by Lisa James
I stopped suddenly, shrugged my arm loose and pressed myself into the wall, whimpering with fear. All I knew was that I didn’t dare leave this place where there were people who could restrain him. If I was on my own with him, I didn’t think I’d live through the night.
He went berserk, kicking and stamping on my feet and legs, shredding my tights and causing a bleeding gash on my shin.
Somehow I managed to pull away, limping badly, and ran into the ladies’ loo for safety. It was very surreal. A girl was applying her lipstick and she looked up, surprised at the sight of me. Suddenly the door burst open and Dad made a final lunge for me. Fortunately, the club’s bouncers were on him in seconds and they dragged him out. I slumped down on a chair, trembling, unable to speak.
Bridget appeared and crouched beside me. ‘It’s alright, he’s gone. They’ve chucked him out.’
‘But he’ll be waiting outside for me,’ I whispered. ‘I’ve got nowhere to go.’ I couldn’t risk going back to Mum’s because that’s the first place he would look for me.
‘Don’t worry,’ Bridget said firmly. ‘You’re coming home with me tonight.’
Her kindness made my tears well up and spill over. I don’t know if she realised it, but she had probably saved my life.
That night, Bridget tucked me into her spare bed as if I were a small child. ‘Try and get some sleep,’ she urged.
I was exhausted, and after tossing and turning for a while, I fell into a deep sleep. I woke with a start the following morning, my heart racing in panic as I struggled to orientate myself to my new surroundings. Where was I–and, more importantly, where was Dad? My stomach clenched in knots as panic rose within me.
I heard the bustle of the West End traffic coming from the street below, and someone stirring a cup in the kitchen. It was Bridget. Memories of last night and how I had refused to leave the club with Dad came flooding back and I knew it was over. There was no way I was ever going back. It was as if a spell had been broken. I realised I would rather be dead than suffer his abuse any more. I pulled back the sheets and looked at my shins. They were bruised and bloodied, but somehow I could barely feel any pain. My mind was whirling with so many thoughts and emotions that my body felt curiously numb.
There was a little tap at the bedroom door, and Bridget appeared with a cup of tea for me. ‘How’d you sleep?’ she asked. ‘Alright?’
I pulled the sheet back over my legs, and sat up in bed. ‘Thanks,’ I said, taking the steaming cup of tea. ‘I’m really sorry…’
‘Hey, listen,’ she said, ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. It’s that pig who should be sorry, not you. I know about men like him, trust me…and you don’t have to put up with it any more.’
For a moment I thought she meant she knew about dads like him and I felt myself starting to colour with shame, but then she asked, ‘Is there anyone I can call? What about your parents? We should let them know you’re safe.’
‘I don’t have a dad,’ I said, dropping my eyes, ‘and…and Frank’s really friendly with Mum. She’ll think it’s my fault.’
I burst into tears, upset that I didn’t have the courage to be honest with Bridget when she was being so kind. She didn’t have to help me. It wasn’t as if we were friends. I was just the oddball who worked some shifts with her at the tanning salon. She owed me nothing, but she was a good person, reaching out to a virtual stranger.
‘I’ve rung work and told them you won’t be in today,’ she said, patting my hand. ‘I’ll run you a nice bath, OK? Try not to worry.’
By lunchtime, the tight knot in my stomach had eased slightly to be replaced with the tentative flutter of butterflies as I began to realise that life without Dad was actually a real possibility. For now, at least, I was safe from the sort of violence and degradation that had become my normality over many years. I was grateful for the liveried doorman downstairs, who Bridget assured me was paid to keep undesirables out of the building.
Her flat was so luxurious that I was almost frightened to touch anything. The sofas were made of the softest leather, and the pile of the white carpet was deep and springy beneath my battered feet. I was reminded of the places I used to clean with Mum when I was very young. I couldn’t help but think the marbled bathroom, as well-equipped as any spa, would be a nightmare to polish. Even the air was sweet, a mixture of expensive leather and bowls of exotically fragranced pot pourri. I was more accustomed to the stench of overflowing ashtrays, alcohol and rancid bacon fat. Bridget laughed when she caught me taking deep lungful after lungful.
‘You’re such a funny little thing,’ she said.
‘It’s just so lovely here. You’re so lucky.’
‘Oh, it’s not mine,’ she explained. ‘I flat-sit for a company. They use it as a pied à terre.’
I didn’t know what she meant at first.
‘Saves them paying for hotels. Problem is, they could need it at any minute and I’d have to go and stay with my mum for a few days. I’m not really allowed to have anyone staying here.’
The last thing I wanted to do was get Bridget in trouble, so I assured her I would start looking around for a place straight away. How I would go about that, I didn’t know, so I was more than a little relieved when she said she had heard through a friend about the possibility of a room in Shepherd’s Bush. ‘If it was up to me you could stay here–but it’s not, unfortunately.’
The tanning salon was only a fifteen-minute walk from the flat, but I was too scared to walk there on my own the next day so Bridget came with me all the way, reassuring me that nobody could hurt me any more. I wanted to believe her, but I knew what Dad was like. I tried not to think what he would do to me if he found me. I kept looking over my shoulder, convinced that he would grab me by the hair at any minute.
‘You’re a nervous wreck,’ Bridget commented with concern in her eyes.
When we arrived at work, I had other things to worry about because everyone crowded around me in reception, eager to hear about my violent boyfriend. They all said they could tell what type he was the minute they saw him, and they were surprised I was seeing someone so old.
‘He looked old enough to be your dad,’ said one girl, causing me to jump in alarm.
I felt so ashamed of my past that I was determined none of them would find out the real truth, but it was difficult to fend off their questions. Where had I met him? What did my family think? Had he hit me in the past? I didn’t know how to answer. All I felt was the familiar sense of guilt enveloping me and I wondered if I would ever be able to shrug it off. How could I even begin to articulate what had been happening to me since I was a little girl? I was convinced that if they knew, they would feel nothing but disgust for me. The most important thing was to hide the truth inside–bury it away as far and as deep in my mind as I possibly could.
But still the questions kept coming.
‘Surely you could move back in with your parents?’ suggested the manageress. ‘He wouldn’t dare turn up there, would he?’
Everyone around me nodded. ‘Yeah, they could call the police.’
At that moment, I caught Bridget’s eye. She knew I wasn’t ready to talk. ‘Let’s just give her a break, shall we?’ she said. ‘The best thing she can do is carry on as normal. Help take her mind off it.’
It was during that first shift back at work that the telephone calls began. Mum had recently moved into a new flat, and for the first time ever she had installed a phone line. Seemingly she had been ringing non-stop asking where I was the day before.
‘Here, Lisa,’ someone handed me the phone. ‘She must be mad with worry.’
My heart lifted at the thought that maybe Mum cared about me after all.
‘Mum, it’s OK, I’m alright,’ I said into the phone.
Seconds later, I had to lift the phone away from my ear as she screamed down the line. ‘Oh, so that’s alright then. As long as you’re fucking alright, sod the fucking rest of us.’
I stood rooted to the spot in shock.
‘Now listen to me, you little fucker. You get yourself home, do you bleedin’ hear me? He’s going fucking mad here.’
I could hear Dad in the background, ranting and raving as usual. ‘Fucking whore. You tell her to come home. Fucking shit-cunt.’
The manageress stared at me with her mouth open and a look of confusion on her face, obviously able to hear the shouting. ‘Who is it, Lisa?’ she asked, obviously unable to believe it was my mother on the phone.
‘I’m not coming back,’ I said, my legs trembling beneath me.
‘You’re a fucking selfish bitch, always have been. Do you know that?’ she shouted. ‘You’ve left me right fucking in it. Can you hear him? He’s doing his nut here. But as long as you’re alright, eh?’
I was angry then. ‘You don’t have to put up with him either, Mum,’ I cried. ‘You’ve always had a choice, which is more than any of us kids had.’
Dad snatched the phone then. ‘Listen, you bitch, you get your fucking arse back here before I have to come and get you.’
At that point, the manageress took the phone from me and slammed it down.
‘He’s coming, he’s coming,’ I panicked.
‘Quite frankly, I hope he does. Then we can call the police and let them deal with him.’ She had real anger in her voice. ‘He should be ashamed of himself, beating up a young girl.’
‘What on earth is he doing at your mother’s?’ asked Bridget, incredulous. ‘Why would she want you to go back to him?’
I was wondering how to answer when the phone rang again. The manageress snatched up the receiver to be greeted by a barrage of abuse that Bridget and I could hear, too.
‘If either of you call here again, I’ll ring the police,’ she said, a distinct tremble in her voice. Suddenly the shouting stopped, and she calmly replaced the handset. ‘That’s got them worried. They hung up.’
I spent the rest of my shift jumping every time the door opened. After work, Bridget hailed a taxi to take us the short distance back to the sanctuary of the flat, as she could see that the phone calls had terrified me. She couldn’t have been kinder to me during the few days I stayed there.
Then on the 23rd of December, she drove me over to Shepherd’s Bush to look at the room for rent that her friends had told her about. Although the area wasn’t the best, the room itself was fresh and clean, the landlord was friendly and the rent was cheap.
‘Can I move in now?’ I asked.
‘But what about all your stuff?’ the landlord asked.
‘Here it is,’ I said, holding up a carrier bag. I only had the clothes I stood up in and a few bits and pieces Bridget had given me until I could afford to buy some new things of my own.
As I waved Bridget off that evening, I felt a confusing mix of two very distinct emotions: both excitement and fear. On the one hand I was ecstatic finally to have my own place and no longer be a burden to Bridget, but on the other hand, I still worried about Dad finding me and I wasn’t sure how I would cope with life on my own. For so many years my every moment had been controlled and every decision made for me, that the freedom seemed vast and unsettling.
I wondered if I could hire a private eye from the Yellow Pages to find the rest of my family? But then I felt sick as I imagined them finding out about what had happened with Dad. I couldn’t let that happen, so resolved to continue as I had done for the last ten years or so, and pretend that Jenny, Diane, Cheryl and Davie didn’t exist. It was a matter of survival.
The next day was Christmas Eve. I was on the early shift at work. Just before I was due to finish, I picked up the phone and felt my stomach flip as I heard Mum’s voice. But something was different this time. She wasn’t shouting at me any more. She was being nice, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. For so many years I had wanted to hear just a trace of tenderness in her voice, and here it was.
‘Now listen, Lisa,’ she said, ‘It’s not right to be on your own on Christmas Day. I want you to come round here.’
‘But I’ve told you…’
‘Don’t worry about him,’ she interrupted me. ‘He won’t be here. He’s bought a ticket to Spain.’
I could barely believe my ears. ‘Spain?’
‘He’s shitting himself,’ she said. ‘Thinks you’re going to get him into trouble with the law.’
Relief spread through me. Perhaps the nightmare was well and truly over. With Dad gone, I didn’t have to worry about Kat any more and whether he would turn his attentions on her.
‘Go on, Lisa, come home. Just for Christmas,’ Mum went on, and finally I agreed
Things would be different now. I was amazed at how life had changed in the space of a week. That afternoon I pushed my way through the thronging Christmas Eve crowds on Oxford Street and spent most of my bonus money on presents for Mum and Kat. I bought Mum a bottle of Shalimar perfume from Selfridge’s, as well as a porcelain dove–a ‘dove of peace’, which seemed symbolic. I thought she might like to put it on a shelf in her new flat. Living with Dad for so many years had left her without any ornaments whatsoever, and I thought it might signify a new beginning of sorts. For Kat I bought some toys, and a new outfit. I wrapped everything up before I went to bed that night, but found it difficult to sleep.
The next day I had to ring for a minicab. I hadn’t realised that the buses and tubes wouldn’t be running on Christmas Day and I had only just enough for the fare. As I stepped out of the minicab and paid the driver, I thought I saw the net curtains in Mum’s upstairs bedroom twitch. I waved, thinking Kat must be watching, and walked up the front path trailing my bags behind me. I didn’t have time to knock before Kat opened the door.
‘Merry Christmas,’ I smiled, giving her a hug.
As I walked into the kitchen, Mum was smoking at the table and smirking. ‘The wanderer returns,’ she said sarcastically, her eyes focussed on something behind me.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck as I realised she was looking at Dad. He hadn’t gone to Spain at all. She had lied to me. I didn’t have time to turn before he grabbed my hair and swung me hard against the wall. I dropped the presents I was carrying and heard something break as Dad kicked them against the wall in a frenzy. I thought it was going to be my turn next, but for some reason he stopped, standing before me clenching his fists and trying to catch his breath. My heart was beating twenty to the dozen.
‘Bolt the door, Donna,’ he said, ‘or she might go galavanting again. You know what slags are like.’
Mum slid two heavy bolts at the top and bottom of the front door. ‘I hope you’re not gonna start again today,’ she said to me, ‘’cos I’m not having it. Not today. It’s meant to be fucking Christmas.’
I was so hurt and angry I could barely look at Mum after that. In the past I had tried to find excuses for her betrayal, but this was blatant. She had purposefully lied and lured me back, even though she knew what would happen to me.
After the initial beating, Dad made an effort not to hit me for the rest of the day–after all, it was Christmas–but I knew he was struggling to contain himself. I could see his jaw flexing and tightening, and I was dreading the moment Mum decided to leave me alone with him, as I knew she would.
‘So what’s the address then?’ asked Dad, opening another can of Special Brew. ‘Where is this knocking shop you’ve been staying?’
‘In Stepney,’ I lied, trying to throw him off the scent.
‘Well, you won’t be going back there again,’ he said ominously. ‘We’ll be in Spain this time next week.’
A jolt of shock passed through me. Could he somehow force me to get on a plane? But deep down I knew I wouldn’t be going anywhere except out the door the minute I got the chance. Things were different now. I knew there was life outside, and I knew that Dad understood that, too.
After dinner, Mum found her presents out in the hall. The dove of peace was shattered. ‘What a load of rubbish,’ she said, hurling it in the bin. She then handed me a joint present from her and Dad. Dad was chewing a ma
tchstick at the table, a sly grin spreading over his face.
‘Go on, open it,’ he said. ‘You’ll like it.’
I did as I was told and slowly peeled the paper off to reveal a red and black baby doll nightdress. I was revolted and shot Mum a look of ill-disguised disgust. Why was she encouraging me to be Dad’s sex object? What kind of mother would do that?
Later that night, once Mum and Kat had gone up to bed, Dad raped me for the last time. I endured it as I had endured it so many times. He was especially brutal but I blocked out the pain as best I could. This time I had hope. I knew it couldn’t last forever, and that soon I would be free of him for good.
The next day, as soon as Dad went to the pub, I grabbed my opportunity to escape.
‘You’re not going,’ shouted Mum, trying to block my way. ‘He’ll blame me!’
‘What is wrong with you, Mum?’ I asked. ‘You’ve thrown away your whole family for him. Maybe I should let the people at work ring the police after all.’
I knew I’d touched a nerve, and I could see the fear in her eyes as she stepped aside to let me pass.
‘It’s no good trying to blame me. You should have kept your fucking legs shut.’
‘I was a child,’ I said. ‘I didn’t stand a chance, as you well knew.’
‘Yeah, and it ain’t exactly been a bed of fucking roses for me either, has it?’ she replied. ‘I’m warning you, Lisa, don’t you go doing anything stupid, cos’ the only person you’ll hurt is Kat.’
‘How do you work that out?’
‘What do you think’s gonna happen if social services start poking their nose in?’ Then she softened a little. ‘He’ll be gone to Spain soon anyway. He’s bought his ticket and everything.’
We had all suffered so much, and I was glad the nightmare was coming to an end for us all. The sooner Dad got on that plane, the better.
‘Bye, Mum,’ I said.