My True Colours

by Hannah Francis

  Four months pass quickly. I am busy with work and coping with both households, as well as running around after the children and Roger. Dad’s illness is subconsciously pushed to the back of my mind. The shop is busy, and I am enjoying work. My teaching job involves travelling to different salons throughout the day. I love the independence driving gives me. I have just changed my car and enjoy singing to my favourite CDs; this washes away all the stress in my chaotic life. It also stops me from worrying about Dad and how quickly his illness is taking hold of his body. The cancer has spread to his liver and kidneys, and although we are all really worried, Dad is staying strong. He gets admitted to hospital on a weekly basis now.

  I make sure all his washing and ironing is done, clean the house, and change his bed. This causes arguments between Roger and me; he shouts that Sophie and Lorna should be helping out and reminds me that I also have a brother. He also feels the need to remind me that I work six days a week and have more children (he calls them sprogs), whereas Sophie and Lorna only work part-time. He adds that I am his wife, and I should be there for him (I do all the housework and his washing and ironing). He reminds me that I am not cleaning behind the pictures, and it is causing spiders to come into the house – work that one out!

  I reply, “If he wants the back of the pictures cleaned, he can do it his fucking self!” I remind him that I made a promise to my mother that I would look after Dad, and I am doing it whether he likes it or not. I am sent to Coventry yet again!

  It is two months later, and my father is losing his battle with cancer. He doesn’t want to know how ill he is and is in denial. Therefore due to patient confidentiality, the Occupational Health Board cannot give us any information on how long he has left. We know that he is terminally ill. He keeps his sense of humour to the bitter end and manages to have us in stitches with every hospital visit.

  He is in agony most days now and finally accepts that he is dying. He tells Sophie that he does not want to die in hospital, like my mother did. He wants to go home. Sophie arranges a meeting with the occupational health nurse and he tells her his wishes.

  The nurses and other staff make the necessary arrangements to get a hospital bed into his house, and they set up the twenty-four-hour nursing care. I will always remember his face when he came home. We put him onto the bed, and I look at him. He is smiling. I ask him if he wants me to take off his coat and shoes. With his arms crossed, he replies, “Nope, I’m home.” He tells us all that he loves us. We are advised to let him talk because it is taking all his energy to say what he wants. My aunt and uncle (his brother and sister-in-law) are also heartbroken. We sit and talk about the old days and all the funny times we had, and we remember my mother.

  The boys stay with him until the end, but Polly is too upset and is afraid to see him. Roger suggests we take her home and reminds me that we have to finish decorating the bedroom because we have been up here all day! We go to the house, and Roger moans until I help him complete the painting.

  In the early hours of the morning, I get a phone call. Dad has died. Sophie asks if I want to go see him before they take him away. I reply that I can’t face it. I add that I saw Mam, and that is how I remember seeing her. She says that it is OK. I ask her to look after the boys, and ask if they are OK. She tells me they are OK, and she will watch over them. The truth is I know Roger will moan if I go up to my family. My father has just died, and he wants me to finish decorating the fucking bedroom in the morning. I cry myself back to sleep.

  I arrive at Dad’s the following afternoon; I leave Roger with Polly in the house. Sophie, Lorna, and Andy are there. Andy is crying, and Lorna is comforting him. Sophie asks me where have I been, and I tell her that Roger wanted me to finish the bedroom. Lorna and Sophie exchange glances. Andy asks, “What is his fucking problem?” I tell them I know he is a twat. I ask where the boys are, and Sophie tells me that her husband has taken them to KFC for food. I give her the money to cover their meals and put on the kettle.

  Sophie is talking about the death certificate and the will. We sit around the table and agree from now on, this is about us and only us. No spouses will be involved in our decisions. We also agree that everything will be split four ways evenly, because we know that this is what our parents would have wanted.

  Sophie then asks if she can give me some advice. I ask her what is it, and she says, “Look, Lauren. I know that Roger doesn’t hit you around like Knobhead did, but the mental abuse is the same.” She adds that he doesn’t give me a moment’s peace and hates me bothering with my own children.

  Lorna says, “Dad has died, and Roger has you decorating the fucking bedroom. Who does that?”

  I agree and tell them, “Now that Dad is gone, the children only have me. Things are going to change.”

  In the next month, we discover that Dad had more money than we realised. His motto was, “Don’t keep all your eggs in one basket,” and he lived by that rule. He had about seven separate accounts and ISAs, amounting to a nice little nest egg. Roger keeps asking if I know anything about the amount I will receive. I keep telling him no. He has plans to buy a little flat with it and rent it out. I have my own plans!

  Roger has bought a new puppy. It was the breed he wanted, and he thought that because we were coming into a few quid, he would treat himself. The dog is gorgeous, and although Roger thinks it is his dog, Benji immediately prefers me. I shower him with affection, and in return Benji gives me the loyalty and love that is missing in my marriage. He becomes my only reason to go home. Polly stays at her boyfriend Jack’s house most evenings, and the boys live at my father’s.

  Lorna, Andy, Sophie, and I have agreed that Dad’s house has to go up for sale. I have a quarter share in the place. Roger suggests offering my siblings a pathetic amount for the house. I tell him, “No, we are not doing that!” He is not happy, but he can piss off. He is expecting me to rip off my own family! I have been renting my business premises for eleven years, and though the owners have promised me first refusal, they are not interested in selling the place. I want to do something with my inheritance that will make my parents proud of me. I am also worried and need to make sure that the boys always have a roof over their heads.

  The next day, I see a business premises with a flat above for sale. I rush to the estate agent, get the details, and arrange a visit the following day. It needs a bit of work, but this is the answer to my prayers. I put an offer in, and the estate agent rings me the next day to tell me that there are several buyers interested in the building, but if I write a letter to the owners, they will consider me because they would prefer a local business owner to purchase the property. I go straight to the library, type out the letter, and give it to her an hour later. She laughs when I tell her, “I hope I get it. I want it more than anything.” I go on to tell her all the plans I have for the place. She tells me that she has never met anyone as determined as I am, and she will put in a good word to the owners. I thank her and leave.

  A week later, the estate agent rings me and says, “Congratulations, it’s yours. The owners have accepted your offer!” I am overjoyed. I thank the Lord, the angels, and most of all Mam and Dad.

  The next morning, I go to the bank and arrange the mortgage. I am accepted. I am told that I need to put in a 30 per cent deposit because it is a business mortgage. I inform my solicitor and begin the searches for the sale. Three months later, the probate has cleared, and I am the proud owner of a shop and flat. Now I just have to tell Roger. He is going to hit the roof!

  I get home that evening, and Roger tells me that he has booked us a weekend in Edinburgh for my fortieth birthday next weekend. He asks if the will has been sorted yet and how much I think I will get. I reply, “No, I don’t know.” He adds that he has seen a nice flat that we could buy. I decide that this is not the right time to tell him my news; I will wait until next weekend.

  Lorna, Sophie, and Andy know about my new purchase and have all been swo
rn to secrecy. The next day, I tell them all about Roger’s surprise, and how I have decided to tell him about the shop when we go away. They think I am mad because Roger will hit the roof! I reply that if he leaves me, he leaves. I am not bothered anymore.

  As the weekend approaches, I make arrangements with the children for when I am away, and I tell them to ring Sophie if they need anything. I leave money and supplies for the boys at Dad’s house. Polly is staying at the house with her boyfriend to mind the dogs.

  Roger and Polly have not been getting on. He complains about her boyfriend eating all his food, and it is embarrassing her. I have arranged with Lorna that if the shit hits the fan when I tell Roger, she is to go get the animals and Polly and take them up to my father’s, where they will be safe. I am taking some money and have stashed it away, just in case he leaves me there, so I can catch the train home.

  Saturday morning arrives, and we leave for Edinburgh. On the journey, Roger comments on how quiet I am. Little does he know I am panicking and dreading the next few days.

  When we arrive, he tells me to book in, and he will park the Land Rover to which he has treated himself (it is not brand-new). I go to the check-in desk and am struggling with the bags; Roger is not a gentleman. I get to the counter and give the lady my name. She is foreign and tells me in broken English that I have room number 666, and the porter will take me to my room. I am speechless and do not want this room.

  The porter is also foreign and is a little man. As he ushers me into the lift, he looks at my room number and keeps repeating like an little elf, “Ha-ha, you have room 666!” I tell him to fuck off.

  I get into my room and ring Lorna. I tell her my room number and say that it’s a bad omen – I am jinxed. She cannot stop laughing. Eventually, she asks if I am OK. I reassure her but add I am nervous. I tell her that I have to speak to Roger tonight – I cannot leave it any longer. She wishes me luck, and I end the call as he enters the room.

  I comment on the room number, and Roger tells me it doesn’t bother him because he is not religious. I remind him that I am a Catholic. He tells me that we are going out for an Indian tonight, his treat. Within an hour, we have showered, changed, and found a restaurant. I decide to wait until the meal is over; I am hungry and want to eat first. We order a bottle of wine, and the food is not very good. I pick at my meal, and eventually I pluck up the courage and decide it is time to spill the beans.

  I start by telling Roger I want to talk. I ask him to listen to me and give me ten minutes of his time, because I have something to tell him. (He always shouts me down in an argument, and I can never get my point over.) He agrees that he will not interrupt.

  I blurt out, “I have used my inheritance to buy a shop and flat. I want the flat for the boys, because I am worried that they will have nowhere to live if my father’s house sells. I know you won’t have them back home, and they do not want to live with you either.” I tell him that the running costs of the shop will be cheaper, and it is a great location. “I have looked into getting a grant on the property, and I should qualify.”

  He nearly chokes and answers, “What! You said we would buy a flat for us to rent out!”

  I reply, “No, that is what you wanted.”

  He shouts back that telling him that the flat was for the boys is like a knife in his back.

  He tells me to get up because we are leaving. I try to reason with him all the way back to the room. He tells me that I have killed the marriage and betrayed him. At this point, I don’t care anymore, but I am worried that he might beat me up. When we get back to the room, I stay in the chair all night and only go to the bed when he is snoring. The next day, Roger tells me to pack my bags because we are heading home. I text Lorna to tell her we are on our way back, and that I am OK.

  The next month is spent in silence. Roger ignores me; the only comfort I have is Benji. Roger feeds him liver and raw eggs to build him up, and he farts a lot! Benji always lies with his head on my lap and farts all over Roger. I kiss his face and tell him I love him, and he is my boy.

  After three weeks of being ignored and given evil glares, I decide I have had enough. Each morning after Roger goes to work, I start packing up my most precious possessions: my photos and things that I can never replace. I am not materialistic; I can replace every stick of furniture and jewellery. I pack them into the car and store them in Dad’s house.

  Eligh notices and asks, “Are you leaving him?” I reply that I am, and it is time to go. He asks when, and I tell him it will be soon.

  I get home the following Saturday evening. Roger is drinking, and he speaks for the first time in weeks, saying he has bought tickets for the Social Club. There is a band playing tonight called the Skanks, and he thought it would do us good to go out. I have dropped Polly at her boyfriend’s, and he has agreed to walk her home by eleven. I use this as my excuse and tell him that Polly doesn’t like coming into an empty house, so I won’t bother. I tell him to go out with his mates instead. I walk into the bedroom to shower and change into my pyjamas.

  He pushes me onto the bed, holding my arms over my head, and tells me he has decided that I can have the shop, but he wants an extra hundred pounds a week off me. He adds that he is not going to help me do any repairs or refurbishing; I can do it myself. Does he expect me to thank him or be pleased? I think to myself, Fuck you!

  He tells me to get ready because we are going out – he is not going to take no for an answer. He thinks that he has won and have agreed to his demands. Eventually, I tell him to go on over, and for once he does, but he adds I should hurry up. I ring Lorna and tell her what has happened. She tells me she is working nights, and if I need her, I can ring her. I thank her and tell her I will.

  As I walk over to the Club, I pray to God, the angels, and Mam and Dad. I ask them to help me through this. I look over at the mountain: the sun is setting, and through a cloud, I see a beam of light. I take this as a sign, and it gives me hope.

  I enter the Club, see my friends, and sit down. Roger is drunk. Throughout the night, he starts giving me stinking looks. My friends notice and tell me that they don’t think I should go home tonight. They offer for me to stay at their place. I thank them and accept the offer. Five minutes later, Roger sits next to me and says, “Get your fucking coat. We are going home – and when we get there, I am going to fucking kill you.”

  I calmly reply, “Well, I am not going home, then.” I am not afraid of him, and I never have been.

  He replies, “Polly is in the house.” I look at the time: it is after eleven. I am scared and pick up my phone to call her, but he grabs my hand and pushes me onto the seat. His mates grab him and pull him off me. He soon storms out of the club. The phone is ringing, and Polly answers. I ask her where she is, and she apologises and says that she is running late and is still on her way home. I tell her to hide around the corner, because Roger has flipped out. I will come and get her.

  Twenty minutes later, Polly and I are safe in my friends’ flat, drinking a cup of tea. Polly is telling them that she is so proud of me. She thought I would never leave him. We all laugh. My marriage is over!

  The next morning, I wake early and text Lorna to pick us up. Polly is awake and whispering about how flat the pillows are, adding hers is like tissue paper. We dress and go to the bottom of the road, where Lorna has arranged to pick us up. When she arrives I tell her that I want to go pick up my car, because he is not keeping it. Lorna reluctantly drives me to the house. I look through the window and realise that he hasn’t gone home either. I go to the car and tell Polly and Lorna we should go in and let out the dogs. I pick up my car keys and tell Lorna to help me pack up my clothes. Polly has gone to her room to get what she can carry.

  Ten minutes later, Roger arrives. He looks like crap and tells me we need to talk. I decline his offer and tell him I am going up my father’s house. I need a few days to think about what I want to do.

  As
I enter the bedroom, I notice that Lorna is packing my clothes in record time. Roger comments, “It doesn’t look like it’s only for a couple of days.” Lorna acknowledges him with a nod and carries on packing. I look into my wardrobe: she has stripped it bear and hasn’t left so much as a thong! I am impressed and try not to laugh. She goes upstairs and helps Polly. I can see that Roger is getting flustered, and I call to them and tell them we are leaving now. They take the hint and come downstairs with pillows and boxes.

  As we leave, I look at Lorna and comment, “Argh, what about the dogs?”

  She replies, “Where the fuck are we going to put them?” I turn and look at our cars. She has filled them to the brim. We burst out laughing.

  Roger is coming up the steps and shouting that we need to talk. We decide it’s time to get in the cars and leave.

  A Fresh Start

  When we get to Dad’s, we empty the cars, and Lorna heads home. I break the news to Sophie and Andy. They laugh about the day’s events and offer to help me unpack. I tell Sophie, “It feels like the stress has been lifted from my shoulders.” I have a day off tomorrow and intend to have the first lie-in I’ve had in years!

  The children are happy. I am relieved it is all over and that we are a proper family again. Friday nights become our cinema night. We have takeaway and a film, and it is great, like the old days. I have my family back.