Disappearing Home

by Deborah Morgan

  ‘No worries,’ he says, then goes all red and grins.

  What I’d really like a go at with Bernie right now is holding hands. I look down at my dirty nails again and curl them away inside my palms.

  We walk past the swings where Bernie fought those two lads. I remember his face all bloody when we got back and think about Sylvia and the way seeing Bernie was a fighter made her happy. In my mind I can see Sylvia before Bernie’s dad came home, locking the windows and doors when it got dark. Checking in on her kids in the middle of the night when she heard a bang, or a cry, or the creak of a floorboard. And I understand why Sylvia loved what Bernie did that day, loved him right then more than anything else in the world.

  Jackie is going out on a date. She shows me around, tells me I should use the place like it’s my own. She opens a cupboard in the bathroom. ‘Palmolive or Lux?’ she says. I smell them both through the packaging. ‘Palmolive,’ I say. She hands me the block.

  When Jackie goes out, I take a bath. The water ends up brown. There’s a thick black ring around the bath that I have to scrub with Vim. I wash my hair in the sink, iron my clean clothes. Bernie has gone home. I push two chairs together and fall asleep. When I wake up the chairs have parted and I’m on the floor. I try to go back to sleep but I can’t get comfortable. The blanket doesn’t keep me warm. I get up, look out of the window, press my nose against my arm and smell soap. Jackie gave me cream to put on my legs and they’ve stopped itching. She told me there’s only one rule in her flat. She has going-out dates and staying-in dates and when she has a staying-in date I can’t come out of the living room. And I said all right.

  It’s dark. Below me car headlights rush by. There’s nobody about. Somewhere out there I have a brother and a sister I’ve never met, might not ever meet. I wonder if they know about me. What their names are. My finger squeaks an R across the pane of glass, then again in the opposite direction where it can be seen from the outside.

  I play out the scene in my head for the hundredth time, the scene where I get to meet them all and they invite me to live with them. My dad tells me how it had all been a big mistake, how I’d been born just a little bit too soon and ended up in the wrong place with the wrong dad, how it was all right now, how everything was going to be all right now.

  I shudder with the cold, lift the cushions off the chairs and lay them down on the floor in the airing cupboard. I get the blanket, close the cupboard doors over and try to get some sleep. Every thud of every front door closing echoes around the block like thunder. The lift creaks up and down and when it stops the two doors rumble open. I get up, open the front door. The air in the block is dry and thick and smelly. There’s nobody around. When Nan first moved from her house to Tommy Whites she said it was like somebody had put her away on a shelf and forgot about her and she knew what a jar of lemon curd felt like. At least in Tommy Whites you can stand on the landing and see people in the square, meet them as you cross on the stairs or the landing. You could die here and nobody would miss you.

  I can hear the hum from Jackie’s small fridge in the kitchen. I get up, stand in a puddle that sits at its edge. My feet are wet and cold so I get another pair of socks from a carrier bag, look out of the window again and see a plane blink across the sky. Back in the cupboard I trace stains on the walls with my fingers, look down at the lines on my palms where Carol saw the planes, lots and lots of planes. Only for me taking the vanity case, we would’ve been friends. In my mind I can see Angela’s mum talking to Carol’s mum, calling at me over the landing, robbing little cow. I blink away the hot tears inside my eyes. I don’t care about any of them. I have this now. A place to sleep where nobody wants to harm me, or call me names.

  Next morning I get up, wash my hands and face, wait for Jackie to get up. I open all of the windows. Walk around in bare feet. My soles can feel the warmth from a patch of sunlight that slants in through the window. The sun lights up patterns in the floorboards. Layers and layers moulded into circles with bits sticking out. Soft bits, that don’t hurt. The broken arm on a chair that lifts up like revealing a secret, slot it back down as if it never happened. No clock on the fireplace, no clock in the kitchen. Her living room is empty of cupboards filled with junk. Everything is so simple here, two chairs, a telly, a table and a record player. No holy pictures on the wall, no mats on the floor. In the bathroom I fix the cream fluffy towels back to the way they were before I used them.

  These days my worries come in packs, like cigarettes. I worry about Jackie finding out about my lies and asking me to leave. I like it here. I don’t want to leave, don’t want Mum or Dad to find me. It’s late afternoon before I see her. She opens the living-room door in her underwear. ‘Shit,’ she says when she sees me. ‘I forgot about you.’ She comes back in the room wearing a man’s baggy shirt. She looks around the flat. ‘Hey, you like all of the windows open like I do,’ she says. ‘And you’ve tidied around. That’s great. Shouldn’t you be in school or something?’

  ‘What day is it?’ I ask.

  ‘Dunno, Friday?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Shit, no it’s Saturday.’

  I hear hurried voices from the bedroom. The toilet flushes. Jackie says bye to somebody, the front door closes.

  ‘I’ve got to go and see Dave.’

  ‘Who is Dave?’

  ‘My dad.’

  After she gets back, Jackie doesn’t speak for ages. She unties her shoes, steps out of them and walks into the kitchen. She makes us spaghetti on toast. We eat it on our lap in front of the telly; Jackie sits with one foot tucked under her leg.

  ‘Dave’s sick,’ she says when we’ve finished. ‘Won’t let me get a doctor. He says they killed Mum, botched up her operation.’ Tears fall down Jackie’s face. I don’t know what to do.

  I take our plates out into the kitchen, think of Nan and her bad leg. Fill the bowl with soapy water and let them soak.

  ‘How come your mum’s in hospital?’

  I hate lying to her. ‘An operation, I think.’

  ‘Your dad?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘No aunties or uncles?’

  I shake my head. That bit’s true.

  ‘Isn’t life crap?’

  I don’t answer. ‘I’ll wash the dishes.’

  ‘There’s only two plates and a pan. Let them soak until tomorrow. Sorry it’s just spaghetti, I’m hopeless at cooking.’

  ‘I can cook,’ I say.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I worked in a café in St Michael’s. I know how to make sausage on toast, bacon, eggs, a pan of scouse.’

  ‘Dave loves scouse.’

  ‘Have you got a big pan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Get the stuff and I’ll make a pan for all of us. We can take some to Dave next time.’

  ‘Okay. Crusty bread and butter?’

  ‘Crusty bread and butter. And beetroot?’

  She goes into the kitchen, comes back with an empty envelope and a pen. ‘Write a list,’ she says.

  Over the next couple of days I look through the gap in the living-room door. I see Jackie let in a bald man wearing blue jeans too tight for him, a man with bushy red hair and brown lace-up shoes. A younger man, with a slicked up collar and cream trousers. I think about what would happen if they all turned up together. What would they say and which one would Jackie choose that night?

  One night, after we have had our tea, I ask her if she loves them.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your dates.’

  ‘Dave thought he loved my mum more than his own life. She put up with him. He was propped up against a bar most nights, went with women behind her back. He was lucky she didn’t kill him. And Sylvia, left with the kids while Bernie ran away to sea. All I’ve seen is what’s not love. I made up my mind years ago. I want no part of that. It doesn’t mean a thing.’

  That night Jackie wakes me up. She wanders around the flat, lifting up the chairs, rooting in the kitchen drawers, tips everything to the floor.
She is looking for something. I feel around the wall for a light switch, follow her into the bathroom. She flings the dirty washing out of the basket onto the floor. ‘What are you looking for?’ I ask.

  She doesn’t answer. I watch her in her underwear filling the dark places in the flat with her search. In the end I take her hand and lead her back towards the bedroom. I don’t want her to see the mess in the morning so I pick everything up; put it back where it’s meant to be. Next day she remembers nothing except that she woke up in bed when it was still dark, and she was shivering, her cheeks wet with tears. I want to put my arms around her, but don’t.

  30

  Outside school I watch him smoke. It’s early for him to be up. He can’t have had any money to go out last night. I’m behind a wall in the shadows where he can’t see me, next to St Josephine’s church. When the last kid has gone in, the bell rings but he doesn’t move. I can see the final stragglers leg it through the gate. If he doesn’t move soon Mr McGann will lock the gates. I feel like making a run for it away from here, just keeping going until I run out of pavement. He throws his cigarette to the floor, and with the sole of his shoe squashes it dead.

  It’s the last day of school before we break up for Christmas. Angela said she would give the present to Mrs O’Connor on the last day and I want to see her face when she opens it. I’ve got Anne of Green Gables in my pocket to hand in. When I look back over the road, he’s gone. I give it a few more minutes to be sure before I walk through the gate.

  I go all the way around the back of the school; stoop down on my knees when I come to a window so no teachers will see me. Inside the classroom the register has already been called. ‘Morning, Robyn,’ Mrs O’Connor says. ‘You feeling better now?’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ I say.

  ‘Your mum’s been up to tell Mrs Bullock. Good to see you back. Measles, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  I can see a carrier bag at Angela’s feet. At first play we get all of the girls from our class into the toilets. We take out the silky nightdress and show them it. There’s loads of ooooos and ahhhhs then somebody spots the price tag. Angela winks over at me. ‘Me and Robyn had to put the rest to it because we didn’t have enough,’ she says.

  After play, Angela gives Mrs O’Connor the present and she says, ‘Oh my God.’ She scans the room. Her eyes rest on every single one of us in turn. When they stop on me I think she’s going to shout and say stuff about the difference between right and wrong, but she doesn’t. She stands, presses the straps of the nightdress against her shoulders, shakes her head. ‘You’ve got to be joking.’ Turns it inside out and reads the label. She shakes her head again.

  Somebody shouts, ‘Try it on, miss.’ She wriggles it on over her clothes and laughs. Wraps the gown around herself and gives us a twirl. It makes me smile.

  ‘Do you like it, miss?’ Rose asks.

  ‘Unbelievable,’ she says and shakes her head again.

  Outside, after dinner, I sit on the floor in a corner of the playground with Rose. She is saying something about a Christmas disco in the youth club. Angela looks across at me from the other side of the playground and smiles. I smile back. ‘Over here,’ she shouts. I tell Rose I won’t be a minute. Angela stands beside two girls; she whispers something to them and just before I get there they all roar laughing. Angela turns to me, ‘I was telling Tracy and Kate how much of a laugh we had. You’re a great robber. They want to come next time. It must be brilliant to go out and be able to take anything you want.’

  I stare at her like I am trying to turn her into pressed powder. Push my thumb against the tip of my middle finger, watch her mouth move but hear no sounds. That’s still all I am, a robber. It’s just a game to her, a penny peep show for everybody to take a look at. Soon the whole school will know, more people with lists asking me for favours. Some people like to take things away from you and watch as you disappear.

  I got the present because I wanted Angela to be my friend. To change the way she thought about me. To be like everybody else, but I had done it the wrong way. I made myself different again. I push my face right into her face. ‘Fuck off, pissy arse,’ I say and walk away.

  Rose waits for me at the gate. ‘Coming to the Christmas disco at the youthy?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Friday. I’ll meet you there at seven?’

  I think about Jackie and how she might not mind if I stay at the disco till the end. ‘Okay.’

  Bernie waits for me by the phone box. ‘Your mum’s been in every square asking about you. She says she’s been walking the streets day and night searching.’

  ‘You didn’t …’

  ‘I didn’t say a word, but Nellie told her she saw you on a bus once doing a message for my mum. She knocked at our door and Mum spoke to her and they both started crying. Everyone thinks something bad’s happened to you.’

  ‘I can’t let them find me, Bernie.’

  ‘Your mum’s gonna go to the police soon. She’s only put it off cos your dad’s wanted for not paying fines. My mum thinks there’s more to it than fines; she says if any of her kids went missing she’d go to the police straight away. I’ve got a feeling my mum’s gonna go and tell the pigs about you being missing. You’ve got to tell our Jackie the truth.’

  ‘She’ll kick me out.’

  ‘Why don’t you go back home?’

  ‘No. I’m never going back.’

  ‘Tell our Jackie the truth before she talks to Mum.’

  ‘I’ll tell her.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I’ll tell her tonight.’

  Jackie calls me into the kitchen. Shows me what she’s bought. ‘I got it all,’ she says, like a big kid. ‘Dave will be made up, can’t wait to see his face.’ She stops talking and looks at me. ‘What’s wrong, Robyn?’ Her face is close to mine. ‘Is it your mum?’

  I shake my head, tell her everything. About my mum and how she’s not really in hospital and how I’ve run away from home, and how I’m a filthy rotten liar. I start to cry then because I’m scared she’ll make me go back to Tommy Whites. ‘Let’s go and sit down,’ she says. In the living room, Jackie pulls her chair close to mine. My hands are shaking and I’m crying like a baby.

  ‘What are you frightened of, Robyn?’

  I can’t speak.

  ‘Are you scared to go home?’

  It’s like Jackie is reading my mind. I nod.

  ‘Why?’

  I don’t answer.

  ‘You’ve run away before?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘I’ll make us a drink and then I want you to tell me what’s happened, okay?’

  While she’s in the kitchen I try to find the words in my head that don’t sound stupid. My dad beats me up. Stupid. He’s going to kill me. Stupid. I can’t find a way that doesn’t make it all sound stupid. In my head it sounds too mad, like I’m making it all up. Jackie hands me a cup. I put it on the floor by my chair then Jackie sits down.

  ‘Once,’ she says, ‘when I was little, I’d gone shopping with my mum. We had bags and bags of food and the bus in front of us was about to pull away. Mum told me to run on ahead and stop it. When I got on the bus, the driver let me on but closed the doors and pulled away without my mum. I panicked, started shouting and screaming at him. I thought he was trying to kidnap me. I didn’t realize he was driving the bus to Mum, not away from her. I felt like a fool but I remember the relief I felt when she got on. Your mum and dad are probably panicking about you. I think whatever you’ve done, once you’re home they’ll be made up to see you, the rest won’t matter.’

  For a moment I believe her. I see them on the step waving at me, not angry but glad to see I’m all right. Then I think about how I feel living here with Jackie. Waking up without being scared, the way she knows nothing about me and what I am. Here, I’m a brand new Robyn with a brand new future and I know leaving Tommy Whites to start again was the right thing to do.

  ‘No, I’m not going back. My dad is
going to kill me.’

  ‘Once he sees you …’

  ‘He hates me. He wants me dead.’

  ‘We all say stuff in an argument.’

  I’m not saying it right. Tears sting my eyes. ‘When I’m in Tommy Whites, I feel like I’m trapped on a bus like you were and there’s no way off. My face squashed flat against the glass so I don’t feel like me any more. The day before I left home, Mum was out. He’d painted the step. I stood in it by accident. He had his hands tight around my neck. Told me how he’s waiting to squeeze the life out of me. He really does want to kill me. He hates me. You haven’t seen the way he looks at me. I’m scared of him, Jackie. The same scared you felt on the bus.’

  Jackie is quiet. We sit for a long time without saying a word. In the end, she calls me into the kitchen and says, ‘Come on then, let’s get cracking with this pan of scouse.’ In the kitchen, I tell her it’s easy. She helps me chop everything up and toss it into the pan. Carrots, onion, potatoes, salt, pepper, an OXO then lob in the meat and bring it all to the boil. ‘Dave will love this,’ she says once it’s ready.

  Jackie gets dressed up, turns the telly on loud, tells me she has a date in the flat and I’m to stay in the living room. I’m never supposed to see her date. That’s the way she likes it. Being with Jackie during the day is better. When I tell her about Rose and the disco she lets me try on her clothes and shoes, gives me a few bits she doesn’t wear any more. She shows me how to put make-up on, blue glittery eye shadow, turns her records up loud and shows me how to dance. Over the noise she shouts, ‘Ever heard of the Bay City Rollers?’

  ‘No,’ I shout back.

  We let the sounds twist us, bend and shake and whirl us all over the flat. Barefoot, Jackie clicks her ringed fingers around in circles. We laugh, hold hands and spin around. The sound of the music fills me like I’m a bubble about to burst, and when the laughter breaks us up we fall backwards into the chairs, eyes sparkling.

  Three of Jackie’s blouses hang up in her wardrobe. ‘Choose your favourite colour,’ she says. I choose a sky blue blouse with tiny pink roses on it.