”, “going to see a mate”, and “my legs need a stretch” were regular occurrences.
Ellen’s alarm bells also rang. She noted her observations too, which Claire found when rooting through her mum’s wardrobe for a blouse. The thought of Ellen discovering Alex in such an uncompromising position made Claire nauseous. Although she’d never trust Alex again, at least Claire spared her mum the humiliation.
After following Alex, Claire braced herself to look into the alleyway, knowing her life would change. Below tangled limbs, Alex’s trousers gathered around his ankles. His lover extended her legs against the opposite wall, used to having sex in this location. Their all-consuming passion made Claire invisible.
She froze. What should she do? Only a clichéd cough came to mind. The groans and pants ceased. The bitch spotted Claire before Alex. If it had been a news scoop, the fear in the bitch’s eyes would have been satisfying. This was Claire’s life though, and that thing in the alleyway wrecked it. Any sympathy Claire previously had for her as a person others sniped about disappeared as the bitch adjusted her skirt, winked, and left. Claire vowed to confront her later.
Alex emerged from the shade, zipping his trousers. Trees swayed. A storm brewed, outside and within the Woods family. A birch lashed its branches into the wind. Claire considered it falling upon Alex as retribution.
‘It isn’t what it looks like,’ he began.
‘Are you kidding me?’ Claire said. ‘It’s exactly how it looks. You’re shagging her.’
Alex trotted behind his daughter, desperate to salvage his family. Claire sat on Johnny and Jen’s wall, nibbling her cuticles. Alex slumped to the ground, trying to summon any fight he had left.
‘Why her?’ Claire swiped at her betraying tears.
‘It was madness. She bewitched me.’
He didn’t see the punch before it connected.
‘Don’t blame her.’ Claire inspected her knuckles, astonished at her fast reflexes. ‘It takes two.’
Alex nursed his jaw, half proud of Claire’s fighting prowess, half afraid of another blow. ‘Are you going to tell Mum?’
Claire blew on her sore fingers, remembering how Ellen used to blow on cuts to “heal” them. How could she tell her mum? Alex and Claire were her world. Claire didn’t want to destroy it. In that moment, she hated her dad.
Alex touched Claire’s face. ‘Angel, please don’t tell your mum.’
Claire shook her head to release the caress. She never wanted him to touch her again, knowing those hands had been on her.
‘I need time to think. It’s the best I can offer.’ She jumped from the wall. Alex followed. ‘Don’t you dare come home for a while. It won’t hurt you to sweat it out for a bit, wondering if, or when, I will expose your grubby little secret.’
She walked away, her body aching with each sob.
…
Alex returned to the scene of the crime, grateful the alleyway shielded him from sight. He was a disgusting creature and wished he could disappear. He hoped Claire wouldn’t say anything to Ellen and then despised himself for the thought. Placing such a burden upon his beloved daughter was worse than having an affair. Her eyes showed his fallen idol status. Another pair of teenager’s eyes had judged him earlier.
When Alex first entered the alleyway, he’d startled Kelly. She covered her embarrassment with a saucy line and made to leave. Unfortunately she hadn’t moved fast enough. His mistress appeared.
Unable to see into the dark space, she offered herself. ‘Alex, I’m wearing the stockings you like.’
Alex didn’t know who was more stunned when the three of them noticed each other: him, Kelly or Felicity.
After Kelly left, Alex considered finding her and devising a lie. Then he reasoned, no one spoke to Kelly, so who would she tell? Felicity had to be dealt with first. Kelly could wait for tomorrow. He’d beg her to stay quiet, even apply pressure if he must. There was nothing Alex wouldn’t do to hold his family together.
At seeing Kelly, Felicity decided if a Pratt was going to expose her secret, she might as well have fun first. Knowing it was their last encounter, she used her magic on Alex. Felicity had ways and means of dealing with Kelly too. Silencing girls didn’t challenge Felicity’s morals. No one would shatter the reputation she’d worked hard to build on the Rembrandt Estate. Alex was weak but she knew he could placate Claire. As she sauntered away, high on the thrill, Felicity considered her strategy for sorting out Kelly.
Claire didn’t tell her mum about Alex’s affair with Felicity until Ellen finally left him, years later. Kelly never had the chance to share what she had witnessed with anyone.
The next day her silence was permanent.
53
Present
The customers of Mabel’s Parlour continue their idle chatter and chinking of cups and saucers. Priscilla’s sharing of Kelly’s secret has no impact on them. Claire and I are stunned.
Priscilla smirks. ‘Straight up, it’s true. Rob Morgan was the father of Kelly’s baby, and that’s not all.’
‘Go on.’ Claire knocks over a salt cellar as she leans forward.
‘I saw Rob by the tracks that day.’ Priscilla hams up the intrigue. ‘He was hanging around the crossing, looking like he was up to no good. It was about the time Kelly was supposed to have been there. Mum grounded me for getting my ears pierced, thinking it would keep me in. As soon as she was having another one of her epic kips, I went for a walk and spotted Rob.’
‘It doesn’t mean he killed Kelly.’ My defence of a man who made my skin crawl is surprising. Priscilla’s aggressiveness brings out the worst in people. I remember though how faithful Rob seemed to be to Rose, probably because she was the boss in their relationship. Even though Johnny disliked Rob, he never doubted the man’s loyalty to his mum.
‘Wake up, Jen.’ The force of her bitchiness causes spit to hit my face. ‘You’re supposed to be brainy. Of course Rob did it.’
I wipe the spit away. A group of ladies shake their heads and tut disapproval of Priscilla’s volume. How she keeps her job is a mystery.
Claire checks her phone is recording the conversation. ‘Got anything else?’
‘Isn’t that enough, Dumbo?’
Claire’s lunge over the table confirms she’s still not a fan of her childhood nickname. The woman at the till approaches us, notices Priscilla’s snarl, and steps back. This is why, despite her lack of social skills, Priscilla remains employed. She scares her colleagues witless.
‘Is there a problem, ladies?’ the woman asks.
‘We’re fine. Why don’t you concentrate on getting those lazy sods doing the extension to keep the noise down. Off you go.’ Priscilla waves her away. The woman scuttles off to safety, behind the coffee machine.
Claire simmers. Priscilla better not have any secrets because my reporter friend won’t rest until she gets revenge. Seeing Claire tensing her fists, I hope she doesn’t whack Priscilla. Explaining to the police why we were talking to Priscilla could make matters trickier.
‘This chat is over.’ Priscilla stands. ‘Your drinks and grub are covered.’ She flicks her hands, summoning us to leave.
I’m close to punching her too. Smiling through clenched teeth, I give her one of my business cards instead. ‘In case you remember anything else.’
She holds the card as if it will explode. ‘Someone thinks their shit does
n’t stink, with their fancy cards.’
We aim for the exit, relieved to be free of this good kid turned bad.
‘Jen,’ Priscilla blasts across the room, ‘give my regards to your family.’
I ignore her, seeing as Priscilla had nothing to do with us. I don’t allow her the satisfaction of replying but the comment turns around in my mind on the way home.
54
8th October 1987
Despite Deirdre Staines’s efforts, she couldn’t keep her daughter, Priscilla, away from Kelly. After Deirdre caught Priscilla in the Pratts’ garden four months earlier, their friendship was threatened. Deirdre ramped up her surveillance. Even going to the toilet wasn’t a private affair. Whenever Priscilla flushed, her mum stood outside the door. Deirdre couldn’t maintain the regime for long though, and the afternoon naps beckoned. She fancied herself as a lady from a bygone era. Her delicate constitution demanded rest and a dose of smelling salts for frazzled nerves. Deirdre’s old-fashioned fancies worked in Priscilla’s favour.
Kelly and Priscilla became bold in taking their adventures outside the confines of the garden. At first, they ventured only as far as the railway track. Chris’s loud whistle served as a warning for Priscilla to return. The witch had returned to her lair.
That day Deirdre was away from home, tending to her mother. Priscilla couldn’t grieve for her dying grandmother who was a vicious woman. When Priscilla felt generous, she understood why her mum developed neuroses. Her grandmother ruled the family with antiseptic and fears of fatality. The germ phobia began with her. Even in the summer she wrapped up in a scarf and cardigan to keep out stray chills. If a person so much as cleared their throat, she barred them from her company.
Deirdre endured a childhood of medical tests, prodding and poking to find an affliction that didn’t exist. If she hadn’t repeated history, Priscilla could have pitied her. If Priscilla was malicious, her grandmother genuinely dying would have bordered on comical. Instead, she empathised with Deirdre, sitting by her mother’s bedside, hoping to be set free. Priscilla wondered if her future involved waiting for the freedom that came from Deirdre’s passing. At eleven, she probably had years to wait. It was the time to escape, whenever the opportunity arose.
…
Kelly beckoned Priscilla over. Resembling a plump bumble bee, in neon yellow leggings with black stripes, Kelly glowed. Priscilla attributed the attention-seeking outfit to the affair. They always referred to it as an affair rather than the more basic truth. Priscilla knew it couldn’t go anywhere. Although she still didn’t know who Kelly’s object of affection was, it didn’t sound like he viewed their relationship as long term. Priscilla watched enough soap operas – Deirdre’s guilty pleasure – to spot a dud coupling.
Priscilla assessed Kelly’s clothes against her own. The daring threads would swamp her skinny body. Her jeans and hooded sweatshirt that she hid from Deirdre, and wore that day, were frumpy in comparison. Priscilla considered putting her school uniform back on. At least she’d blend in with the other pupils milling around town.
Priscilla thumbed lipstick from above Kelly’s top lip. ‘You went over the line.’
In thanks, Kelly slathered Steamy Scarlet over Priscilla’s mouth. It was a special day, being Priscilla’s first time into Troddington without her parents. Chris hesitated in deciding. Priscilla worked her dad a charm, detailing her rotten life, captured in a council home prison. He soon caved. Priscilla was more cunning than people realised.
…
The pink explosion of Fruity Beauty invited them in. The cerise building jarred against the more traditional white shops with their muted awnings. Kim, the owner, insisted on using the brightest pink paint to set the tone. Troddington’s residents remarked upon its garishness. Petitions did the rounds, demanding a change of colour. Kim refused to budge.
‘Dare you.’ Kelly pointed at the salon. Her crop top rose to expose rolls of flesh. Priscilla pulled it down.
She was torn between pleasing her friend and obedience. Deirdre would ground her for the rest of her natural life if she went through with the plan.
‘They won’t let me do it,’ Priscilla said. ‘Not without an adult.’ She had a stronger constitution than Deirdre credited her with, but ear piercing was a brutal form of rebellion.
‘Are you scared?’ Kelly asked.
‘No.’ Priscilla inspected her flaking nails, affecting boredom.
A group of teenagers surged past, jeering at Kelly’s appearance. Priscilla wondered why the girl didn’t help herself by making better choices. As Kelly read the salon’s price list, Priscilla felt remorse at the lack of loyalty to her friend. Kelly was her hero. She cared for Priscilla with a fierce passion and wore what she liked with no apologies. Priscilla wanted to be more like Kelly without being a victim.
‘I’ll do it,’ Priscilla said.
Kelly performed a jubilant dance. The lines on her leggings wobbled along with her early bloomer breasts. A woman trailing a shopping trolley advised, ‘Put it away, sweetheart.’
Kelly rearranged her top, realising that cutting the length of her top in half was ill-judged. Graham would go mad if he caught her exposing her body in public.
‘We need an adult to get my ears pierced though,’ Priscilla said.
Kelly led her towards the premises. ‘No problem. My mum knows Kim. They were at school together. I’ll tell them Mum said it’s okay.’
Kelly hoped Kim wasn’t working. The proprietor didn’t allow children to have unsupervised ear piercing. Kelly knew if she told Priscilla, she wouldn’t do it. Noting the absence of Kim and that Charlene, the dippy junior appeared to be in charge, Kelly led Priscilla into the pink palace.
…
‘I chucked him because he felt me up when I wasn’t in the mood.’ Charlene was in her element, detailing her short-lived relationship. Kim had given her a verbal warning for gossiping in the salon but she figured Kelly and Priscilla were only kids and wouldn’t say anything. Charlene tightened her side ponytail and checked her reflection in the gold and pink-framed mirror. ‘I told Gaz, my tits are my own and I decide who touches them.’ To emphasise her conviction, Charlene smoothed the chest area of her baby-pink dress.
‘I agree,’ Kelly said. ‘Only one special person is allowed near my body.’
The plastic beads around Charlene’s neck jingled along with her hysterics. Priscilla moved away, afraid of the piercing implement in the woman’s unsteady hands.
A lady with a colossal bouffant turned up the dryer to drown out the crass talk.
‘You’re too young for that,’ Charlene said. ‘Wait until you’re fifteen, at least.’
‘Too late,’ Priscilla said. Realising the error, she awaited Kelly’s annoyance.
Instead, Kelly said, ‘I’m pregnant.’
Charlene gave a nervous titter. The impact of Kelly’s bombshell left Priscilla unprepared for the piercing gun hitting her ear.
…
‘Don’t puke on the chaise longue. It’s velour. Kim will go ballistic.’ Charlene hovered over Priscilla, holding a bucket under her chin.
Priscilla pushed it away. ‘I’m fine, thank you. Where are we?’
‘In the back room,’ Charlene said. ‘We needed to get you in here. Unconscious customers are bad for business. Your secret is safe with me by the way, Kel.’
This was true, mainly because Charlene couldn’t retain information for five minutes. She left to attend to a customer.
‘Who’s the dad?’ Priscilla asked Kelly.
Kelly fiddled with a highlighting cap, trying to force her fingers through the pinprick holes. ‘My mum says these are instruments of torture.’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘We’ll talk about it later so the nosey cows in here don’t overhear. I haven’t told Mum yet.’
Priscilla felt proud but uneasy in knowing Kelly’s secret. It confirmed their closeness, but how could she help Kelly? Asking Deirdre for advice wasn’t an option.
; Charlene reappeared. ‘I’ve got a perm waiting. We need to do the other ear if you don’t want to look like a bloke.’
Having endured enough shocks, Priscilla didn’t flinch.
…
‘He’s older than me,’ Kelly said.
They sat on a bench outside the shoe menders and sipped Panda Pops. Both whispered. Fearful of voicing her truth, Kelly insisted Priscilla guess the father’s identity. She listed almost every male resident on the estate, even the ridiculous. Kelly’s hesitance to give straight answers became tiring. Priscilla had to go home soon. Deirdre phoned every day, at the same time. Many of the names Priscilla offered received a negative response. Some suggestions made Kelly more guarded.
Charlie Pullen exited the shoe menders, swinging his repaired shoes by the laces. He hovered behind the girls, clearly lacking spying skills. Kelly wouldn’t speak openly while her nemesis lingered. Priscilla decided to later explore Mike Taylor, Henry Ponting, Anthony Rose, Ian Rose, and Rob Morgan, as candidates for Kelly’s boyfriend. At the mention of each of their names, Kelly was more uneasy than with the others Priscilla suggested, especially Rob Morgan.
Priscilla hoped for both their sakes the father of Kelly’s baby wasn’t Rob. Their friendship wouldn’t survive it.
55
Present
Claire and I have spent the last few days tracking the Rose/Morgan family. I didn’t do it alone as originally planned, as we decided to share the abuse between us. Rose being the most difficult wasn’t surprising. Claire found their telephone numbers then begged me to phone Rose. Our fear of the formidable matriarch hasn’t reduced. Claire thought because of my closeness to Johnny, Rose would be more receptive to my call. It’s because Johnny and I were best friends that Rose resented me. She viewed me as competition for her son’s attention.