My True Colours

by Hannah Francis

  Running my own salon is hard work, as well as seeing to the children when I get home. I also have to wash and dry all the gowns and towels for the next day. It has been a year since I opened, and my stylist is still working for me but has just informed me that she is pregnant. Because of this, I have had to rearrange my holiday dates and have to go before she goes on maternity leave. I decide that I am going to surprise the kids. I have booked Benidorm; it is out of season, but I have been told it will still be warm. My family and friends are sworn to secrecy.

  Mam has come around and is helping with the children. Andy and Sam have split up; she was sleeping with one of his friends while Andy was babysitting her nieces and nephews. Luckily she didn’t get pregnant, but she constantly blamed him for it. I comment to Mam that she would be pregnant by her new bloke if it was his fault! Andy is gutted and is living back at home. The plus side of the split is he is allowed to wear his Wrangler jeans again. I joke that he is Andy Warm Balls once again!

  Within six months, Andy has met someone new, and she is pregnant. Mam is thrilled and makes sure it is added to the grapevine that leads straight to Sam. Jonah is attending his first year at comprehensive school. He is turning into a stroppy teenager, and my mother keeps commenting that his hand is always down his pants. I joke that he is playing with his brains, and that I have to crack his bedsheets to get them off the bed. He is turning into a hypochondriac. First I have to take him to the doctors because he thinks he has a lump on his testicles; he has been having sex education lessons in school and is worried. I manage to squeeze him in on an appointment that has been booked for Eligh. We have to go in together, and I tell Jonah that in order to save him from embarrassment, I will tell the doctor about Eligh, get him sorted, and then give him privacy to see the doctor on his own. He agrees.

  Their names are called, and we are told to enter room three. it’s with Dr Jones, heo is very strict.

  We enter the room, and the doctor tells us to sit down without looking up. He is looking at their records, and he looks over his glasses and taps the cards on the desk. He comments, “Right, then. I think we will deal with Jonah first.”

  Jonah looks at me for support, so I say, “Um, Doctor, Jonah is here because he thinks he has a lump on his left testicle.”

  The doctor orders him behind the curtain and asks him to remove his trousers. He explains that he is going to shine a torch onto his groin to take a look. I can hear Jonah squeak. “OK!”

  from behind the curtain.

  Eligh and I are trying not to laugh because we know the doctor will give us a row. Next I hear Jonah screech, “What are you doing?”

  The doctor replies, “I am just moving your school tie out the way.” he confirms that it is probably a cyst and is nothing to worry about. We laugh all the way home.

  Next we have to go because Jonah keeps getting water infections. When we get to the doctor, he checks the urine, which is clear. This happens at least three times. On the fourth visit and urine test, the doctor asks Jonah to go into the waiting room because he needs to have a chat with me. Jonah looks terrified but agrees and leaves the room. I look at the doctor, puzzled. He says, “Tell him to stop playing with it.” I am so embarrassed, but I thank him for the advice and leave the room. I collect Jonah and tell him we will chat in the car.

  As soon as we sit down, he says, “Am I dying, Mam?”

  I snap, “No. Stop playing with it.”

  His mood swings are getting worse. He flies off the handle with his siblings for no reason these days, and I have to shout at him all the time. He has become a stroppy teenager. I worry that I will not be able to cope on my own. I have started allowing Jonah and Eligh to stay up a little later than the younger ones because Jonah is getting bossy and loud, and he disturbs them. He thinks he is the man of the house lately.

  A few weeks later, he is sat on the settee, watching television, when he shouts, “You sack of shit!” (I think.)

  I am not having that! I run in the room and shout, “What did you say, Jonah?”

  He crosses his arms over his head as if I am going to batter him and replies, “I meant bag! I meant bag!” I am speechless. I tell my parents the next day, and they are in fits of laughter!

  Eventually, it is time for my well-deserved holiday. Dad has offered to take us to the airport to see us off. They will also keep an eye on the shop while I am away. I still haven’t told the children. Everyone, including my staff, cannot believe that I have managed to keep it a secret for so long! In truth, I couldn’t cope with them being overly excited. I send them to school, get them new clothes and trainers to wear, and lay them on the bed. I have arranged with the schools to pick them up at lunchtime. My parents, Lorna, and Sophie have come to the house because they want to see their reaction. As I walk the kids home from school, Jonah notices the cars outside the house. He asks me what is wrong and why everyone is at the house. I put my arms around him and say, “It’s a surprise.” We run the rest of the way.

  When we get to the house, I turn to the kids and say, “Well, go on. Get showered and changed. We are going on holiday!” They are shocked, and I tell them that their new clothes and trainers are on their beds. Reality hits them, and they rush upstairs. I have never seen them move so fast! Four hours later, we are at the airport. I haven’t taken them abroad on my own before, and I am anxious. We manage to find our queue, hand in our luggage, and go to departure.

  While we are standing in the queue, Polly befriends a little girl about her age. I say hello to her and ask her if she is looking forward to going on holiday. Her grandmother is holding her hand. We arrive in departure, and Polly notices her new friend and asks if we can sit by her; I agree, and we sit down. The little girl’s grandmother notices that I am on my own with the children. I can hear her whispering something to the girl’s mother, but I take no notice because the boys are keeping me busy. As we get on the plane, Polly sees the little girl up ahead and waves to her. The grandmother looks at Polly and tells her to go away. She picks up her granddaughter and sits her in the window seat, and she gives me a stinking look before turning away. Polly and the girl start to cry.

  I pick up Polly and hug her close. I comfort her and tell her not to worry because she will make loads of new friends around the pool. I am furious with the woman. I am guessing it is because she has noticed that I am a single parent. My children are well dressed, behaved, and polite. I settle the children into their seats, and we head off to Benidorm. Every half hour, Jonah’s head pops forward (he is seated opposite us), and he says, “Cool surprise, Mam.”

  The holiday is great fun, despite the fact that Eligh and I have prickly heat and hay fever. We are on antihistamines all week. We attend a water park and spend all day going down the slide with the dingys on it. We all have on factor fifty sun cream. In the evening, my shoulders are glowing!

  We visit an island, and I discover that Frankie does not like going on the boat at all. We spend most of the holiday at the beach. We are in the old town resort, and we walk around the harbour and look at the boats. Eligh is the daredevil of the bunch, and he loves the sea. Keeping my eye on all four of them is hard work. At one point, I have Eligh paddling far out in the sea; and he is only up to his knees, but I have visions of the water going deep suddenly. I have a tendency to think of the worst-case scenario. I think, What happens if a shark is in there? I have to run in to save him. I don’t like the sea; the Jaws films have scarred me for life. Jonah is in there as well and keeps an eye on him.

  The little ones are playing with a bucket and spade – well, they were five minutes ago. I turn around, and they are holding hands, running up the beach, and laughing. Every time I go to get them, they run farther away because they think it is a game. I decide to pretend to ignore them, thinking they will run back towards me. They keep running up the beach. I shout to Jonah and Eligh to stay there while I go get the others. I have to close the gap between Frankie, Poll
y, and myself, so I break into a run. They start screaming with laughter and keep running. I think, I am going to kill these two. I run so fast to catch them that my costume is stuck in the crack of my backside. I am dying with shame, and my face is beetroot! The beach is full, and as soon as I reach them, I quickly retrieve my costume to its correct position and tell them they cannot run away from me; we are abroad, and someone will pinch them. I walk them back towards the boys, sit them down on the beach, and will not let go of their hands for twenty minutes until they understand. Enough is enough for one day, and we head back to the hotel. We go shopping before heading home, and we get the presents for my family.

  Within a month of returning from the holiday, my stylist goes on maternity leave. I have sorted out her pay with the help of my small business tax adviser. The college is asking for placements, so I decide to take on a learner; she helps on a Saturday, and her placements day is a Tuesday.

  The new trainee is reliable and friendly. She is older and has a little girl around Polly’s age. Within a month, I employ her part-time to cover maternity leave, and she has nearly qualified as a level three NVQ hairdresser. The business is doing well. I am working hard, and my parents are a great support. Mam comes to the house on Saturday mornings for me to go to work; this means the children can go out to play. When I get home, she has done my washing and ironing and has cleaned the house. She is a star. She refuses to put the ironing away, but I can live with that. The babysitter is due in two hours, and I am going out with the girls. I choose my outfit around my vast collection of shoes. Lorna has nicknamed me Emelda Marcos! I have earned a night out.

  My friends have booked a minibus and are heading into town; it is one of the girl’s birthdays. The bus is due back at twelve thirty, and I have arranged for the babysitter to get a lift home when he drops me off. The pub is really busy, and I start chatting to a guy by the bar; his name is Roger. He tells me that he has had his heart broken. He met a girl five years ago, and she had a son who was a few weeks old. Roger took on the little boy as his own son and idolised him. Three months ago, she left him for someone else, and because he was not the child’s biological father, he had no rights to see him. I sympathise with him, we talk all night, and I try to give him some advice. After many drinks, he ends up back at mine.

  When I get in, Frankie and Polly are awake; they are getting older now and want to stay up to watch telly with the older boys. I go out to make myself and Roger a cup of tea.

  When I come back in, Frankie and Polly are playing the “finger game” with Roger and giggling like fools. They are basically wrestling with their little fingers, and Roger is losing every time. They think this is great. Eventually, I manage to get them to bed, and we hit the sack as well. He is in bed before me, and the lights are out. I can feel that he has his jeans on and comment, “That’s all right,” although I am a little shocked that he doesn’t expect sex. I say goodnight and turn over to sleep. A little while later, I awake to him snuggling up behind me, and I can feel furry legs. The jeans are off! In the morning, we snuggle under the covers and chat. After he leaves, I sit on the sofa and drink a cup of tea.

  An hour later, Frankie and Polly get up and ask where the finger-game man has gone. I tell them that he had to go home. Frankie says, “Argh! I liked him.”

  As I finish my tea, I think, I like him too. He is the nicest man I have met to date, he loves kids, and we get on. He is ticking all the boxes. With a bit of work, he could be Mr Right!

  I go into town every other Saturday and usually bump into Roger. We chat, and I have seen him a few times. I have also discovered that he is the broodiest man I have ever met. He is desperate for his own child. I explain that I have been sterilised and do not want any more children – four is enough. Although I know because of this it will never work out between us, it doesn’t stop me from trying. I want a good father figure for my children first and foremost; it is the one thing money cannot buy. However, Roger is looking for a woman who will carry his child. and I am not it. Christmas is approaching, and I think this is another reason why I am trying to too hard to get his attention. The thought of spending another festive season single is too much to bear.

  It is Boxing Day, and despite still being single, the children and I have had a great Christmas. Jonah is interested in film and video, and he asked for a camcorder for Christmas. I tried to get him a director’s chair to go with it but could not find one. He is busy making films all day; his siblings are his actors.

  I have arranged to go out with the girls tonight. Some of them are dating Roger’s friends, so I have regular updates on him.

  He has not impregnated anyone yet, and as far as I know, he is still single. I have a new outfit for tonight and am going to look extra nice, because I know he will be there. If nothing else, I am determined. I get to the club with the girls, and we sign in. It is freezing out, and my friend’s mother keeps asking me if I want to borrow her cardigan. I feel like telling to fuck off because she has repeated it about thirty times, but I politely say no thanks again. As we head to the bar, I spot Roger. His friends have gone to talk to him, and he is looking over, embarrassed. We wave a hello and leave it at that. I like him but am not scraping his arse. My friend’s boyfriend calls her over and is talking to her, so I am left to queue for the drinks. My mother has offered to have the children for the night because taxis are double the price, and so I am staying in my friend’s spare room.

  She comes back looking flustered as I hand her a vodka and Coke. She says that Roger is here with a date, and the boys have nicknamed her Slinky Tits. I tell her I am not bothered, and as I look over I see a girl staring over at me. I can’t help wondering what he sees in her. She has black hair, tanned skin, and pale blue eyeshadow and eyeliner. Oh, yes, and lip gloss. I make an excuse and head to the loo; amazingly, the toilet is empty. I look at my reflection in the mirror and wonder what is wrong with me. I know I look good: I have lost weight, I am wearing a flattering pinstriped trouser and waistcoat suit, and it flatters my curves. My hair is curled and put up to perfection; I have strands strategically placed loosely around my face. I have clear (thanks to my nan’s advice) porcelain skin and have put my make-up on to perfection. I am wearing my trademark matte red lipstick and brown eyeshadow, to compliment my blue eyes. I know that I look my ultimate best.

  The toilet door opens, and in walks Slinky Tits.

  I catch sight of her braless tits in her silky top. I think to myself, Fuckin’ hell. With those tits and that top, I don’t stand a chance. She does not need to wear make-up, because no man is going to be looking at her face. As I look up, she is looking at me. She has won and we both know it. I stand tall, holding my head up high as I go back to the bar. Time to get pissed!

  I sit by my friends. I and only one of the other blokes from the group are single. Everyone else is paired off. He starts chatting away to me. He isn’t bad looking, but he has tiny eyes and is a chocolate boy – not my type at all. He asks if I want a drink and is swooning in closer to me. I think, Sorry, mate. I do not do friends and family. I sit with the girls and avoid him the rest of the night. At about nine thirty, the bingo starts. I am on my seventh vodka and Coke and am miserable as I look over the room. Slinky Tits and Roger are playing bingo with his mother. It is half-time, and I cannot resist.

  I go to the bar for another drink and purchase a gift for Roger. As I walk over, the lights come on, and they are chatting away. I approach him, and he looks horrified. I walk up and say, “Happy Christmas,” as I drop the pink bingo blotter into his hand. I turn on my heels and walk off. The girls are in hysterics. Inside, I am hurt. I imagine Slinky Tits wearing a hairnet and rollers, and this cheers me up.

  At the end of the night, I go back to my friend’s place. It takes a while because it’s sort of one step forwards and two back, while balancing the Chinese in one hand. There is more food over the pavement than in our mouths, and we laugh all the way. Eventually we get in and
decide it’s a pee and then bed for us all. She shows me to her spare room, says goodnight, and leaves. I switch on the light. “Fuck me!” I shout. “Have you got a ladder? The bed is huge!” I am not short but cannot sit on it. They are laughing and tell me to go to sleep. It looks like the bed on the storybook I used to read as a kid, The Princess and the Pea. I wonder if there is a pea under there. I take a running jump, hit my head on the headboard, lie down, and go to sleep. What a night.

  The next day, I have such a hangover.

  I get up early, and my friend drives me home. It’s only a two-mile drive, and she texts her boyfriend the whole way. I am glad to get out of the car. I get in, shower, change, and head to Mam’s to see the kids. They are up and watching a Disney movie. Mam asks if I had a good night. I lie that is was great, but she can see by my face that I am unhappy. She is the only one who can read me like a book. She makes me a cup of coffee and pats me on the shoulder. I thank her and lie that it is a hangover, nothing more. I do not want to talk about it. I sit on the settee with the kids and watch telly. I am contented; their love is unconditional, they don’t judge me, and we are all happy.

  We spend the rest of the day at my parents’. Eventually I briefly explain the previous night’s events so Mam will stop giving me the puppy-eyed look. She tells me that I deserve to be treated better than that, and she reminds me how far I have come and how happy the children are. She adds that I don’t need a man in my life. Frankie comes into the room and sits on my lap. I give him a hug, kiss him on the cheek, and look into his cute little face. I tell him how handsome he is, and he laughs. Life is good, and I am the luckiest person in the world. I have four healthy, happy children, and I wonder what am I moaning about.