by Girl A
There was a radio in the room that first night. It was set to an Asian station, but we quickly changed the channel to Capital FM so we could listen to all the chart stuff.
A few minutes later, we were all tucking into doner kebabs, naan bread and a big tub of garlic mayonnaise.
‘This is heaven,’ swooned Hayley, and we all laughed.
Being upstairs at Tasty Bites felt wonderful: like a brilliant new adventure that we had all to ourselves. Other people just came in, went to the counter, waited for their order and then left again. We, on the other hand, were treated as honoured guests. I think it made all of us feel a little bit special.
It was late September 2007 by then and, at that age, skint, bored and rebellious, upstairs at Tasty Bites became our favourite place to end up on a night out. In a town with no cinema, no ice rink and no hope – and with no money, anyway – this was as glitzy as it could get for fourteen-year-olds like us. We came to look forward to all the free food and drinks: the doners, the chicken tikkas, the Pepsi. It was always Daddy who’d bring it, huffing and puffing up the stairs, laden with takeaway trays and cans of pop.
‘Here you are, my lovely girls,’ he’d say. ‘Food on the house from Tasty Bites!’ He would bring the food up to us in those foil packs, like he was delivering to a house. There wouldn’t be any cutlery; we just used the naan bread to wrap things up in. It was always either chicken tikka or doner kebab, and it would always come with garlic mayonnaise.
I can’t eat that now. Just the smell of it makes me feel sick.
We’d generally end up there a few nights a week, chatting, smoking and drinking for hours before eventually drifting away to go home.
After a while, Daddy started to bring us free cigarettes and free beer, too. Actually, I don’t mean beer; I mean alcohol. Around Rochdale we tend to call everything ‘beer’, even when it’s not. To start with, the ‘beer’ Daddy brought was Lambrini cider, but one night he came up with some glasses and a bottle of vodka, Glen’s Vodka. I hadn’t had it before because it was too expensive for us to buy.
I hated the taste but I drank it because it was strong. It was easier to drink with cola. Daddy would leave the bottle, a litre one. To start with, we only drank a bit, but the next night we were there he brought more and so we ended up drinking more and more. It felt wicked.
All through the autumn, and on towards Christmas, we’d sit upstairs with the drinks, chatting, chilling, and gradually, inevitably, getting drunk. It felt so cool. For weeks we’d go along to Tasty Bites to chill, and these gullible old men, and Daddy in particular, would give us all this free stuff. We loved it.
The first time or two, I have to admit I’d thought it a bit weird that they’d let us chill there, but I quickly got used to it and saw it as normal. If they were daft enough to give us all this free stuff, why turn it down? We thought we were the luckiest kids in town.
* * *
Daddy spoke English fluently because his parents had brought him to Britain as a kid. Sometimes he would sit on the mattress with us and stay for five or ten minutes, chatting with us about normal things like school, and where we lived, and our families. He’d ask about our teachers, our exams, what we wanted to do, that sort of thing. He was always laughing and joking, as if he was trying to act like one of us.
He seemed to like me the most. He’d always speak to me and say, ‘You’re special’ or ‘You’re beautiful’ and things like that. It was nice to hear, even if it made me blush.
Daddy didn’t say much about himself, apart from that he had four children he didn’t see much of any more. He never drank with us because of being a Muslim, but he thought it was funny when we were all drunk. He’d get a bit touchy-feely then, too: he’d hug us and kiss us on the cheek. Nothing sexual, just friendly, like he was your long-lost uncle.
We all thought we were the clever ones and Daddy was just a harmless old man. We all felt completely happy and in control – the feeling was that we were taking advantage of him, but he seemed to enjoy it, so what was the problem? It was a bit bad sometimes, because we’d get Daddy to bring us more and more stuff. We’d be sitting there and one of us would say to the others, ‘Go and ask him to get us some more of that chicken tikka,’ or ‘How about another doner?’ – things like that. Then one of us would lean out of the door and shout down to him: ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ and up he would come again. He’d even drive us home!
We all lived in roughly the same area, so some nights Daddy would take two, three, four of us home, all squeezed into his little car until we’d got to where he’d drop us off. He never tried anything and I never even thought he would. It just felt cool and grown-up to be going home drunk and in a car.
Mum and Dad, meanwhile, had no idea about the nights I spent upstairs at Tasty Bites. They just thought I was off around town with my mates. It was one of my secrets. The other girls felt the same. Sometimes I’d manage to sneak upstairs and into my room so Mum and Dad wouldn’t know I was drunk, and other times I’d try to con them into thinking I was sober, often with a takeaway bag swinging from my hand. If they realised what was happening because I’d swayed too much or slurred my words, they’d start shouting at me, saying, ‘Look at the state of you, you’re a disgrace.’
They didn’t ask where all the free food was coming from: I think they just thought I was saving up dinner money and things. A couple of times I was so drunk I was sick out of the window and Dad had to keep checking on me every hour. In the morning, he would say he was disgusted with me and ask: ‘Why do you get so drunk?’
The hungover me just kept as quiet as she could. Sometimes, I’d feel guilty about keeping Mum and Dad up, making them worry. But those feelings would quickly be squashed by my teenage bravado: what right did they have to interfere? Besides, I was having fun.
One night, Elouise and I were at Tasty Bites alone. As soon as Daddy had brought the vodka and gone back downstairs, she said, ‘Hey, I know how we can get drunk quicker.’
‘How?’ I asked, intrigued.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘you take your drink, stand on the mattress and then you do this …’
And with that, she smiled impishly, took a huge swig of vodka, and began jumping manically, her body twisting around and around in a circle as she did so.
‘See?’ she yelled triumphantly. ‘The vodka goes straight to your head!’ She looked so funny I couldn’t help laugh along with her, but once she’d come to a staggering halt I said, ‘But, Elouise, all that’s going to do is make you dizzy, and then you’ll be sick!’
‘Pah,’ she said, and took another giant swig, before going through the same performance again.
She looked so pleased with herself that I had to try it, though for me once was quite enough.
Elouise carried on a few more times before eventually collapsing, in a fit of giggles, on the bed. As it turned out, she certainly seemed to get drunk much quicker than me that particular night: towards the end of it, we’d drunk the whole bottle and she was lying flat out on the mattress on her tummy.
She was lying like that when I heard Daddy’s heavy footsteps on the stairs. ‘How are you both?’ he asked, as he appeared at the open doorway.
‘I’m fine,’ I beamed, ‘but Elouise’s drunk out of her head!’
‘Ah, she looks as though she needs a massage,’ he said. ‘Is that right, Elouise? Shall Daddy give you a massage?’
Elouise just grunted in reply. I didn’t exactly catch the word she used, but it sounded like a drunken, ‘Fine.’
A moment later and Daddy was kneeling next to her on the mattress, massaging her back, then her legs, and eventually her bum, kneading first one cheek, then the other, then both together, over her jeans. That’s when I really noticed.
‘What are you doing?’ I squealed.
‘I’m just giving her a massage,’ he said, beaming up at me. It seemed so weird, but as he carried on I went along with it. Elouise hardly seemed to notice – she was pretty much out of it.
It went on
for a while, until Daddy rocked back onto his heels and the massage was over. He was laughing, and I found myself laughing too, even though I was still a bit embarrassed by what I’d just seen.
At that point Elouise, hazy from the vodka, sat herself up, and Daddy moved in from behind. I watched, half in shock, half mesmerised, as he lifted up her top to show off her bra. Hugely embarrassed, I yelled, ‘Pull your top down, Elouise!’
Daddy just said, ‘She’s fine, she’s fine.’
‘But she’s drunk out of her head,’ I retorted. ‘Leave her alone.’
He pulled away, still smiling, looking across at me and asking, like a naughty schoolboy: ‘Why are you being so serious?’
A few moments later he was heading back downstairs, chuckling to himself, and a short time after that I was half carrying Elouise downstairs so we could go home. That night we walked, or rather staggered, back to the estate.
I suppose you could say Tasty Bites, and Daddy, gave me a real capacity for drinking. While other kids my age were just about starting to drink cider at home with their mums and dads, I was knocking back shot after shot of vodka with my mates. It made me feel good; it made me feel loud.
Early in the new year, however, at the start of 2008, Daddy left Tasty Bites and with Milly no longer going out with Saj, our nights there gradually fizzled out. For us, the place just went back to being a plain old takeaway.
Chapter Four
Grounded
At school in Heywood, we used to have a ‘Top Five’, where you’d write down the top five boys you liked at school. As a kid, I always used to think about what it would be like to get married, settle down and have kids and all that.
My favourite was always Elliot, the boy I sat next to in English. He wasn’t exactly the sort of lad my mum and dad would have approved of, but he was nice anyway, so long as he wasn’t pretending to be a gangster, like some of the other lads actually were. He was stocky with dark hair. He got expelled eventually, for bringing in a knife to school so he could look hard.
Elliot was the first boy I kissed properly. It was April 2008. I was fifteen and drunk. We’d gone into the town centre that night, the usual gang, and Elliot was the one I was walking next to. Hayley had told him I liked him, and at some point, while the others headed on towards the Three Terriers, I snuck off with him behind another pub, The Heywood.
He wasn’t a good kisser, to be honest, but it went on for about five minutes. It really was my first kiss, and I didn’t know what to do. I was so embarrassed, but dead happy too, because I’d finally done it.
Elliot was the person I lost my virginity to, as well. By then, most girls of my age in Heywood had lost their virginity, so I was probably something of a late developer. It happened about a week later, not behind a pub as some of the other girls had done but outside, in a field. I’d like to say I could see stars, not all of them in the sky, but it wasn’t like that. Actually, it was horrible, because I felt sick with nerves and it really hurt. But, afterwards I felt happy, almost proud. I felt like I’d joined a club I’d not known was there. As the girls gathered around me and quizzed me on what it had been like, that yearning I felt to belong was soothed once again. I was really one of them now.
I was particularly stoked because Elliot was number one on my ‘Top Five’ list. The girls were amazed: ‘We can’t believe it,’ they screeched, as my cheeks tingled with joy. ‘You’re so lucky!’
Elliot and I did it once more after that. It was still rubbish, but it didn’t hurt as much. I fell out with him soon after, and that was that.
Looking back, I can’t believe there was ever a time I was so laid-back about having sex. But, on the other hand, I’m glad I’ve had that experience. Sex should be a natural thing that people enjoy together. At least I’ve experienced the rush it can bring, because, these days, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that same thrill again.
* * *
My antics fuelled yet more arguments at home. Hayley’s exploits with her various boyfriends gave me the material to wind up Mum and Dad. I’d tell them all sorts of stories about me and boys and what we’d get up to – at least, in theory. Most of it was made up, but it got them yelling at me, which to the teenage me felt like a result. One time I told them I’d slept with someone in the back field, another time that I’d caught chlamydia even though I was a virgin at the time. I don’t know why, but I just felt this urge to be rebellious. Mum and Dad were constantly nagging – in my eyes, for no good reason – so I thought I’d give them something to really shock them. It seems immature now, but at the time I didn’t see it like that.
Wagging off school wasn’t helping my grades, either, and eventually, around May 2008, I got put on report, which meant having to go to the teacher at the end of each class and get a mark for my behaviour: A, B, C or D. Mum and Dad would go mental if I didn’t get an A or a B.
One particular night they blew up because I’d got a D. It didn’t bother me because Courtney was on report too, and so were lots of other kids. In reality, we were nowhere near being the worst kids in our year – there were girls I knew who were getting drunk in the school toilets and being arrested every weekend. But that didn’t wash with Dad – not that night. ‘Your mates may be scum, but you’re not,’ he screamed. ‘So for God’s sake stop behaving like you are! And stop getting so drunk that you don’t know what’s happening to you. If you’re not careful, one of these days you’re going to get raped or pregnant!’
‘All I’m doing is having a few drinks with my mates,’ I yelled back, appalled that he could think things could ever get so serious. A few seconds later, outraged, I was slamming the back door and heading away from the estate. I could hear Mum screaming at me as I legged it round the corner.
This time I went to Hayley’s, and we ended up camping out under the stars with her latest boyfriend, Danny. We set up his tent in the same field I’d been to with Elliot, and then carried down some quilts and a few bottles of cider.
We’d been drinking for about half an hour when I passed the bottle to Hayley. ‘No, I’d better not, thanks, Hannah,’ she said. She looked momentarily flustered, then embarrassed. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered.
Danny looked a bit shamefaced but then took the bottle, smiled and carried on drinking. Hayley and I discussed the baby and how she felt about it. ‘It was a bit of a shock at first,’ she confided, ‘but I’m getting used to the idea now. And Danny says he’s fine with it.’
I guess for some people being pregnant at fifteen might be a bit of a surprise, but you’ve probably worked out by now that around our way it was not out of the norm. Of course, Hayley freaked out a bit at first, but then she just got on with it. Her boyfriend was standing by her and they actually seemed pretty happy together. A lot of the kids from our school didn’t have much hope for their future, and being a mum was probably one of the better options on offer. At least they could find happiness and love there. And the benefits money was better too.
Sitting in our tent, talking and looking up at the stars, there was definitely celebration in the air – it felt like we were free of any worries. It reminded me of my nights with Dad and Lizzie when we went camping, and it felt like everything was right in the world and your destiny was what you made it. I found myself quickly pushing away thoughts of Dad, knowing him and Mum would probably be worried sick about where I was. And ready to ground me again.
Just to keep them at bay, this one night I had switched off my phone. They’d texted earlier to ask where the hell I was, but I had ignored it. Let them sweat, I thought.
To be honest, I felt a bit jealous seeing Hayley lying there in Danny’s arms, all happy, as we talked about the gang at school, the teachers we hated and eventually, later on, baby names.
Danny didn’t seem that bothered.
‘How about Chelsea, Dan? Or Courtney?’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ he replied, taking another swig of cider from the bottle the two of us were sharing while Hayley drank cola.
Just b
efore we finally settled down to sleep, Hayley and I nipped out of the tent and set off towards the hedge so we could have a wee. In the darkness she whispered conspiratorially, ‘Don’t let on, but I’m not sure if it’s Danny’s baby. He’d batter me if he knew.’
In the gathering silence we both reflected on the fact that Hayley getting pregnant had been an accident waiting to happen. She’d got caught out, just like lots of other girls on estates all over Rochdale and beyond. It won’t happen to me, I thought pensively. Mum and Dad would go ape.
As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered how close I’d come to getting pregnant those times with Elliot.
In the morning we set off home and, when I got back, Mum and Dad, predictable as ever, went mad because they thought I’d been with a boy. ‘Where have you been?’ they said, despairingly. ‘We’ve been worried sick. It’s unacceptable.’
Mum then tried a softer approach. ‘Look, Hannah, we’re your mum and dad and we care about you. We don’t want you to ruin your life. It’s never right to sleep with just anyone, and we want you to save yourself for the right lad. That’s all.’
I could see the anxiety in both their faces, shadows under their eyes from lack of sleep. Now, that image makes me feel guilty. But at the time, my judgement was so clouded – in my eyes I had been with a boy, yes, but it was my friend’s boyfriend. And all we’d done was sit around talking, not even drinking that much. Rather naïvely, I thought if anything, I’d been very well behaved. What was the problem?
Whatever it was, it ended with Dad’s party-piece warning, yelled at full volume: ‘You mark my words,’ he stormed. ‘Carry on as you are and you’re going to end up in serious trouble. Pregnant or raped, it wouldn’t surprise me. And then don’t blame us, because you’ll have been asking for it!’
I think they grounded me for two weeks that time.
* * *
Things were getting yet worse at home: grounding me seemed to have less and less effect. My parents would tell me I wasn’t going out anywhere, and for a couple of days I might stick to that, but at some point I’d either just kick off again or else slip away. There really wasn’t any holding me, and I think they came to realise that. Maybe that’s when Dad and Mum finally lost the fight to keep me under some sort of control. I managed to go to Tasty Bites all those times without them knowing – sometimes I’d tell them I was going to stay at one mate’s house, but then go to someone else’s. When I got home Mum and Dad would say: ‘You lied to us!’ Then I would know that they must have checked up on me, and that made me madder still.