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My True Colours

Page 2

by Hannah Francis


  Dad had the opportunity to work for three days in Camarthan. Andy and I had to go, and it would mean sleeping in the van. Dad said he needed the help and would pay us extra if we went. He explained that it was an opportunity to make good money because it was a big event and would attract a lot of potential customers. We arrived on the Friday and set up the stall. I had a look around: it was just a huge field. After breakfast, I went on the hunt for the ladies. Eventually, I found a hut with a woman on the door. As I pushed the door open, I could see cobwebs everywhere and fat black spiders on the ceiling and walls. No fucking way was I going in there.

  When I got back to the stall, I was now desperate for the loo and explained the situation to Dad. He told me not to worry because he would set up a curtain. I could go behind the stall, and no one would see me. Ten minutes later, the job was done, and I was so relieved! After sorting myself out, I got back out to the stall. The next thing I heard was my dad shouting, “What the fuck is that smell?” He then realised that it was behind the curtain. He shouted, “I didn’t think you needed a shit! That’s going to stink all fucking day!” If I could have made a wish that day, it would have been for the ground to open up and swallow me. Andy thought it was funny – until he was told to throw a box over it. I turned on my heels and walked away. I had never been shamed so badly. I hated my dad for shouting, Andy for laughing, and everyone in the whole world that day.

  After returning several hours later and sending them both to Coventry, I stayed in the van. I was not serving customers or facing anyone after that. How the fuck was I to know he thought I wanted a pee? I didn’t want food or drink, or to see anyone. Dad came around and thought it was hilarious. He tried to bribe me out of the van with food and drink, but I politely told him to piss off because I was never speaking to him again! One thing Mam had over him: she didn’t scrape arse. If you refused to eat your food, she left you to sulk until you came around.

  Another embarrassing moment from my market days happened when I used to work on Sundays. The summers were always hot and humid, so I used to take a change of clothes. My mother had been brought up by old parents and so would not let us shave our legs. I was around the age of fifteen. We could use Immac, but this stank and was messy to apply. Besides, I had ran out of it several weeks ago. I was not expecting such a hot weekend. I arrived at the market with jeans on, and as the morning wore on, the temperature soared to sweltering. I decided to change into my shorts, which were in the van. Although this was a good idea, I hadn’t shaved my legs. I thought, OK, I will go to the local chemist, buy a razor and shaving cream, and shave them in the toilets. Looking back, I should have changed back into my jeans first. After several comments of “Is your dad a mammoth?” and “All right, furry?” while en route to the chemist, I got to the toilets to shave my legs. I walked back to the stall with cleanly shaven, razor-cut, white legs. With an “I don’t give a fuck what you think” attitude, I strutted back to the stall with as much confidence as I could muster. The joys of being a teenager!

  I hated school and was bullied and called names daily by most of the class. I didn’t care because I hated them all. I had been wearing a brace for eighteen months, I have sucked my thumb when I sleep since I was little and this had pushed my teeth forward. I asked the dentist for the brace as I was very concious of my teeth looking crooked. This gave them ammunition. I got called ugly, jaws, and spastic. They were so fucking childish. One day as I entered my chemistry lesson and took my usual seat. The ringleader, a nasty bitch called Sarah, told me to move. I replied, “Fuck off!” The teacher still hadn’t arrived, so she had time to continue with the usual onslaught of names. I snapped that day, grabbing her by the hair and swinging her around. I was just about to knee her in the face when the teacher arrived and screamed at me to put her down. I was told to go to my head of year.

  When he called me into his office, I broke down crying and told him everything about the bullying and name calling. I begged him to move me to the same class as my sister, saying that I hated all my classmates. He told me to go back to class and assured me he was going to look into it.

  My chemistry teacher and head of year had a chat at the end of the lesson outside the door. They asked me to stay behind so that she could have a word with me. I was dreading it because she was one of the strictest teachers in the school. When she came into the classroom, she asked me, “How long has this been going on?” I told her, and she said, “Why didn’t you say something?” I told her I just had and started to cry. She told me to stop crying, don’t let them beat me, and stay strong. I learned a valuable lesson that day.

  The next day I moved to Lorna’s class. School began to improve. I was in the lower set, but I didn’t care – I fit in. Lorna and I chose different options and therefore were only in a few lessons together, but I had a few friends now, and my confidence grew. I didn’t know what pop groups I liked except for Wham, so I copied the names from a few of the other girls’ books so that mine looked the same. I was good at English, typing, and cookery, but I hated maths and was rubbish at it. I had to do RE because it was a Catholic school. I didn’t mind it, though; I believed there was a God and went to church every Sunday. Lorna didn’t go to church or communion, and she didn’t believe in God. I didn’t understand her; people needed to believe in something, didn’t they?

  Chapter 4

  We went out after school most evenings but had to be in at 9:30, or else our parents would come looking for us. This was embarrassing because most of the group were allowed out much later. Mam was strict, which was annoying. There was a mixed crowd of friends, and some of the girls were pairing off with the nicer-looking boys. The boys seemed to change girlfriends all the time. I didn’t know who was with who half of the time. Some of the girls were constantly covered in love bites, and it was disgusting. We saved our money for the weekends. One of the boys’ parents went out on Fridays, so we went to his house. We clubbed our money together, and the eldest of the group, who was nearly eighteen and shaving, could get served in the local shop. We put in our orders; it was either sherry or Strongbow.

  I usually had some sherry because I didn’t mind the taste of it, and it didn’t smell as bad as Strongbow. Lorna and I had chewing gum to hide the scent of drink and her fags for when we got home. (Yes, 9.30 on the weekends as well – we were sixteen)! Some of the girls slept around with the older boys, wore miniskirts, and flirted with anything in trousers. Lorna was yet again more popular than me with everyone because she smoked and was funny.

  Lorna likes one of the lads, Carl. She has arranged to see him the next weekend. She is trying to get me to have a date with his friend. Lorna says he’s a good laugh, and I shouldn’t be tight, but I don’t want to. He constantly takes the piss out of everything I say, and he’s covered in zits. I don’t like him, but they are friends. Sometimes I think that she cares more about pleasing her friends than me.

  I decide to stay in for a few weeks. I have GCSE coursework in English to do, and it’s my favourite subject. We are the first year to do a GCSE exam. I find it easier doing coursework; it is going towards my final exam, and I want to pass it. Lorna goes out every night as usual and can’t be bothered to revise or do her homework. She starts asking our parents if our friends can come to the house some evenings, because it’s winter and too cold to hang around outside. We have a large back kitchen dinner, and Mam says that they can go in there as long as they are quiet. It’s a bit awkward, because I live there but do not go downstairs and say hello. Carl’s friend Zitty is there, and he is being nice to me for a change. He asks me why I haven’t been going out lately. I reply that I am doing homework for my exams.

  When the weather breaks, I start to go out with Lorna again. It’s boring, but there’s nothing else to do. Zitty talks to me quite often now, and I suppose he’s OK; maybe he’s growing up a bit. Lorna’s boyfriend Carl asks if Zitty can walk me down the hill on the way home, I cringe and say no, Lorna tells me not to be
tight because Carl is walking down with her, and they are going the same way anyway. I think, Fucking great. Thanks, Lorna. Realising I don’t really have a choice, I agree. We talk a little bit on the way home, and he’s OK as boys go. When we get to the bus stop near the house, Lorna is French kissing Carl. Gross! Zitty asks if he can walk me down tomorrow, and for some stupid reason, I feel sorry for him and so agree.

  Chapter 5

  Three months later, Lorna is still with Carl, and I’m still seeing Zitty. We are going to a friend’s house whose parents are away for the weekend. She’s a right slapper, but her sister is hard as nails, a slapper as well and three years older than us, so we say nothing. A free house is a free house, so who are we to complain? Besides, it’s raining out, and it beats the bus stop (my and Zitty’s dating zone). I have my bottle of QC sherry for tonight; Lorna is on the Strongbow. We get to the house, and everyone is there. Lisa, whose house it is, is strutting around and looking for her next victim. Lorna is with Carl and is on her second can already. I’m drinking my QC.

  As the night wears on, I notice Lisa and Zitty flirting. I think, The cheeky bitch, but I say nothing. I notice Lorna and Carl have gone upstairs. In order to piss off Lisa, I tell Zitty we should do the same. I’ve had a few drinks, and the Dutch courage has kicked in. I don’t think this through. We head upstairs, and the room is a bit messy. I lie on the bed, and Zitty undresses us both. I am nervous, and he’s clumsy; whatever he’s trying to do hurts like hell. Both Lorna and I lose our virginity that night. On the way home, Lorna says she doesn’t care and is relieved she’s done it and isn’t a virgin anymore. I’m upset and don’t even know why I did it; I didn’t like it and won’t be doing it again.

  Several weeks later Lorna and Carl split up. Neither of them are that bothered. Carl takes magic mushrooms all the time and is more interested in doing that than seeing her. I’m still with Zitty, and we get on OK and meet most nights. We have sex occasionally if we have somewhere to go. I feel that because I lost my virginity to him, I have to stay with him. I can’t stand the thought of being branded a slag, like some of the girls.

  School is finished, and I have decided to go to college to complete a secretarial B.Tech degree. It is for a year, and I am going to look for office work after that. Zitty is working in a factory, and his wages are crap. Lorna has also started in a factory; she makes underwear and has made loads of new friends. She’s dating a new fella named John, and he’s into his heavy metal bands. Lorna suddenly loves all heavy metal bands, and she is going to a Donnington Festival and booking tickets for John’s favourite groups.

  I am seventeen years old and have been dating Zitty for a year. We get engaged (his idea). I am about to finish college, have nearly completed my course, and manage to make a few of my own friends. Beth comes into college the following week and announces that she is pregnant and engaged. We ask if she’s OK and how her parents were about it. She tells us the engagement was rushed due to the pregnancy, but she will get married after she has had the baby. She’s happy, so we congratulate her. Three days later, I discover I am also pregnant by Zitty. Shit! Later that night, I tell him. He is OK about it. He tells me he hates living at home, and this will be a good excuse to move out. He hates his stepdad. I decide I have to tell Mam first; she loves kids and will take it better than Dad. Looking on the positive side, at least I have completed my college course.

  A few days later, I think, Here goes. Mam’s on her own. I start by saying, “Um, Mam?”

  She replies, “Yes?”

  I then say, “Oh, nothing.”

  After the same conversation five times, she says, “Lauren, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

  My lip quivers, and I reply yes and start to cry. Mam is my rock. She tells me it will be OK and that she will tell Dad. I’m so relieved. I go out and come back home several hours later.

  As I walk into the kitchen, I see my father at the table. I ask if he’s OK. He shouts, “No, I’m fucking not OK!” I start to cry. Dad asks me what my plans are and says I can get rid of it, if it’s not too late. I tell him I’m Catholic and can’t kill it. He shouts at me to get to bed. I run up the stairs and cry myself to sleep.

  The next day, Dad has come around a little; I think Mam gave him a row. He’s not happy, but he’s not angry anymore. He tells me that I will have to live at home with the baby if I’m going to have it. I’ve brought enough shame on the family, and there is no way I’m moving out unless I have a ring on my finger. I tell Zitty what has been said. He comes to the house and tells Dad that we should get married. The wedding is arranged to happen after the birth of the baby.

  Throughout the pregnancy, Zitty becomes more and more moody. I am terrified of being left as a single mother. I can’t bear the thought of people thinking I’m a slag. Zitty starts arguments all the time, and he gets nasty and jealous of any other man talking to me. I put up with the jealously and comments about being fat. He only says nasty things when we are alone. He acts as nice as pie in front of my family. Sophie picks up on his behaviour and watches his jealous mood swings; they quickly fall out, and he hates her. I’m in the middle of the arguments. He has power, and he knows it.

  Chapter 6

  The months roll by, and I get fatter as my pregnancy progresses. Lorna is having the time of her life; she and John have split up, and she is going on holidays with the girls from work. She has booked Magalof. Lorna and Zitty get on well, and he goes out sometimes and sees her in the same pubs. They both smoke and go out for a fag together. Zitty won’t let anyone smoke in front of me and is protective of my pregnancy. He uses it as an excuse to stop me going out or seeing friends, making me feel guilty if I want to go anywhere. He’s living his life, and I have become a hermit!

  Lorna comes in from work and tells me that the girls in the factory said to tell me that labour is like trying to shit a melon. I shout to Mam and ask her if it’s true. Mam gives Lorna a row and tells me I can expect some twinge pains, but that’s all. I’m terrified!

  A month later, the baby is on its way. We head to the local hospital. The doctor informed me a few months ago that the baby was in a back-to-back position. Mam and I don’t know what that means. The pains are getting worse. I’m so scared and terrified of soiling myself because I know Zitty will tell everyone. Luckily, they give me an enema, which clears my bowels like an explosion! Thirty-six hours later, after pain that could kill a horse (I thought I was going to die), Jonah has arrived. He’s a healthy, seven-pound boy.

  Three days later, it is my and Lorna’s eighteenth birthday. Zitty visits me in hospital, and every time he looks at the baby, he comments how much he looks like him. Jonah does a little, but a handsome version. I am grateful that he doesn’t have Zitty’s nose. My parents arrive to view the new arrival; he is the first grandchild on both sides. Mam is instantly smitten, as am I. Dad takes a peek and smiles, commenting, “Yep, ten fingers and toes. You did OK.”

  My parents go for a coffee, leaving me and Zitty alone with our son. I sense a change of mood in Zitty. He comments that my mam should ask before picking up Jonah, and that it’s his child. I tell him he’s being silly, and he should be grateful – we’d have nothing if it wasn’t for them. He looks down at Jonah but doesn’t pick him up, and I can tell he’s angry. I ask him what’s wrong. He tells me that I am a fucking slut and asks why I allowed a male student to observe the birth and stitch me up. I’m shocked and stare at him. Eventually I ask him, “What is the problem? They are doctors.” he pinches my arm hard, and I start to cry and can’t stop. He’s telling me to shut up because someone might hear me.

  A nurse approaches and asks if I’m OK. he panics and tries to offer an explanation. The nurse says, “It’s nothing to worry about – just the baby blues. Every mother gets them.” As she walks away, I look up and see the relief on his face. My parents come back from the canteen, and Zitty comments about the baby blues. Mam comforts me.

  Eventually vi
siting time is over, and they leave. I look at Jonah and decide I don’t care anymore. Lorna hasn’t come to visit us; Mam said she would come around, and she thinks that she’s jealous of the attention I am getting. I was in hospital on our birthday, and no one had any cash left to celebrate it with her. My parents assumed she would be going out with her friends. (I don’t think she ever forgave me.)

  Five days after giving birth, I leave hospital and go home to live at my parents’ house. Zitty visits daily, using Jonah as an emotional weapon against anyone who crosses him, usually Sophie. They hate each other, but Sophie adores her nephew. She is extremely broody and smothers him with affection. I don’t condone Zitty’s behaviour, but occasionally it gives me some breathing space.

  I decided to breastfeed, because this is the only thing that no one can do for me. Jonah is the only grandchild on both sides, and everyone wants to spoil him. He is picked up constantly, which is annoying. Mam coos over him, saying, “Come to Mam.” I have to correct her that she is Nan. Dad reminds me that I cannot move out unless I am married. I think, Zitty only wants to marry me to piss off everyone. I only want to marry him so that I can have my own space and be a real mother to Jonah. The house is too small, and I feel suffocated. Mam is brilliant and means well, but the constant comments of “I’d bring him up for you” from both grandmothers is getting me down. No one is taking him away from me – he is my son. Getting married to Zitty is my only option.

 

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