Disappearing Home (12 page)

I hear the squashed sound of voices from next door's telly coming through the wall.

Mr Wainwright coughs, picks up his case, tries to open the zip but it won't budge. He puts it back down on the floor, pinches the crease line down the front of his trousers. He opens his mouth; words fly through the still air like peas coming out of a shooter. ‘No, I mean talk to her somewhere private.'

Dad puts the paper down and fixes his eyes on Mr Wainwright. ‘Are you telling me to get out of my own living room?'

‘No, no. I'm not. Can I speak with Robyn in another room is, I suppose, what I'm saying.'

Dad looks at me and nods.

I walk towards my bedroom. Mr Wainwright follows.

‘You've got five minutes,' Dad shouts after him.

I walk over to the window and open it as wide as I can.

‘How are you, Robyn?'

I look at his hands. No pen.

‘Fine.'

‘Look, before we start, I'd like to say thanks for …'

‘That's okay.'

‘Are you all right?'

‘Fine.'

‘Look, if there's anything you need to tell me, I'll listen.'

No answer.

‘Is there anything?'

I sit down on the bed. I want to tell him everything. To tell some stranger all about how my dad hates me because I am not like the other kids. I am a clumsy, lanky always-in-the-way cow. And how I'm so thick, I don't even know what it is I've done. All I know is that it makes him hit me. I make him hit me.

‘Robyn?'

There's a creak outside my room door.

Mr Wainwright looks at the door then back at me. The moment has gone.

‘So, Robyn, what is your favourite subject in school?'

‘I like all subjects, probably reading stories best.'

‘Can I use the bathroom please?'

I get up. ‘I'll show you where it is.'

Mr Wainwright opens the door fast but there's nobody there.

He comes back from the bathroom and whispers, ‘Robyn, Mr Merryville rang me. He wanted me to make sure you're all right. I'm here to make sure you're okay. Does your father ever lose his temper with you?'

‘No,' I say, disgusted with myself.

‘Has he ever hit you?'

‘I just told you. No.'

‘Has he hit your mum?'

My throat cracks. ‘No.'

‘Never?'

‘Never.'

‘Is there anything else you're scared of?'

For a minute I say nothing.

‘I used to be scared … of faces I saw in the wallpaper.'

‘Used to be?'

I nod.

‘And now?'

‘Now I think if they were going to get me they'd have done it by now.'

It's Mr Wainwright's turn to go quiet. I want to scream at him to leave me alone. There's nothing he can do to help me. In the end he says, ‘Where's your mum?'

‘Gone on a message for a few bits; she'll be back soon.'

‘Right.' His eyes behind the glasses are two bits of stone.

‘If you need to talk, tell Mr Merryville and he'll contact me. I'm on your side, you know. I can help.'

Once he's gone Dad calls me into the living room.

‘You did good telling that prick nothing. Tell them too much and they'll turn it against you. Take you away. Into a home, God knows where, Scotland, or some other miserable hole. You'll never see your mum or your nan again.' He presses a finger to his lip. ‘So make sure you keep that shut.' He stands, pokes a finger into my cheek. ‘You hear me?'

‘Yes,' I say. ‘I hear you.'

‘You seen your mother?'

‘No.'

‘She'll be back,' he says to himself, then sits back down in the chair with his paper.

‘Can I play out?' I ask.

He doesn't answer.

‘Can I play out for a bit?'

‘Don't move out of the square.'

B
ernie is walking through our square.

‘All right?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Cool bike, Robyn. Mad colour though. Giz a takey through to our square?'

I look up at our landing. Dad's not there. He must be still reading the paper. I push my belly right up to the front of the bike. ‘Get on.' I have never given a takey before and I'm surprised by the added weight. When I try to pedal away the bike wobbles all over the place and Bernie starts laughing his head off.

‘Can't you give takeys?' he says.

‘What does it look like?'

‘Like you can't.'

‘So?'

‘So, get to the back of the seat and I'll show you.'

‘In a minute,' I say.

I stand up and walk the bike through to the big square. Bernie follows me. When we are far enough away, I get back on, Bernie grips the handlebars. He makes it seem so easy. I tuck my feet up
on the bar, knees out to the side, holding onto the backrest behind. It's brilliant. I lean in when Bernie does, lean out again, unable to see what's ahead. Racing across the big square, the middle of Bernie's neck hidden under the greasy feathers of his hair, the wind wipes away his lobby smell. ‘You okay?' he shouts.

‘Yes,' I shout back, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. We're in his square in no time. He gets off the bike, hands it back to me.

‘See, easy. It was like I was riding it on my own. You must have hollow bones,' he says. ‘Try again.'

‘You're heavier than me, though.'

‘That doesn't matter. It's about skill.' He gets on the bike behind me.

I try to pedal away, but the bike tilts sideways.

‘It does matter. A heavy person is harder to pull.'

He jumps off, stamps one foot in front, pretends to run at me.

‘Are you trying to say I'm fat?'

I laugh at his bony frame.

‘Are yer? Cos if yer are, you'd better run.'

Bernie's mum shouts him from over the landing.

‘Coming?' he asks.

He lifts my bike all the way up the stairs. He's out of breath by the time we get to the top landing, four flights up. Bernie's mum is waiting on the step. She smiles at me.

‘Hiya, Robyn from the front square.'

I smile.

Bernie's face is red and blotchy.

‘Jesus, Bernie, get yourself a drink of water before you die.'

Bernie disappears inside the flat.

‘I hear you know Joan, a friend of mine.'

I shake my head.

‘It is you, who got her grandson that lovely suit he wore for his christening, isn't it?'

I can feel my face redden.

‘It's Johnny's shoes. They've only gone too small. Do you know that shop around by Dolly's that sells kids' stuff? The little wool shop?'

I nod.

‘There's some in there. He's a little size ten. Would you run around and see what's what? I'll pay you.'

Bernie comes back on the landing.

‘Bernie, check on Johnny for me.'

When he's gone back in she starts to talk again. ‘I have all lads. They won't look twice at a girl. Here.' She shoves five pence in my hand. ‘Buy him a pair of socks. I'll mind your bike.'

‘Can I lend a coat?' I say.

She passes me a green anorak that fits fine. ‘Go on now, be careful.'

When I get around to the wool shop I look through the window. There are no customers inside. I wait for a while, until a couple of women go in together. I walk in behind them and see the little shoes in a box on the counter. The size is printed in blue ink on the side of each box. Inside the size ten box there is a pair of navy blue sandals with a silver buckle and tiny little pin holes that make a half-moon across the front.

The woman behind the counter turns her back to find wool for one of the women. I don't listen to what they say, I'm only checking in which direction they are looking. My hand reaches inside the box, I grab one shoe, stuff it in the side pocket of the anorak. I wait for her to turn again, my hand ready to pounce. The other lady orders some blue wool and the woman behind the counter turns again. I'm fast. I have both shoes in my pockets and I'm not
stopping to buy any socks. The lady behind the counter smiles at me. ‘I'll be with you now.'

‘It's okay.' I turn towards the door.

One of the women says, ‘She's probably forgotten the message.'

‘Kids,' the woman behind the counter says. ‘Who'd have 'em?'

They all laugh.

When I get back to Bernie's, his mum is waiting. ‘How did you do?'

I pull the two shoes from my pockets at the same time, like a magician.

‘Clever girl, Robyn.' She strokes their bubbly cream soles.

‘I didn't need to get the socks.' I hand the five pence back.

‘Oh, you're an angel. Keep that for sweets. Do you want to come in for some bread and jam?'

I want to say yes but I remember I'm supposed to stay in my square, and I want to see if Mum's back. ‘No thanks. I'll have to go. Tell Bernie I'll see him later.'

‘See you later then. I'm going to try these on Johnny. He'll love them.'

And I love doing something that helps Bernie's mum, Sylvia, out.

A white van is in our square. Gangs of kids surround it. On tiptoes, they peer in its windows, try handles, pinch tyres, lift up windscreen wipers like arms, wave goodbye with them. On my landing, two men are edging their way out of our door, carrying the television. Everyone is out looking down over their landings. I take the stairs two at a time to find out what's happening.

Mum is back. I wrap my arms around her, the smell of smoke in her hair. Dad is shouting at the men. Mum smiles at me. ‘I only went to my mate Eileen's house for the night, give that bastard a scare. Let him know what side his bread's buttered on.' She
winks. ‘It seems to have worked. And, anyway, I can be a pain in the neck myself at times, no wonder he gets a cob on. He won't lay a finger on me again, Robyn. I mean it. If he does, I've told him, I'm walking.'

‘I don't like it when you go without telling me.'

‘I should've told you.'

‘Next time, if you go …'

‘There won't be a next time. Had to sleep on an ancient settee that was bust in the middle; done my back in.'

‘But if you do?'

‘I'll take you with me.'

The two men come back upstairs, pick up my Chopper bike, take the radio from Mum's room, and leave. We watch out of the kitchen window as they lift the bike into the van. I can't help feeling pleased when they lock it away in the back of the van for ever. It never felt like it was mine. Most of the time when I took it out, I was scared of breaking it or getting a puncture. The engine starts and three lads sit on the back bumper; they hold onto the handle of the van, trying to sneak a takey. The men get back out of the van and chase them off. Once the van begins to move they jump back on again and the crowd roars. Mum hands me a glossy catalogue. ‘Throw that down the chute.'

We sit in the living room together. Without the noise from the television everything can be heard. The sound of a newspaper page being turned, the shish of Mum's American Tan tights as she crosses her legs, an ice cream van in the big square playing
London Bridge Is Falling Down.
The silence thickens and grows like a giant boil that can't be burst with a pin. Something on the inside needs to give.

‘What're we gonna do now for money?' Dad says.

‘I've got a job,' Mum announces.

Dad looks up from the newspaper but says nothing.

‘In St Michael's Market.'

He folds the newspaper away, pushes it under the cushion of his chair.

‘Doing what?' he asks.

‘Serving, on a counter.'

‘What counter?'

‘The Nut Centre.'

‘The fucking nut centre? That'll suit you down to the ground, you cracked cow.'

‘Eileen, my mate from school, knows the boss and she put in a word. I start on Monday.'

Mum has been there for about a week when Dad takes me into town to see her. We take the bus without speaking. There are lots of steps to climb up to St Michael's Market. Inside, it's full of glass windows and shop doors on either side of us, selling clothes, food, jewellery and furniture. The part where Mum works is inside a set of double doors. The stalls are like square boxes, with a gap to walk in, they are close together. I can smell coffee and bacon cooking. It's early in the morning and not many people are around.

We find the Nut Centre. Piles of different types of nuts behind a long glass counter. Mum is behind the counter. She wears a lemon overall with
Nut Centre
written on her top pocket. She sings,
Yes, please?
to the customers.

Dad pulls me away, puts a coin in my hand. ‘Go over and buy two ounces of salted peanuts. Don't call her Mum. Wait for the change. You hear?'

Mum's eyes flash when she sees me at the counter. ‘Yes, please?' she says.

‘Two ounces of salted peanuts, please,' I say to my mum, who shines, being somebody else.

With a big smile, she hands me the bag.

I hand her the coins and wait.

Behind me a man waits to be served.

A lady walks past pushing a pram, the baby drops out his teddy and bursts into tears. I bend down to pick it up.

‘Here's your change.' Mum smiles at me above the counter.

I turn back round, hold out my hand.

She counts it out. ‘That's one pound, four notes make five. Thank you.'

I close my fingers around the pile of money and turn to walk away.

‘That'd be safer in a paper bag,' the man behind me says. ‘Sending a kid out with money like that for nuts, it's asking for trouble.'

Mum's face reddens. She holds her hand out and takes the money back.

‘Who are you with?' he asks me.

‘My dad; he's over there waiting for me. I'm okay.'

Mum hands me the money back in a paper bag. ‘Be careful,' she says then turns to the man. ‘Yes, please?'