Me Mam. Me Dad. Me

by Duffy, Malcolm;

  ‘Be happy with two weeks in your shed.’

  Amy gave me a not-so-playful punch.

  ‘How was Spain?’

  Good question. Ninety-nine per cent of it was great, but that one per cent had destroyed all the other per cents. It had ruined everything.

  ‘It was hot.’

  ‘That pool you had looked amazing.’

  Felt sick when she said that.

  ‘Aye, but the sea was better. Like jumping in the bath. Except I wasn’t naked.’

  ‘That would be cruelty to fish.’

  Then her face went from happy to worried in a flash.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ said a voice.

  I turned and saw Lanky Dave Barns. He’d joined at the end of Year Eight. When some lads start school they’re that quiet you don’t even realise they’re there. Lanky Dave was not like that. Always gobbing off. He was proper bad. On top of that, he was taller than half the teachers.

  Amy angled her face away, ignoring him.

  ‘You haven’t replied to me texts,’ said Lanky Dave.

  ‘That’s because I delete them the second they arrive.’

  ‘What about that picture I sent you, eh?’ he said, smirking.

  ‘Deleted.’

  For a minute it felt like being back at home. Something going on I didn’t get, and me stuck in the middle.

  ‘What’s gannin on?’ I said.

  ‘On your bike, Croft,’ said Lanky Dave.

  Clenched me fists tight. I wanted to smash him in the face. But not sure I could reach that far.

  ‘Just leave him alone,’ said Amy.

  Lanky Dave stared down at me. ‘What’s he got that I haven’t got?’

  ‘Me,’ she said.

  Laughed.

  Don’t think Lanky Dave liked being made fun of. But he wasn’t smart enough to come up with anything better.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ said Lanky Dave, giving Amy the eye.

  He swaggered off down the street, spitting in people’s gardens.

  Gobsmacked.

  ‘What was all that about, Amy?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? If that’s nothing, I’d hate to see something.’

  ‘He’s just been sending me stuff.’

  ‘How did he get your number?’

  ‘Got it off Chloe. Grabbed her phone.’

  ‘You don’t seem that bothered.’

  Amy shrugged. Just like someone else I know.

  ‘And what’s this picture he sent you?’

  ‘Danny, it’s nothing. I can handle this. I’ll speak to Mr Hetherington if he oversteps the mark.’

  ‘Seems like he has already.’

  ‘Loads of lads at school send texts and stuff.’

  ‘I don’t want him sending you anything.’

  ‘Just chill out.’

  How are you meant to chill when your blood’s boiling?

  Amy gave me a little kiss on me hot face.

  ‘Don’t get yourself all worked up. It’s going to be fine, Danny.’

  Nine

  • •

  Now I had two people to worry about.

  Couldn’t figure out Amy’s reaction to Lanky Dave. Did she think he was just going to disappear, or get bored with annoying her, or suddenly start fancying blokes? I mean me mam does nothing and guess what happens? Callum walks all over her like a pavement. I didn’t want what was happening to me mam to happen to Amy.

  Since we got back from Spain nothing has changed at home. Even though he nearly killed her, me mam goes on like it never happened. Like it was a dream. But every second of it is tattooed on me brain. Me mam must need glasses. Why can’t she see what I can see? When he comes back from the pub he’s not a bloke you want to share a room with. He swears more, shouts more, and gets angry at the slightest thing. But me mam just smiles, soaks it all up and makes his tea, like he’s just pretending. Like he’s off the telly.

  It was starting to do me head in.

  • • •

  One night I woke up and heard a loud crash and shouting. Thought it might be burglars. Secretly hoped it was. Carl’s house had got broken into two weeks ago. They got a TV, a microwave and a sofa. Must have had a van.

  Crept downstairs and saw the front room light was on. I could hear quiet crying. Even though I’ve got no god, not like Amy, I pretended I did and made up a prayer. Please, God, let me mam be all right.

  Turned the door handle. Callum must have spotted it.

  ‘Go back upstairs, Danny,’ he shouted.

  Let go of the handle like it was red hot.

  ‘Yeah, just go to bed, Danny,’ said me mam softly.

  Thought she must be all right if she can talk. Not like in Spain.

  I wanted to go in, but I was scared of what Callum might do, so I went back to bed and crawled under the duvet. Just lay there listening to them. When I say them, I mean Callum. He made nearly all the noise. Every now and then I’d hear a quieter voice, me mam. She did about five per cent of the sound. Then he’d be off again. I felt sick inside. I hated it, but what could I do? Callum was too strong. The way he knocked me into that pool, like I was a paper cup.

  I pulled the duvet over me head and eventually went to sleep.

  Next morning I put on me school uniform and had a quick peek in the front room. It was normal, like nothing had happened. I went in the kitchen. Me mam was standing at the sink looking outside even though there was nothing to look at, just grass.

  ‘Where’s Callum?’ I said.

  ‘Gone to work.’

  I had loads of questions, but there was one main question right at the front of the queue.

  ‘What happened last night?’

  Me mam turned round slow and stared at me. ‘Nothing happened, Danny.’

  ‘I’m not stupid, you know. I’ve got ears.’

  ‘Danny, what goes on between me and Callum is our business.’

  ‘So I’m just meant to roll over and go to sleep, am I, even when he’s bashing you?’

  ‘Danny, this is nothing to do with you.’

  ‘What about Spain?’ I shouted. ‘Has that got nothing to do with me, an’ all?’

  ‘It was a mistake.’

  Laughed. Couldn’t stop it.

  ‘You just put a hose down his shorts. No reason to go and strangle you.’

  ‘I’m not talking about this, Danny.’

  ‘What’s that mark on your face?’

  Me mam turned away to wash some plates in the sink. But she didn’t roll her sleeves up. Just dunked them straight in the soapy water.

  ‘Did he grab you by the arms?’

  Silence.

  Except for the squeak of soap on plates.

  ‘Have you gone deaf like your mam?’

  But she said nothing. Just carried on washing the dishes, even though her sleeves were getting sopping wet.

  I’d had enough.

  Went out and slammed the kitchen door. Then slammed the front door.

  Thought that’s how it’s going to be. For the rest of me life.

  Ten

  • • •

  The day the clocks went back. That’s when it all changed.

  I went up to me room to watch YouTube, but wasn’t in the mood. Too many questions eating away at me brains. Why did he do it? And why wouldn’t she stop him doing it? I sat staring at the screen. The silence was killing me. I needed answers.

  I went to Google. The oblong box waiting for me question. What could I ask? Can someone out there save me mam? Anyone got a cure for Callum? What do you do when your mam won’t listen to you? The internet’s meant to have all the answers. Maybe I could find something to make sense of what was going on in me house.

  I got me two fingers ready and started typing. Tell me about women being hit at home, I wrote. I sat staring at the words. Was there a better question to ask? Probably. But couldn’t think of one. I was scared to know what the answer might be. But, like pushing open the kitchen door, I had to find out.

&nb
sp; With a shaky finger I pressed ‘Search’.

  Battered. Bashed. Beaten. Biffed. Mullah’d. Twatted. Smacked. Punched. Kicked. Thumped. Hit. Smashed. Walloped. Lamped. Mugged. Stabbed. Burned. Bullied. Heard them all. But there was something I’d never heard before, till now.

  Domestic violence.

  I found a site with loads of stuff about women being hit. This is what it said.

  Young women are most at risk. Me mam. She’s not old. Most women never report domestic violence to the police. Me mam. Women who suffer domestic abuse try to hide the fact that they’ve been hurt. Me mam. Women can become withdrawn and not talk to family or friends. Me mam.

  It was like whoever wrote this had been spying on her.

  It got worse and worse. It said two women a week are killed by their partners.

  Got a pen and paper and worked it out. Two times fifty-two. Holy hell. One hundred and four mams a year. It would be like all the women in our street and Belfry Close being murdered in one go.

  The bad stuff went on and on. One in four women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime. It has a greater chance of repeat victimisation than any other crime. Think that means it just keeps on happening. Me mam has got to read this. Then she’ll know what he’s like, and that she has to get rid of him, before he does her in.

  I put the laptop down and took a little walk round me room. I felt like I did the day Callum drove like a nutter along the Roman road. Scared and excited. Scared that what was happening to all those other mams was happening to me own mam. Excited that I’d found it in time.

  I went back and read a bit more. Found stuff about the domestic abusers. Perpetrators don’t need alcohol to be violent. Callum. Like the time he kicked that lass’s car down the coast road. Hadn’t even had a shandy. They don’t like being disobeyed. Callum. The Christmas Day disaster. They often try to keep their partner from family or friends. Callum. Me mam never sees anyone any more. They can encourage their partner to take drink and drugs. Callum. Always forcing booze down me mam. Jealousy. Callum. Wanting to know if me mam was talking to anybody. The list was long. Most of it describing the bloke downstairs watching telly.

  I’d had enough. Turned the laptop off. Was good to know that me mam wasn’t the only one. Was bad to know that she was just like all the others.

  I needed me mam to read this, but not with him sitting there. I’d have to wait for the right moment. It came along the next night. Callum had gone to the pub. Me mam was on the sofa reading Hello! and eating chocolate biscuits. She’d put on even more make-up. Guess she didn’t want anyone at work to know what had happened. Like it said on the website.

  ‘Mam?’

  She looked up.

  ‘Been doing your homework?’ she said, looking at the laptop.

  ‘No, I’ve got something to show you.’

  She put her magazine down and I placed the laptop on her lap. Mam looked at it and smiled. Then the smile went out quick, like a lightbulb.

  ‘Read it,’ I said.

  Mam put the lid down and picked up her Hello!

  ‘Mam.’

  She just kept flipping through the pages, looking at all those celebs with their perfect lives and perfect faces that never get hit.

  ‘Mam, read it. Please.’

  She shook her head.

  I was that frustrated I kicked the sofa. Her plate of biscuits flew all over the floor.

  ‘Danny,’ she moaned.

  ‘Got your attention now, have I?’

  She looked at me, blank-faced, like a shop-window dummy.

  ‘I just want you to look at the website. I want you to read about what he’s doing to you. It’s there. Tons of it.’

  Mam stared at the biscuits on the carpet, as if wondering how they got there.

  ‘Do you want him to kill you? Is that what you want? He’s mad enough.’

  ‘I don’t need to read it.’

  ‘Why not? Have you become a world expert on it? Do you know what’s going to happen?’

  Me mam kept on staring, like Callum had kicked all the life out of her.

  ‘I’m scared for you, Mam. The people who wrote the website aren’t lying, are they? It was written by coppers. They’re not allowed to lie. I don’t want you to die.’

  I thought me words were working on her. That she’d see sense.

  Thought wrong.

  ‘It’s gonna be okay, Danny.’

  Let out a scream.

  ‘Maybe Callum’s right about your backside. Go back to your biscuits.’

  I stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Then I grabbed me ball, turned the kitchen lights on, and went in the back garden. Kicked the ball against the shed, dead hard, then I kicked the shed, even harder. Made a massive hole in it, but I couldn’t give a monkey’s. It was Callum’s shed, he could mend it.

  Two women killed every week.

  All those mams.

  Screamed again.

  But it wasn’t just Callum I was mad with. It was me mam.

  Why wouldn’t she read the website? Why wouldn’t she believe me? Why wouldn’t she do something about it? Why wouldn’t she leave him? Why?

  Eleven

  •

  Me mind went round and round like a waltzer at the Hoppings.

  Me mam was never going to do anything to save herself. Like she had a death wish. All I could think about was killing Callum. But how? Poison him? Problem is, I can’t cook. He’d know I was up to something if I gave him a plate of dodgy-looking scran. Push him in front of a train? But Callum went to work in his car. Stab him? He’d get the knife off me with his quick fingers before I got close to that fat belly.

  Didn’t have a clue what to do, so I spoke to Barry. He knows tons of stuff. ‘Do your mam and dad fight?’

  ‘All the time, man,’ he said. ‘There’s a constant battle for the TV remote.’ Barry put on voices like he was his mam and dad. Deep voice: ‘I’m watching the football.’ High voice: ‘You’re always watching football.’ Deep voice: ‘You’re always watching cooking.’ High voice: ‘At least cooking’s good for you. You can’t eat a football.’ Deep voice: ‘What do you mean? That Yorkshire pudding you made tasted just like leather.’

  Laughed.

  ‘But do they ever fight, you know, proper fight?’ I said, raising me fists.

  Barry shook his head. ‘Na. The only time I’ve seen them fight was last summer when me dad filled a water pistol up with cold water and squirted it down me mam’s top when she was sunbathing in the back garden. They had a right ding-dong over the pistol. Both ended up in the paddling pool.’

  Felt sick when Barry mentioned that.

  ‘Does your dad ever get drunk?’ I said.

  ‘Aye. Every Friday.’

  ‘And what does he do?’

  ‘Falls asleep.’ Barry did a loud snore like a pig with a microphone. ‘Crashes on the sofa. He’s too heavy to carry upstairs, so we leave him. Sometimes he’s still there in the morning.’

  Thought of a different question.

  ‘What would you do if some bloke bashed your mam?’

  Barry scratched his chin, which had just started to get hairs. ‘I’d tell me dad, and he’d beat him to a pulp.’ Barry looked at me weird. ‘Anyway, why all the questions?’

  ‘Just writing a story for English, about a bloke who does that sort of thing.’

  I thought of asking Amy, but she’d only come back with loads of questions, and I’d end up answering them. Didn’t want her to know what went on in our house. I asked Andrea Watson instead. She’s the brainiest lass in our year. Makes us all look totally daft. I plucked up the courage to ask her at break time.

  ‘Andrea?’

  ‘Yes, Danny.’

  ‘This is just a hypogenic question.’

  ‘I think you mean hypothetical.’

  ‘Yeah, probably.’ I could already feel me face changing colour. ‘What would you do if someone, not your dad, hurt your mam?’

  Andrea put her thinking face on. ‘I�
�d call the police.’

  ‘Other than the police.’

  Andrea rolled her eyes.

  ‘My mother and father are separated, but I’d probably call my father.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ said Andrea, suddenly all serious. ‘Is everything okay with your mother?’

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ I said, walking away.

  ‘Are you sure, Danny?’ she shouted.

  ‘Aye. Thanks, Andrea.’

  I asked a few more kids.

  ‘What would I do if a bloke bashed me mam?’ said Carl, scratching his head. ‘I’d ring me dad. He’d smash their face in.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘If someone bashed me mam?’ said Ben. ‘I’d call for me dad. He’d get a tank and blow him up. Then he’d destroy him with a flame-thrower. Then he’d shoot him.’

  Ben’s got quite a vivid imagination.

  Apart from Gavin, who said the SAS, and Tony, who said his mam was dead, everyone came up with the same answer – their dad.

  If I was going to get rid of Callum, I was going to have to ask me dad. There was just one problem. I had no idea who me dad was.

  Twelve

  • •

  ‘Danny, I hear you’ve been talking to Andrea.’

  Should have known this would get to Amy. Lasses love talking. It’s their number one hobby.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask me?’

  ‘Andrea was closer.’

  Amy laughed, for one second.

  ‘Is your mam having trouble with Callum?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What sort of answer’s that?’ she said, folding her arms tight.

  ‘They have the occasional shouting match.’

  Though it wasn’t much of a match when Callum was involved. Ten – nil, to him.

  ‘But you weren’t talking about shouting. You were asking her about mams getting beaten up?’

  What is it with lasses and their questions?

  ‘So what’s been happening with you and Lanky Dave?’

  ‘Stop changing the subject. We’re talking about your mam.’

  ‘Can we talk about something else, Amy? I hear Newcastle are after a new number nine.’