by Claire Davis
My dad, he wouldn’t look me in the eye after. Things went back to normal in lots of ways—school then on to work—church—tea time—crying in the middle of the night and stabbing needles down into my nails. It didn’t matter how far I dug down, wasn’t ever far enough. He carried on like it never happened. I don’t suppose any stranger would have noticed the averted eyes or slight sneer of the lip, but I did. His purple rage consumed and grew, and I disappeared somewhere in all that aubergine.
It was an awful, colourless thing. I’d tried to think back before, looking for signs but found only an ordinary Mum and Dad who had a kid when they were already into middle age. And if I couldn’t blame them—who else was there? Nobody but eighteen-year-old me. I learned well the meaning of the word shame.
Shame.
Yellow shame.
Up until the night dad had turned up in my bedroom holding my coat, I was probably the unhappiest young man in all of Bradford.
“Where are we going?” I’d said, in a panic. The last time he'd done that, it was off to the ‘therapy’ for me. “There won’t be any trains now!”
“Church.”
I didn’t argue but went cold all over expecting another bout of public praying to cure me of my condition...Halls of people staring with hollow eyes of death and condemnation. I knew I couldn’t get through it again.
“Please, Dad. We don’t need to go there. I’m over it now,” I’d begged on the short walk there. “Please. I’ll do anything!”
“Will you give over!” Mum had snapped. “And don’t show me up.” She’d pulled the edges of her coat closer together and stalked off ahead down the dark pathway. At the side of the road, a fox ran away into the distance, his paws flying along in time with my terrified heart.
“Don’t you dare speak,” Dad threatened. “Or you’ll feel my hand.”
But no-one was waiting except the vicar, who ushered us inside. “Lovely to see you,” he beamed. “What a beautiful evening.”
Inside the room, Kathy and her parents sat. They were part of the church group, so of course I knew them well. When we were little, she'd always stuck up for me when the boys started pushing me around. Self-obsessed as I was, still I could see something was terribly wrong. Kathy had been crying, and one side of her face was an angry red. I didn’t want to look at that but I couldn’t look away either.
“Sit down,” the vicar said smoothly. “No need for introductions. We all know why we’re here.”
“I don’t know,” Kathy’s Mum said. “I don’t think—”
“Week on Saturday. I’ve booked the ceremony, so we don’t have to talk about that. Obviously, the flowers are down to you, and I won’t say no to a donation. There are some very needy people in this group requiring financial assistance.” From outside the window an owl hooted, and somehow that sound gave me the strength not to run.
“What about after?” my Mum said.
“I’ve thought about that. It’s best if they live with you to start with because Tom has no siblings whereas Kathy does. You’ve got more room at your house.”
A noise began to erupt from Kathy—quiet at first like a kettle far away—then louder and louder until it turned into a shriek as loud as the trains. Red danger radiated from her slight figure. I couldn’t look because it hurt my eyes. “It’s not right!” she shouted. “No!”
Her dad leaped up and banged her right across the face. “You should have thought about that before, shouldn’t you?”
Kathy fell on the floor against my knees and all I could think was one time when we were kids swimming in the canal, and she’d got stuck under the water on the reeds. I jumped in and pulled her out from the murky greens, and we’d agreed never to tell our parents. A pact had been made. Sometimes you have to cling to whatever you can.
I wasn’t brave enough to shout back at her dad—was shaking like a sheep’s wool on the moor—but I got down on the floor and hugged her, so he’d have to hit me first. Her lovely red hair was a mess, and my heart beat like water when it flooded through the canal locks. “Don’t cry.”
“Now that’s enough. This is a place of God, not a public house.” I could hear the vicar’s voice and then my parents joining in but Kathy and I crawled away into a corner.
“I’m pregnant. Been seeing Jim Bains but now he’s joined the army,” she whispered. “They want to send me away to kill the baby but I won’t. Tried to run away. Dad locked me in. Then the vicar came round and said I’d have to get married, but Jim’s done a runner.” She was beautiful, eyes the colour of conkers and hair like fire. One of her eyes was starting to turn red from the blow. “I’m not giving the baby up.” She sobbed against my chest. For some reason, I thought of the fox and owl, and the baby growing inside her body. “Don’t let them kill it, Tom.” She crawled under the table like an injured bird.
“They want me to marry you instead of Jim?”
“Yeah. They said it’ll solve everyone’s problems but I dunno what that means. I’ll jump off a bridge if they hurt the baby.”
“You won’t have to. I’ll marry you and be your baby’s daddy. We’ll love him and look after him and get away from this lot.” I pulled her up and turned to face the arguing. I should have said something then—anything—but I didn’t. Inside I was screaming and thumping those bastards, but all I did was hold Kathy’s hand.
My dad looked directly at me and nodded once. That was all our fates sealed. I never said a word—not a single word, even though if I had, the course of history might’ve been very different. They married us off and for ages after we slept in my childhood bed while I saved up to move us out.
After the wedding, Mum and dad stopped talking to me like dirt and Kathy trained to be a hairdresser. At night we’d lay there talking in bed until midnight, which is where she found out about my condition, and then the ‘cure.’ I’d hear the birds singing again, and would see colours on the trees where before there had been only grey dust. I drew pictures of foxes and birds, ready for the baby. They turned into whole books. People would say it was wrong, what we did.
But things were different, then.
I breathed deeply.
Mum had lived in that same house all her life. I parked outside, wondering if there was any point at all—whatsoever—when the net curtain pulled back, and she appeared. Poor old Mum, she’d been lonely since Dad died.
“Coming.” I opened the car door.
“Hello, love. I was looking out for the postman. Lou always sends a letter mid-week.”
“Hello, Mum.” I kissed her cheek. “I’ll have to do that fence again.”
“Yes, it came down in the wind last night. Why aren’t you at work?”
“I’m taking a few hours this week to sort out a few things.”
“Lovely, I expect you needed a break. Have you seen my new picture? I got you one made, too. That supermarket on the junction does them now.”
The picture was a beauty I’d seen many times. Lou about six, digging the garden with dad. Dirt on her face and a worm in her hand. Dad was laughing. The funny thing was, she'd brought out the best in him. That man had worshiped the ground Lou stood on. He'd put up with years of kiddie mess: arty endeavours, baking, painting his toe nails, window decorations—she even did his hair. Once the neighbour across the road came banging at his door to complain she’d kicked a ball through their window and instead of telling Lou off, he’d said never mind, anyone can make mistakes. From the minute he first saw her, he'd promised not to hurt a single hair of her head, and he never did.
“I love that picture, Mum.” I kissed her again. “See how Dad’s wearing those beads?” We laughed together. “Must have been her princess phase.”
“Lou’s up this weekend, isn’t she? Bless her—she’s working ever so hard now in that gallery. Don’t forget you promised to take me there one day. Dad would have loved that.” She sniffed.
My stomach lurched. There was no way I could do this.
“Funny milk for you, love?”
“Oh dear, that’s not very good. Is it that boss again?”
“No, Mum.”
“Agatha was telling me...” And off she went. She’d met Loz, though I admit I didn’t bring him until after dad died. Any time I'd mentioned Dad to Loz, his lips went pale and white, so I thought it best. Last visit, Loz fixed her drain, and she baked him a ginger cake. She never asked, and I didn’t say anything. Things ticked along like spring after winter.
I looked again at Lou and dad. She was so brave, my little girl, going all that way to study and then getting the highest marks. My Lou was the first kid from her school to get to college.
The same clock from my childhood ticked loudly in the kitchen, and it was time.
“This is for you.” The invite sat on the table between us. “If you want, Loz says his nephew will pick you up and take you home again so no need to worry about that. You can be home by four.” I gabbled on as if getting home at a reasonable hour was the only thing to worry about.
She sipped her tea, but her eyes kept glancing down at the envelope. “I’ll open it later. So then, Agatha says...”
“I better get off, Mum; I only took a few hours leave today.” I kissed her. “I’ll fix that fence after I come back from my honeymoon.”
“Lovely, dear. I’ll do us that casserole you love.”
Maybe she didn’t hear.
“Bye then.” I looked back and smiled, at her and the old photo. “Bye, Dad.”
“Don’t you go ruining Lou’s life with all that rubbish, now—the way you did ours.” She shut the door, and I managed to drive around the corner before the tears fell.
****
There was a lot to consider, but I was going to do it before Loz got home, in case it went tits up. Because whatever happened I didn’t want him—ever—to think badly of her. Yes, I’d do it that night.
Seeing Mum was draining, so I stopped the car alongside Lister Park to drink some water.
Of course, they’d built a new play area here for the kids. Hikmat told me he brought his grandchildren on Saturdays, and then they go into Cartwright Hall and look at the pictures like I once did with my Lou. I used to know all the opening hours to the galleries and attractions—the free ones, anyway.
Because what can you do with a little girl when you have next to no money living in an empty flat alone? All her friends would go to those activity places with all the balls, but I had no money even for ice creams. She would get bored, and I’d feel like the worst dad ever. The neighbour's kids would be going to the cinema or the fair, so that is when I pooled my resources and used the only skill I’ve ever had. Drawing.
We went to children’s arts and crafts, made reed boats on the canal, took photos of the buildings at Saltaire, and collected leaves in the woods, then back home with ruddy cheeks to make our collages. I wouldn’t have survived without those free places and my pencils. And she watched me drawing, copied. That is how art saved my life and gave me the best relationship with my daughter, Lou-Lou Belle, my Mona Lisa.
One time she’d asked me about weddings. “Daddy? How do you know when it’s time to get married?” I'd coughed into my coffee a bit, because how the hell would I know? Then I remembered the fox and the owl when Kathy and I were at the ghastly meeting.
“Well, because you love someone very much.”
“What else?”
“You’ll see it all around, in the colours and the sounds.” By then, I’d known she had the colours too. Sometimes when she was upset or excited all her senses got jumbled up, the same way mine did. Once she wrote a story for school about smelling the sun with her fingers. Her teacher made corrections, but I knew that story had no errors except she’d spelled sun with a z.
“The animals will tell me?”
“Yes. All the birds will sing when it’s time.”
“And the pigs, and horses?”
“Exactly.”
And then she got into drawing weddings so we’d had fox weddings all over the kitchen for years and years...
The sun was out across Cartwright Hall, sending streaks of fire into the tall trees. On Saturday I was getting married to the world’s best man. I could phone her there, sitting on a bench near the hall where we had so many happy times.
She should have finished work for the day, though I supposed artists worked funny hours depending on their level of inspiration. I felt calm, sitting there in that lovely place where nothing bad could happen. I called, but it rang and rang before going to the answer message.
“Hello, darling. Just your old dad calling to tell you he loves you.”
And then my stomach lurched which meant I had to get home very quickly to the toilet.
****
“Only me!” I called, racing for the bathroom.
“Hello gorgeous,” Loz called back. “You poor thing.”
Bloody Nora, but I made it by seconds. If I didn’t calm down between now and Saturday it may well turn out to be the most interesting wedding Saltaire had ever seen. Hah-hah. And me with white trousers!
“Dear God,” I whispered. “Jen will have a field day.”
I made my way downstairs to the delicious aromas of cooking. After years of living alone, I doubt anyone could ever get used to the luxury of coming home to another person, especially not one like Loz.
“You suffering today?” he asked, as I slipped myself around him and squeezed. “You gave Edith her invite?” I squeezed harder, because he guessed and because I had the need. “Eee, you big bear.” He turned around, still in my arms, and appraised me. “She said no?”
“She didn’t say no.”
“Oh. But she didn’t say yes either?”
“She didn’t open it.” The heat began rising through my chest and neck at the way you did ours remark. There was only me to hear but still, I was exposed. “She knew what it was.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting her to have a total eclipse of the heart.” He kissed me. “Did you?”
“No, not really. She gave me that look.” I wanted him to be outraged, and call Mum names. His own parents were much better, as long as no-one really talked about it, things were as they were.
“Oh darling, don’t let it get to you. Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t come then. She knew what it was?”
“I could tell. And I’ve dropped enough hints the last few months. She always knows more than she lets on.” He laughed and kissed my nose. I was engulfed by heady orange blossom. My shoulders sagged, and all my muscles went loose. I was home. Mum was Mum. Old wounds could never be healed.
“Doesn’t everyone?” He leaned right into my neck, pushing us close together. “God I can’t wait ‘til next week. Two weeks of getting you all to myself.”
“Mm. Where did you say we’re going again?” I rolled my head back so he could kiss around my collar bone. Sometimes I thought it shameful that when I got to Loz, the world faded away into the realms of off into the distance...Shameful, exciting, and wonderful.
“Iceland. Or is it Clackton?” He started undoing my shirt buttons. “Dinner won’t be ready for an hour or so...But I am.”
Being wanted, really wanted. The urgency in his eyes and hands undid me every time. His arousal made my heart thunder and the breath catch in broken gasps. All the years of making bargains with myself—if I had a male friend, I’d be happy—if I could experience one kiss, it’d be enough—but it was all rubbish because once I met Loz, I wanted it all. I wanted it at least once a day and then needed it for the rest of my life.
He quickly took off my shirt and began on my trousers. Desire was all over his face and probably mine too.
“What if someone sees?” An old game we both loved.
The kitchen window could theoretically be seen by the
neighbours—a young couple. We both knew they never got home until at least eight o’clock.
“Well, they’re bound to. Probably gives them an appetite.” He pulled me into the bedroom laughing, me stumbling with trousers around my ankles.
****
“What’s that buzzing sound?” Loz kept asking over dinner. “Can you hear it?”
“Oh, probably a gadget next door.” It was my phone, vibrating against the drawer where I threw it. If I'd switched it off, she’d know I was avoiding her, but this way it might seem like I didn’t hear.
“Are you all right? You’re a bit quiet.”
“Course I am. It’s my stomach giving me trouble.”
“We both know it’s not just that, Tom.” He waved an asparagus spear. We watched it fly across the space where I hadn’t told Lou, white and brittle like ice.
“I’m sorry. I’ll call her tonight.” The ice settled in my heart. I could easily cry.
“Aw, love. I’m not cross with you. Come here.” He got to me quickly and pulled me in. His neck was melon warm. “I hate to see you back yourself into a corner.”
I suppose it did look like that, when I was trying to knock through all the dark corners and cobwebs to let in colour. Bloody corners.
“I thought it would get easier, once I started telling other people.”
“But it hasn’t?”
“Nope.”
“Is it?” He hesitated. “Is it that you think she’ll see you differently?”
“How do you mean?”
“See you less of a dad and more of a person—with urges and that.”
“Urges.” I laughed into his neck, before kissing him again. “Yes, a bit—I suppose—I need to go and visit the cemetery. Will you come with me?”
“Can we have a pint after in the Lion?”
“Deal.”
****
Such a beautiful spot, the cemetery. From up in the fields you could see Baildon Moor, and I think he would’ve liked that. When I used to bring Lou after tea on Sundays, she would sometimes count sheep or skipped round the stones playing games.