My True Colours

by Hannah Francis

  I tell him I don’t love him, and I want him to leave. He starts screaming that he will have to pay child support, and I tell him I don’t want anything from him. He turns into Mr Nice Guy and starts to cry. They are crocodile tears. He begs me not to leave him and tries to hug me, which makes me cringe. I don’t back down because I have no intention of changing my mind. When Mr Nice Guy doesn’t work, he gets nasty again. I know the routine, and this goes on for two hours. If he’s not careful, he’ll be late for the pub! Eventually, I lie that I will stop the divorce just to end his tantrums. I have no intention of doing so; I simply want a quiet night because I am wrecked. He leaves for the pub, and I sit down, relieved. I wish my mother would butt out from now on. I’m doing it my way.

  The following week, I ring David, and he tells me that the solicitor will be knocking on the door with the divorce papers Saturday or Sunday. He tells me that Zitty has to receive them himself, or it will not work. I thank him and put down the phone. I can’t stop shaking.

  It’s Friday night, and Jonah and Eligh are going for their weekly sleepover at my in-law’s. She has the older children because they are easier. Jonah is begging her to take Frankie as well, telling her he will look after him all night. She says she cannot cope with all three. Jonah refuses to leave without him and tells her he will be really good. Eventually she agrees, and I’m amazed. This will make the morning much easier for me. It’s as if Jonah knows what is going on. I wave them off and sit down. Zitty has gone to his local. Lorna rings me and asks me how I am. I tell her that I feel like I am being set free, like a bird getting out of a cage. She wishes me luck.

  Polly is in bed, so it’s time to start preparing. I hide all the knives – he’s been threatening to stab me for a while, and I’m not making it easy for him. I have thought of the worst-case scenario. As long as he doesn’t stab me in any vital organs, I should be able to survive, because I’m strong and healthy. I know he doesn’t want me, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have me. I have to get Polly’s buggy stacked full of nappies, baby food, and clothes in case I can’t get back to the house. If I can’t get him to leave the house, he can keep it. It is my home, but I don’t care about that – it’s only bricks and mortar. My main concern is having a roof over my and the children’s heads. The most important things are to me and the kids; everything else can be replaced.

  I have an early night and try to sleep, but it evades me. He comes in about 12.30, after chatting to a woman on the phone for over an hour in the phone box outside. We have a house phone, but the twat is so obvious. Good luck to her – she is welcome to him.

  Polly stirs at 7.30, I get up quickly to bathe and feed her. Then I settle her into her buggy. I am ready to run. I am a nervous wreck and can’t stop shaking. If the solicitor doesn’t arrive today, I’ll have to leave anyway; I cannot do this any longer. I swear that the angels are looking down on me that day.

  As I sit waiting for the door to knock, the phone rings: it is my mother-in-law. She tells me that Eligh has been ill; he has had stomach cramps and has been sick. I ring the doctor and manage to get an emergency appointment. I shout up the stairs, telling him I have to get Eligh, and he just groans. I rush down with Polly to pick him up.

  As I get there, she passes the phone to me, telling me it’s Zitty. He is pretending to cry and says, “You’ve got what you wanted.”

  I think, Thank fuck for that! I answer yes and hang up the phone.

  I get to the doctor after dropping off the other three at my mother’s. I am in there with Dr James, and she is checking Eligh’s tummy. Zitty bursts through the door and sits down. I am nervous but know he won’t do anything outside the house – he is gutless, Dr James acts very professional and carries on with the examination. She tells me it is a stomach bug, but I should keep an eye on him and bring him back if the symptoms persist.

  As we leave the surgery, my mother-in-law is walking towards us. She calls her son and tells him to go with her; after a little persuasion, he agrees. I race back to Mam’s. It’s over. I’m free. Mam confesses that she didn’t think it would be that easy and was worried sick. I don’t know whether he will return to the house, so I decide to tell the kids on the way home.

  I start by telling Jonah and Eligh that I have some important news. Frankie and Polly are too young to understand. The older two both look at me, nervous. I say, “Your dad’s gone. I’ve thrown him out of our lives.”

  I hear “Hooray!” and “We might lose the house and have to live somewhere else”. Then they give more hoorays. We were all free!

  New Beginnings

  Zitty went back to live with his mother that day. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, which means the children and I get to stay in the house. I ring an emergency number and have the locks changed on the house the day he left. I make sure the doors and windows are locked day and night, in case he tries to come into the house. If I see him outside, I ignore him. He is gutless, and I know he cannot hurt me or the children outside of these four walls. I get an injunction against him. My dad takes me to the courthouse, and Zitty storms into the waiting room and ignores my solicitor (who tries to introduce himself). We have to wait thirty minutes before entering the courtroom. I can feel Zitty’s eyes burning into me; he is furious. It is the longest thirty minutes of my life, but I refuse to look at him.

  We are called into court, and he pushes past everyone and smashes the door against the wall on the way in. The judge tells him to calm down, or he will have him removed. This works in my favour; my dad sees Zitty’s true colours for the first time. I am awarded my injunction.

  My former mother-in-law rings and asks for some furniture and his clothes to be dropped off at her house. I reluctantly give him a spare set of drawers. It’s a bedside cabinet that I bought; he never contributed anything to the house. I bagged up his clothes. She also wanted back my engagement ring.

  Dad dropped off all the items. When he came back, he told me that he had been chatting to her, and although she admitted the breakup was 70 per cent his fault, my 30 per cent was much worse. She also added, “He is a nice-looking lad and will have no problem finding someone else,” whereas I had four children, so who else would want me?

  My reply to my dad was, “Yep, I do have four beautiful children, and I do not want anyone else after being married to that knobhead for seven years!” I decide that is his new nickname, Knobhead.

  The divorce is completed within three months. I qualified for legal aid. My former mother in-law rings me every few weeks to inform me that Knobhead wants to speak to me about the children. l agree to speak to him. His first words are, “Why are you doing this to me?” I hang up. We have agreed that the children can visit Knobhead and his parents for three hours after school on Wednesdays and Fridays. When she arrives to pick them up, he is not allowed near the house. She comments that she found a pair of women’s knickers in his room the other day. I tell her they are not mine and wish him luck. The news does not have the desired effect.

  A few days later, I am awoken suddenly in the middle of the night. I have left my top bedroom window open and can hear someone calling my name. I’m terrified because it’s him, and he is trying the door handle. I know it is locked.

  I creep down the stairs, ducking past the windows. The phone is at the bottom of the stairs, and he is walking around the side of the house. I pick up the phone and ring his parents. His mother answers the phone. I ask if he has come home yet; it’s about 1.30 in the morning. She replies that he hasn’t, so I tell her he is outside my house, and if she and her husband don’t come and get him within the next ten minutes, I’m ringing the police. She knows that I mean it.

  I can hear him trying the back door, and so I sit by the phone, feeling sick. Five minutes later, I can hear his parents calling his name and asking him to go home with them. He is drunk and crying, saying, “Why is she doing this to me?” Relief washes over me. I recheck all the windows and doors
before going to bed.

  After that night, he gets the message, and things settle down. His mother hates me, the main reason being because I hurt her little bastard. The other reason is because she now has to deal with him and his moods, and she doesn’t want the spoilt brat back. Luckily for her, within six months he moves in with the owner of the mysterious knickers. I am glad she has done me a favour.

  For the first time in my life, I am truly free to make my own decisions. I am twenty-four years old and divorced with four children. My parents cannot tell me what to do anymore. Living on my own with my children is my only option. The months pass by quickly. The children are improving in school, and Jonah’s reading has improved overnight. His teacher rings me at home and asks me to call into the school. He is given an award, and she cannot get over the improvement. It is as if the stress has lifted off us all, and we are happy. My parents are a great help. Dad has recovered from his depression and helps me ferry the children to and from school. Mam babysits for me to go out once a fortnight. I have started to make friends, and for the first time in years, I can hold my head up high and speak to people without being afraid of the consequences.

  I take the children swimming on the weekends, and we go to the park. I do not have time restrictions. It doesn’t matter if we are home an hour late. My former mother in-law’s version of this is that I am always out on the road, dragging the children behind me! She tells anyone who will listen. She is a bitch and is not well liked. My neighbours confide in me, now that I am divorced, that she has been nicknamed “the poison dwarf” for years. Her height is four foot nothing!

  I have been thinking about my future. What do I want to do? I decide to enrol in the local college because I am interested in a hairdressing course. They are holding an open evening in a month, and my mother has agreed to watch the children for me to attend. I decide to enrol on a hairdressing NVQ level two fast-track course for young mothers.

  The course is run during school hours. Frankie will qualify for a full-time nursery place, and I have secured a place in the college creche for Polly. Jonah is starting junior school, and Eligh will attend the second year of infants in September. My mother has been a rock since my divorce and is happy about me attending college. She cannot do her own hair and has offered to be a model whenever I need one.

  Sophie is pregnant with her first child. She had her dream wedding last year, and she married within a year of meeting her husband. She has asked if I would like to mind my new nephew or niece for her to go back to work. I refuse because I am set on going to college. It is time for me to get some qualifications and a career.

  Lorna is living with her boyfriend, the one she met in the pub. She has a new puppy that is very cute, a Yorkshire terrier, named Poppy.

  Andy has married his long-term girlfriend, Sammy. They haven’t been lucky enough to conceive yet, but they are trying for a baby. Sammy is blaming Andy. He has been banned from wearing his favourite Wrangler Texas jeans, and he needs to keep his plums cool, so he has to wear jogging bottoms or shorts. They have gone to the fertility clinic, and this was the verdict. I wonder whether the fact that she drinks in the club every night whilst Andy babysits her sister’s kids has any effect. I shut my mouth but secretly wish he would wise up. His mates are always telling him he’s henpecked, and I’m inclined to agree.

  It is six months since my divorce has been finalised, and I am due to start my college course in September. I have discovered that I qualify for a grant, and this has enabled me to buy my uniform and my hairdressing kit. I get income support and am coping much better on my own. I ask my family to buy the children’s clothes instead of loads of toys for birthdays and Christmas. This helps out a lot. I work out my income and outgoings to the last penny, and I have lists months in advance. This means I know how much money I have left for things like Christmas presents for the children. Mam has a catalogue, and I pay weekly for presents. I am very organised and don’t waste a penny. I have set goals, a list of things I want to achieve within the next five years. First, I want to pass my hairdressing level two course, and then I want to go on to hairdressing level three and achieve that. They are both fast-track courses, and I will achieve them in two years. Next, I want to get a part-time job in a hair salon. Finally, I want to pass my driving test and get a car. I am twenty-five and have given myself until I am thirty to achieve these goals.

  My parents have suggested that the children should have a holiday, and they offer to book a Chateau at a Butlins Resort. Dad has told me they will pay for the week’s stay and provide the transport. Mam says that it will do us the world of good. Sophie has agreed to come with me; she is seven months pregnant. It is booked for a month’s time.

  A week before the holiday, Sophie goes into labour early and gives birth to a tiny boy; he weighs four pounds, thirteen ounces and has to stay in intensive care. She names him George. I tell my new friend Gemma about the baby and the holiday, and she offers to take her place. She has three sons who are friends with my boys and are the same age. Gemma rings the resort and changes the booking. Her boyfriend works a lot and doesn’t mind her going. He doesn’t have time to go away with them and tells me it will do them good. He has arranged a day off work to take them, and we will meet them there. The children are thrilled.

  Gemma is better off than me and has a lot more spending money for the holiday. I manage to save about 150 pounds at short notice and will have to cash in my family allowance while I am there.

  The day we are due to leave, Jonah is ill, and I have to take him to the doctor. He has tonsillitis and is given antibiotics and Calpol for his temperature. Jonah sleeps the whole way there and is really ill. I leave him with my dad in the car while we unpack. I have taken my own pillows and bedding; it’s like we are moving house. I carry Jonah into the chaleau and put him onto the bed. There are seven children and two adults, and the children cannot wait to start having fun.

  We manage to get the children to the pool area. I have dosed up Jonah and carry him there. Gemma has helped to push Polly in her buggy. Jonah is worried that his new friend is angry because he is too ill to go into the pool, and he constantly asks him, “Are you still my friend?”

  The boy replies, “Yes, but only if you stop asking me!”

  Jonah has repeated it at least fifty times. I give him a hug and try to reassure him. I tell him there is no need to keep asking him; the boy is his friend, and he knows that he cannot help being ill. Jonah is so afraid of losing him. He is only eight years of age and is a bag of nerves; this is what living with Knobhead has done to him.

  Within three days, the antibiotics are working, and Jonah is playing with his new friend and having fun, though he is still asking him if he is still his friend every five minutes. Gemma doesn’t understand, but I constantly reassure Jonah and give him loads of hugs. Inside, I could cry for him.

  Eligh is five, and nothing is too hot or heavy for him. I watch him whizzing down the thirty-foot slide backwards, forwards, and on his side. He has a massive smile on his face as he runs towards the ladder for another go. Jonah is too nervous to go on there; Frankie and Polly paddle in the pool. Tomorrow we are going to the beach, and the last day we are going to the funfair. I have managed to stretch out the cash by making the children share chips and pop. I manage with a chip roll. The plus side of this is I have lost nearly two stone since the divorce, and I am back in my size ten jeans.

  Chapter

  It is six months since the holiday. Gemma and I have become good friends, and we have a night out once a fortnight. Mam will only babysit every two weeks, and the kids love it. It is the first time I have gone out and been single; although I have four children, I have only ever slept with Knobhead. Gemma tells me I have been single long enough, and if it was her, she would be on the pill. I am so naive that I don’t even know when a man is chatting me up or just talking to me. I have no confidence.

  Gemma tells me that men look at me all the
time when we are out, but I never notice. She spots her boyfriend’s cousin, who is younger than me. I know him from school. She has a word with him and gets him to buy us both a drink. She tells me that he is interested in me and that I should see him tonight. She reminds me that Knobhead is with someone else, and I need to have some fun. We are both drunk, and so I agree. Gemma arranges for him to stay at her house until my mother leaves. I get in and see my mother into the taxi. I then ring her house, and she tells me he is walking up. Gemma and I live about two hundred yards from each other. She giggles and wishes me luck, reminding me that she wants all the details tomorrow. I agree to her demands and put down the phone. I quickly check on the kids, who are all asleep.

  Ten minutes later, there is a knock at the door.

  I am so nervous but let him in; the drink has given me confidence. We chat about people from school for a while, and then he asks if we should head on up to bed. He follows me up the stairs. I insist on leaving the light off, and we clumsily undress. He asks if I am on the pill, and I tell him I’m sterilised. I am under the covers as soon as my clothes hit the floor. He takes the lead and starts to kiss me, I respond, and soon we are having sex all night. This bloke must have taken a Viagra or something!

  We chat a bit in the morning, I am conscious of the time. It is six o’clock, and I want him up and gone by the time the kids wake up.