Why?

by Glynis Baxter

  I figured it was the little girl’s dad protecting his little princess. When my mum and Jerry got in a few moments later my mum looked over at me with curiosity on her face. “You alright, Danielle, is there anything you need to tell me?” Jerry was stood fidgeting behind her, not making any eye contact with any of us.

  “No mum, why?” she glared back at Jerry who made a hasty retreat upstairs.

  20

  A few days after, I was in the back garden when my mum rushed out the house. “Danielle, come here quick, and be quiet,” she ushered me into the outside coal house. “Now stay there, Danielle, and don’t make a sound and whatever happens don’t come out.” She closed the door on me it was pitch black in there and smelt fusty and damp, there was a small trickle of light coming through the keyhole so I squinted through it so I could see what was happening outside.

  My dad suddenly appeared, and my mum was talking to him in a low voice, but no matter how hard I tried I was unable to make out what was being said. My mum appeared to be doing most of the talking, and my dad appeared shaken by whatever was being said. How I wish I could hear what was going on. My mum glanced over to the coal house as if checking I had stayed put. My dad, shaking his head, turned around and left. I stood there waiting to be released, but she turned around and went back indoors.

  I stood there in that coal house probably ten minutes after he left but it felt like an age. I looked behind me; it was pitch black I didn’t know where the coal lay so I did not dare move from the spot I was in. I had visions of spiders and creepy crawlies, and the air in there was thick and damp; it was starting to make me gasp for air. What was wrong with her, why wasn’t she letting me out? Was she leaving me in here all day or what? Finally I saw her come out the back door and walk towards the coal house, opening the door to let me out. I instantly choked and gasped as my lungs filled with the clean air. “Danielle, go to your bedroom and read a book.” I did not argue I was just relieved to be free.

  Puzzled, I chose a book and was flicking through the pages, when there was a knock on my bedroom door. It was my dad. “Hi, Danielle, can I come in?” Surprised to see him especially in the house, I nodded. He sat on the bed at the side of me and told me that I would not be seeing him again. He handed me a piece of paper saying it was his phone number, and if I ever needed anything to call him. I looked at him and the paper and could not find a response, I was totally shocked. I had no idea how to use a phone, mind make a call, we had no phone, and I had no money to use a phone box plus I was probably to small to reach the phone if I had. “I am off now, Danielle, and don’t forget if you need me just call.” I watched him leave the room, and I did not budge from where I sat I was totally stunned. I slowly opened the paper he gave me and saw his number. I felt like ripping it up there and then, but instead I scanned my room for a suitable safe place, finally settling on putting it in my pencil case.

  I just could not get my head around what had happened, why would he say such a thing? Surely he did not mean it. It made no sense, no sense at all. We seemed to get on well, I always behaved when he took me out. Why turn up in my life? Why make contact with his only daughter just to walk away? No he did not mean it, he was only messing surely.

  That week at school I could not get it out of my mind questions going round and round in my head. I was quiet at school, quiet at home just staying in my room. I had started to get feelings for my dad, I was a little girl craving attention and I was getting a little off my dad, and now he was gone and all I had left of him was a scrap of paper as a reminder.

  On the Saturday morning, my mum told me to go get smartened up and wait on the front as my dad was picking me up. I instantly had a great big beam on my face and ran upstairs to get ready. I chose my best dress, I put on my special coat, and sat patiently on the front kerb waiting for my dad to show. For every car that turned the corner of our street, I would jump up excitedly, expecting to see his car. After what seemed an age I started to become deflated; it was November and it was bitterly cold. My coat was not keeping me warm and my bum was going numb from the cold pavement – where was he? I would give him ten minutes more then I would have to go in. Finally I had to accept defeat. He was not coming, he was playing some kind of sick game; probably thought it was funny to have his daughter freeze to death, waiting on him, knowing all along he was not going to show up.

  Shaking from the cold I went back in. “You’re back quick, what happened?”

  Bursting into tears I told her: “He never turned up.”

  “Oh Danielle, I knew he would let you down. You’re better of just forgetting about him.” How was I meant to do that? I went in the front room watching the traffic going up and down the road for hours, willing my dad’s car to suddenly stop outside, but of course it didn’t. I was absolutely gutted, why would he do this to me? I hated him. My mum was right, I didn’t need him; he had come into my life turned it upside down and then just turned around and left.

  21

  I spent a lot of time at that front room window, weekend after weekend, watching the cars going up and down willing, praying that my dad’s would pull up outside and things would return to normal. The first weekend after he left was the worst; I spent hours sat there looking out, wondering what I had done to make him go away? Why he didn’t want to know me anymore? Tears were burning my cheeks as they poured down my face. I could not understand any of it why? Why? Why was he treating me like this? I wanted to hate him but I couldn’t, he was the man that had taken me out in his car before then I had never been in a proper car a taxi but that’s not the same. He was the man who had treated me to new clothes, meals and new experiences. I was incapable of hating him, I simply felt rejected and hurt by him. I had started to get real feelings for him, and I believed he felt the same. He appeared pleased to see me when we went out, and yet now this, I also felt jealous I had not had chance to meet my stepbrothers and sisters but I was jealous of them, jealous that they had him, and I did not – I was stuck with Jerry. He was my real dad not theirs, so what was the justice in that? It stunk, and yet he had passed me over like an abandoned pup to go back to his perfect life, with his perfect cerealbox family.

  “Danielle, you can’t sit there all day, what are you looking for?”

  Turning round to face her, my cheeks still damp from the tears and my eyes blood shot I replied, “I am just watching the traffic, Mum.” Sighing she left the room. “Danielle, he is not coming back. You just need to get used to it, he has gone.” I knew she was right, he had told me as much. Dragging myself from the window I went to my room to retrieve his phone number from my pencil case. I stared at it for ages as if somehow it held all the answers to my present situation. I scanned the room looking for a safer hiding place for the scrap of paper as it was getting overly creased in the pencil case. In my windowsil was a small jewellery box. On opening it up there was a piece of mesh fabric in the bottom so taking it out I folded the paper as small as I could, and laid it in the box, carefully replacing the mesh on top. Finally satisfied the number was safe I took a sigh of relief. I would probably never use it, but it was the last thing I had of my dad, so I wanted to keep it safe and away from prying eyes. My mum never asked me about my dad’s visit to my room, so I had not told her about the phone number. It felt like a secret just between me and my dad.

  School was gearing up for Christmas, so I had things to keep me busy. At school the school nativity, making Christmas decorations for the tree in the school hall, and chains for the endless school corridors, but my dad was never far from my thoughts. Our teacher had us making our own Christmas cards and homemade presents, it was a lot of fun. On our final day it was toy day no school work. All the class were allowed to bring in one toy or game, and we also had our Christmas party. Everyone had brought in a small amount of food to contribute and of course no Christmas party’s complete without a visit from Santa Claus. We all patiently lined up to see him and was presented with a selection
box each. I was now of an age where I was doubting the true presence of Santa Claus, I still wanted to believe as it was so magical, but then again the other children were saying it was their parents etc. so I had to wonder. I know which I would have preferred it to be though. The thought of a man in a red coat, with a sack full of gifts climbing down a chimney – who wouldn’t want to rather believe in that?

  My mum did do a few decorations at Christmas. We had a four-foot tree sat on a coffee table – and there was an angel on the top. I had made some chains at school for the ceiling and we had two different coloured balloons in each corner of the room. It did look cheery. The Christmas cards we had received were hanging above the fire on two lengths of string, secured by drawing pins at either end. My mum always put on a nice spread at Christmas. She made time to bake, making her own mince pies, sausage rolls and fairy cakes. I used to always hang around while she baked hoping to be offered the mixing bowl the fairy cakes had been mixed in. I would have loved to have helped her, but she was always in a rush to get it done, so I just used to watch on the side lines grateful for the bowl at the end.

  On Christmas morning, like every other child in the land, I was downstairs at the crack of dawn excited to see what Santa had left me. On the chimney breast hung a long sock. I rushed over to empty it out and sighed, as the usual yearly orange, apple, nuts and a bottle of bubbles fell out. I had to smile: this was the only time of year we had a fruit bowl out, and as I looked over at it was left wondering if the apple and orange had been nestled on the top of the others the night before.

  There was a pile of gifts on the small table under the tree. I had not asked, or been asked, what I would like for Christmas so had no idea what to expect as I unwrapped them. The first one was a Enid Blyton book, The Famous Five, then a Christmas stocking full of a selection of different chocolates – yummy – a spinning top, pyjamas and finally a compendium of games in a box, consisting of snakes and ladders, ludo etc. It was still early, too early to wake anyone up so I went into the kitchen to get a drink, and in there stood up against the kitchen counters was a beautiful, shiny scooter – wow, I loved it. As I stood admiring it my mum walked in. “Merry Christmas, Danielle, looks like you must have been a very good girl this year!”

  We had a great Christmas day I was allowed to stuff myself silly with the chocolate out of my Christmas stocking. There was only the three of us for dinner, and obviously I was unable to eat hardly any of it after stuffing myself with chocolates but and wasn’t a cross word from either of them. After we watched the Queen’s speech, which my mum insisted on every year, followed by the Christmas movie; then she laid on a small buffet that we could help ourselves to off and on all evening. We played with my new games, even Jerry joined in. That night I went to bed happy and slept soundly for once.

  22

  I spent all the rest of the Christmas holidays on my scooter, I loved it. I was lucky we lived at the top of a steep hill so I would have one leg on the scooter and the other on the pavement and run as fast as I could, as soon as I got the speed up, I would take my foot off the pavement and sail down the street giggling all the way, with the wind blowing through my hair. There was not much traffic on our street, no one could really afford a car, so it was very rare a car came up our street. The council had made it one-way traffic so I was perfectly safe bombing up and down. I was no sooner at the bottom of the hill than I would go running back up to the top to do it all again, it made me feel free and gave me some kind of strange release. I simply loved my new toy.

  At New Year Jerry and my mum went out, leaving me in with a selection of treats and drinks, telling me they were going to see the new year in at the local pub and they would see me when they got in if I was still up. Glancing at the clock it was 7pm it was another five hours before the new year. I had spent a good few hours tearing up and down on my scooter and was feeling weary; I honestly was not expecting to still be up when they returned. By eight o’clock I was beat so went upstairs had a quick bath and settled into bed. I could hear people outside making their way to the pub or a party, excitedly chatting as they passed. I soon drifted off, to be woken by Jerry and my mum coming in obviously the worse for wear and bickering over something or the other. Wiping the sleep out of my eyes I went downstairs. Jerry was stood on the doorstep looking puzzled while my mum was refusing to let him in. “No, no you can’t come in yet you’ve not got your lump of coal, and you need soap, whiskey and a candle.” Seeing me coming downstairs she turned to face me. “Danielle, quick, go in the bathroom and get the soap.” By the time I retrieved the soap Jerry was stood on the front step dithering, with the coal and other items my mum had insisted on in his hands. “Right you can come in now, Jerry,” she said, passing him the soap.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “It’s a northern tradition: a dark haired man is meant to be your first male visitor to pass the threshhold after New Year’s Eve, bringing a candle for light, coal for heat, soap for cleanliness and liquor so you don’t go thirsty all year.” This was a new tradition to me, I had never ever heard of it and by the look on Jerry’s face neither had he. There was only one flaw with this and that was the fact Jerry was not dark, he was without a question of a doubt ginger-haired.

  The rest of the school year was relatively quiet, and thankfully I never had any more run ins with Debra and apart from Jerry deciding I was his personal remote control for the television, as he could not be bothered to get up and change the channels himself, I was pretty much left alone. About two months before I was about to break up for the school holidays, my mum came in all excited. “Danielle, have you seen the new pet shop down the road? They have the cutest kittens in the window. They’re a Siamese cross and they have bright blue eyes – they’re gorgeous. Would you like one?” Well a cat’s not something I had been considering, if I was honest, but my mum was full of it and could not wait to show them off to me in the pet shop window. “Oh look, Danielle, aren’t they gorgeous? Which one would you choose?” I looked at the kittens through the shop window but felt nothing, I did not think they were particularly cute, but my mum kept insisting and in the end I pointed to the one nearest to us. “Come on, Danielle, let’s see if you have picked a boy or girl.” To be honest I couldn’t care less; they all looked the same to me. In the shop the owner turned the poor thing upside down and announced we were now the proud owners of a tom cat.

  Carrying the kitten back home in a cardboard box with a few air holes punched in. We could hear him meowing he did not sound happy about the prospect of a new home. “So what are you going to call him?” Mum asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. The fact was, it was still sinking in from nowhere I was now the owner of a kitten I wasn’t that fussed about. Placing him carefully on the kitchen floor my mum told me to release him to see what he would do, as the flaps on the box were opened he tumbled out running straight behind the twin tub. There was no way we could get him out. As I tried to grab him he would shrink further back out of my grasp. In the end we left him to settle as he appeared absolutely petrified of us. He spent a good hour wedged behind the twin tub, in the end we had to pull it out and I managed to get him as he raced to his next bolt hole. As I held him he was shaking like a leaf. Arr the poor thing. After a few minutes he settled and curled up on my lap and fell asleep: I did not dare move in case he fled again. Looking down at him properly for the first time he appeared all vulnerable and alone. My heart started to melt. OK then I guess you are cute. He opened his eyes and looked up at me with the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. His fur was pure black and as glossy as silk, OK little man you’re a keeper. “Mum, I am going to call him Sooty.” Yawning Sooty crawled up to my neck and nuzzled in purring and drifted back off to sleep, finally content.

  23

  Jerry on his arrival home was not as impressed with the new addition, and shooed him away every time he went near him. Sooty, my mum decided, was going to be an outside cat, so after
a month the poor thing was booted out night after night. As Jerry was not keen on him he left him out in the day, so on my return from school he would be waiting for me on the front door step waiting to be let in for a few hours before being put out again.

  One morning he came in battered and bruised; he had scratches and bites all over him, so he had obviously had a run in with another local cat. This gave him a little respite as he was allowed to recover indoors for a few weeks, he was such a loving cat, he would curl up at the side of me and purr away in his sleep obviously exhausted from all his outdoor antics. Jerry never warmed to Sooty and his scratching on the chair legs infuriated him, to the point he slung him across the room at my mum, he seemed to hang in the air for ages before luckily being caught by her just before hitting the living room wall. I hated Jerry; he was now persecuting a poor defenceless animal. Was there no end to his nastiness.

  The summer holiday was spent as usual with my grandparents up north. Darren was now a regular visitor too in the holiday, but he always only stayed a few weeks before being picked up by his parents. We were getting on better; I didn’t see him as a threat anymore and he had outgrown my special bear so I had him back though he still felt tarnished and soiled. Darren had returned home before my birthday and it was nice to have my aunts and grandparents to myself on my special day.

  I opened all my birthday cards in a rush, tearing each envelope open as fast as I could, looking for the one from my dad, but he had not sent me one. I flung the cards down in a huff, and had the same emotions running through me of rejection and loss. So he had meant it, he was really gone. This had been my last hope that little light in the darkness to show me that he did care and that I was important to him, but obviously I wasn’t, not even worth the price of a card or a stamp. I decided there and then I was done with him. I was not going to waste anymore time or energy focusing on where he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking about me, as now I had my answer. Obviously he was not thinking of me. If he could not even remember his only child’s birthday, stuff him – he was not worth my time.