by Lisa James
Davie was almost always getting the big freeze treatment, but for some reason it seemed I had definitely become Dad’s favourite girl and he took every opportunity to pull me onto his lap for cuddles. I didn’t feel very comfortable with this affectionate behaviour, but if I pulled away even slightly from his scratchy kisses, his face would cloud over and a fierce look would descend to smother the smiles of a moment before.
‘You know I love you like my own daughter, don’t you, Lisa?’
I beamed a big smile at him then, because there was nothing I wanted more than for us all to be a normal family. I wanted him to stay as Dr Jekyll and bury Mr Hyde forever.
When Dad was in a good mood, he liked to play lots of jokes and games. He mostly played them with me, because more often than not he wasn’t on speaking terms with Diane, Cheryl or Davie, and he didn’t like them anyway.
‘You’re not like them other bastards, Lisa,’ he said. ‘They’re all cunts.’
Some games I liked better than others. Bat the balloon was my favourite. Dad would lie in bed and I’d stand near his feet while we knocked the balloon back and forth between us. I never got bored with it, and could have played for hours, but Dad could only put up with it for a short time before he got fed up and burst the balloon with his cigarette.
My heart would sink because then it would be his turn to choose a game. I didn’t like any of his favourites at all. Especially the ones that involved him taking my clothes off. I was eight now and becoming embarrassed. I’d try to cover myself with my arms but that would only make him tickle me, his fingers hurting as they dug in.
‘Are you blushing?’ he would tease, tweaking my chest and bottom. ‘I’ve seen it all before, Lisa. Don’t forget I used to wipe your arse when you were a baby.’
No matter what he said, I still didn’t like it, and when he tied knots in the side of Mum’s knickers and made me wear them I used to cry. I couldn’t see the fun in it. Sometimes he’d wear a pair too.
‘Can we play bat the balloon again after?’ I’d sob as he slipped Mum’s scratchy lace nightie over my head.
‘Shut up about bat the fucking balloon, will ya?’ he said. ‘First we play this, then we might play that. But only if you give me a special kiss.’
I didn’t like Dad’s special kisses either. His whiskers scratched and his lips were all slobbery.
One day Mum came home from work earlier than expected, and he just had time to leap into bed and hide what he was wearing from her. He didn’t seem bothered that I was almost naked and wearing her clothes.
‘What’s she doing with my fucking knickers on, Frank?’ she asked.
Dad laughed. ‘Leave her alone, you miserable cow. She’s only fucking playing.’
‘Get ’em off,’ Mum shouted, slapping my legs.
‘But Dad put them on me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t want to.’
‘Don’t tell lies, you disgusting little cow,’ shouted Mum, her face flushing with anger, ‘or I’ll slap your bleedin’ face for you.’
I looked over at Dad, expecting him to explain about the game, but he only smirked.
‘He’s wearing some too,’ I cried.
‘Eh?’ said Mum, pulling back the sheet to see Dad’s ding-a-ling hanging out of her best silky pink pair.
Dad burst out laughing. ‘What? Can’t you take a joke?’
Mum sent me to my room, with a sharp poke in the back. Later I heard them arguing.
‘I ain’t fucking gay at all, you slag,’ shouted Dad. ‘It’s just a stupid game. I’m only trying to entertain your fucking kid for ya.’
I don’t think we played that game again for a while, though.
During the school summer holidays, Nanny and Jenny asked if they could take Davie and me to Canvey Island Caravan Park for a week’s break. I begged Mum to let me go, whispering so Dad couldn’t hear because we still weren’t allowed to mention certain names in his presence. But Mum must have discussed it with him because he started to look at me in a frightening way, with a nasty tilt to one nostril.
I was amazed and delighted when Mum said we could go. We had a lovely time, running around the caravan park and making friends with the donkeys who lived on the other side of a ditch. Jenny would buy apples and carrots and we’d throw them over and watch while the donkeys chomped them down with their big yellow teeth. I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders for that week. It was like the old days when I was little. No anger, no violence, nothing to be wary or frightened of, only love and happiness. When it was time to go home I sobbed and cried, and not just because I had to say goodbye to the donkeys.
When I walked back into the flat, carrying my clothes in a bag, already washed and pressed by Nanny to save Mum the trouble, and clutching sticks of pink rock for everyone, the atmosphere was heavy. I found it harder to breathe somehow, and the thick fog of cigarette smoke that lingered in every room had little to do with it.
Mum and Dad were sitting on the sofa watching television. I went in to say hello, and they both just stared at me. I could see Mum was nervous, already worried I might try and tell them what a good time I’d had, therefore breaking the golden rule about not mentioning or alluding in any way to the people who lived over the road.
‘Tell her to fuck off away from me,’ said Dad, giving me my first clue that all was not well. He didn’t talk to me again for weeks after that. He stared, snarled, sneered and even spat at me, but he never spoke to me once. On the whole I was pleased because it meant less shouting and swearing, less risk of plates, cups and ashtrays whizzing past my head, but I had an inkling that it wouldn’t last.
During this time I noticed he was being a bit friendlier to Cheryl and Davie–especially Cheryl. One day when I was confined to the bedroom, she came bursting into the room crying wildly and clutching her dressing gown to her chest. I heard Mum shout, ‘What’s going on?’ and Dad replied, ‘Well, she’s always flashing her tits.’
A massive row began with Mum shouting at Dad, and Dad shouting at Mum. But it wasn’t long before Dad turned to violence and Mum stopped answering back.
Cheryl and I wrapped our arms around each other and sat crying in the corner, flinching as we heard crashing and banging all over the flat.
‘I never touched her, the slag,’ shouted Dad. ‘But I fucking will if she ever comes near me again. I’ll stab her, the fucking bitch.’
Later when Dad went to the pub, Mum came into the bedroom with a bleeding lip and stared long and hard at Cheryl.
‘You satisfied, are ya?’ she asked.
‘Mum, it’s him,’ said Cheryl. ‘Ask Diane. He’s always leering. I can’t stand it much longer.’
‘Well, you know where the fucking door is,’ snarled Mum.
Cheryl burst into fresh tears and began to stuff some of her clothes into a plastic bag. ‘I’m going over to Nanny’s for a few days.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mum. ‘You always did like to stir the shit. What’s the matter, you jealous?’
‘How can you say that to your own daughter?’ asked Cheryl, shaking her head. ‘It’s sick.’
I couldn’t quite work out what it was all about, but I suspected Dad had been rude with Cheryl. The thought frightened me.
Cheryl left and went to stay with Nanny later that afternoon. The atmosphere in the flat got even worse. Davie and I were the only ones left, and we didn’t know which way to turn. We spoke in whispers and spent most of our time in our rooms. We never knew when another row between Mum and Dad would erupt. But we didn’t have long to wait.
‘I ain’t no fucking pervert,’ shouted Dad, followed by the sound of something smashing against the wall.
‘When have I ever said that?’ protested Mum, more than a hint of appeasement in her voice. ‘I love you, Frank. Just calm down.’
The shouting went on for what seemed like hours. I occupied myself by playing schools with my dollies, trying my best to block out the screams and shouts in the room next door. One of the neighbours rang the front
doorbell to see if Mum was alright, and she shouted at them to ‘mind your own fucking business’.
Shortly after that it went quiet for a while, and just when I thought it was all over, Dad yelled, ‘I’ve had enough of you and this shit-hole, you fucking whore. I’m going.’
‘Please, Frank,’ Mum sobbed. ‘Please don’t leave me.’
I heard the front door nearly slam off its hinges then Dad’s voice shouting through the letterbox: ‘And don’t think I’m ever coming back. You were a shit fuck anyway.’
I was over the moon that Dad had left, but Davie told me not to count my chickens.
‘He’ll probably be back later,’ he predicted miserably, ‘off his head on drink.’
I was worried Davie was right, but I kept my fingers and toes crossed anyway.
The flat looked as though a tornado had sped through it, with broken cups and upturned furniture strewn about. It was a couple of days before we began to believe that Dad wouldn’t be back, but then we gradually reappeared one by one, as if we’d been taking shelter from a storm. In a way we had been. Diane came back from her boyfriend’s, Cheryl came home from Nanny’s and Davie and I emerged from our bedrooms, just in time to see Mum slam the door to her own. She didn’t want to be a part of the family reunion.
‘Just leave me alone, will you?’ she shouted if any of us tapped on her door.
It was a shame Mum was so upset. I thought she would have been pleased to get rid of him. Grown-ups were too complicated for me.
The flat felt different without Dad. It was bliss to be able to walk around without fear and watch TV and use the kitchen when we wanted to. When Dad was at home he dominated every room. If he was in the front room we’d all be too frightened to go in unless we knew for sure he was in one of his better moods, and even then we had to remain on guard for a change in the wind. If he was slouched over the kitchen table, we’d go and get a drink from the bathroom tap rather than show up on his radar. It just wasn’t worth the risk of upsetting him. But all that had changed now. It was like being released from some sort of prison, and best of all, now that he had gone, I didn’t have to be careful of accidentally mentioning Nanny’s or Jenny’s names. I was free to pop across the road and visit them any time I wanted to.
Everyone, apart from Mum, seemed happier than they’d been for a long time, including Eddie the dog. Poor Eddie had suffered so much. Dad had taken to kicking and cursing him every day. Now that Dad wasn’t around to torment him, he was like he was a different dog, almost reverting to a playful puppy again.
Mum remained in her room. I often heard her crying and muttering things into her pillow. When Diane and I took her in a cup of tea and some jam sandwiches, she was lying on her bed, a roll of loo paper resting on her tummy, and a cigarette burning between her fingers with an inch-high tower of ash. She lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.
‘Here, Mum,’ said Diane, making a space on the bedside table. ‘You’ve got to eat.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ said Mum, pulling herself up to stub out her cigarette. ‘Just leave me alone.’
‘Come on, it’s not the end of the world,’ said Diane.
‘It might not be for you,’ said Mum angrily. ‘But I love him, Di, and I deserve a bit of happiness.’ Her eyes welled up, and she pulled off a length of loo roll to blot away her tears.
‘What about us?’ asked Diane, a slight edge creeping into her voice. ‘Don’t you love us?’
Mum ignored her question and lit another cigarette. After she had blown out a long stream of smoke she said, ‘I’m over fucking forty. This is my last chance, and none of you wants me to be happy–not you lot, not me mum, no one. I’m gonna end up on me own forever.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Diane.
‘I bet they’re having a right laugh over the road, aren’t they?’ said Mum, referring to Nanny and Jenny.
‘They’re just worried, that’s all,’ said Diane. ‘They can’t work out why you haven’t spoken to them for the past four years.’
‘I bet she’s going, “Oh, that Donna, she’s always picking the wrong men,”’ Mum said, imitating Nanny’s Geordie accent.
Even though I was only eight, I knew that Mum had definitely picked the wrong man in Dad, and I vowed to be a lot more careful when I grew up. I remember wondering why she couldn’t just find someone else, someone nicer who wasn’t rude all the time. Why wasn’t she happy that Dad had gone? He hit her and yelled at her even more than he did to the rest of us. What did she love about him? But instead she moped around, gazing out of the window as if waiting for him to return and smoking endless cigarettes.
Our happiness and Mum’s misery were short-lived. I got home from school a couple of days later to see the familiar leather coat on the kitchen door and heard grunting noises from the bedroom and I stopped dead, feeling as if there was a lead weight in my chest. He was back.
Mum and Dad spent the first few days in bed together, then Mum gathered us all into the front room. She said they had an announcement to make, that they were getting married. Cheryl and Davie both cried. Cheryl’s tears slid down slowly, but Davie let out huge wracking sobs and cried in a way I’d never seen him cry before, even worse than when Dad smashed his ship-in-a-bottle.
‘What you crying about?’ Mum asked, her head cocked to one side, as if genuinely baffled by his reaction.
‘We won’t be able to go over Nanny’s any more,’ he said, and I saw Dad bristle slightly.
‘But we’ll be a proper family,’ Mum said gaily. ‘Won’t that be nice?’
They had a bring-a-bottle party to celebrate and invited everyone in Dad’s large extended family, including his brother Keith, his sister Lesley and various other relatives we’d never met, as well as his numerous drinking buddies. It was as if Dad had invited everyone he’d ever met but Mum, on the other hand, invited nobody. It went without saying that she hadn’t invited Nanny and her many brothers and sisters because she hadn’t spoken to any of them since meeting Dad, and she didn’t have any friends of her own because she wasn’t allowed out without Dad. But it was quite a shock when Mum told us that none of us children could attend.
‘I’m not having you winding him up, not tonight,’ she said. ‘I can just fucking see it now, shown up in front of all his family. Not on your fucking nelly.’
By this time Diane had moved back out again, so Cheryl went to stay with her. That left me and Davie.
‘Can we go over Nanny’s?’ I asked.
‘No, you fucking can’t,’ Mum snapped. ‘I’m sick of them knowing all my fucking business.’
Davie and I were locked in a bedroom. Mum gave us a bottle of coke, some crisps and a packet of peanuts and instructed us to stay put until everybody had gone. She even left a bucket in case we needed the loo. The music was blaring into the early hours and our flat sounded like the pub on the corner did on special nights like New Year’s Eve. We could hear other children playing with our toys out in the passageway, but it seemed that Mum was ashamed of us because we weren’t allowed to join in.
Mum and Dad got married at a registry office one day when I was at school and, as with their ‘engagement party’, none of us was invited. I had always wanted a proper family with a mum and a dad, and I would have loved to go to their wedding and maybe even be a flower girl, but it was made very clear to me that as far as I was concerned nothing had changed.
Life continued pretty much as it always had, except that over the weeks and months I noticed Mum’s belly was getting bigger. At first I thought she must have been eating too much, but then I worked out that she was having a baby and I waited for the day when she would tell me. I would have asked her myself but I was shy. Talking about babies would mean talking about sex in a roundabout way and I was far too embarrassed to do that. Even though I had grown up hearing every grunt and groan Mum and Dad made in their bedroom and seeing Dad’s pornographic magazines lying around, I was still embarrassed about such things. M
y face reddened as I imagined the moment Mum would sit me down and tell me I was going to have a little brother or sister. But in the end, I was saved the embarrassment because it was Cheryl who finally said the words, straight after Mum had been carted off in an ambulance, screaming and clutching her huge distended belly.
‘Lisa, do you know Mum’s having a baby?’
Of course I knew! I had turned nine years old two months before.
The baby was a little girl and they named her Katrina. I thought she looked like a perfect little doll. She was so tiny her veins showed through her paper-thin skin and I remember staring at her for ages in her little Perspex cot, which was parked at the side of Mum’s bed. I adored her straight away and couldn’t wait for Mum to bring her home, but the hospital insisted on keeping them both in for a while. At the age of forty-three, Mum was classed as an older mother, so the hospital wanted to take special care of her for a few days, and she had smoked through the pregnancy so Katrina was born on the small side.
While they were away, Dad wasn’t at home much because he was either out celebrating in the pub or else up at the hospital breathing gin fumes all over little Katrina’s sleepy head. With him out of the way, Cheryl felt safe enough to bring Jenny over to the flat. It was her first visit since Dad had moved in with us five years before, and I remember her walking around from room to room, her mouth slack with horror as she saw how we were living. As usual the flat was a mess, but Jenny seemed particularly upset to see the various dents and holes in walls and windows.
‘What on earth’s been going on over here?’ she kept asking.
I tried not to think about how angry Dad would be if he came back and found her there. I was terrified, jumping at every sound, but filled with excitement too as I dragged Jenny around showing her things like my special cupboard where I kept some brightly coloured plastic carrier bags stuffed with everything from elastic bands to felt-tip pens.
‘Come and look at my collections, Jenny,’ I cried and she duly admired them, telling me that everything looked very useful and I was clever to have collected them.