Disappearing Home (23 page)

It's Saturday, so town is busy. We find a large shop that has four floors. ‘What do you want for her?' I ask.

‘I'm not sure.' She takes out a list. ‘When she went to the cupboard to get me a new exercise book, I checked inside her cardigan. I wrote it down, she's a size fourteen. I made a list of ideas: bag, cardigan, pyjamas, purse. What do you think?'

We browse through rails for ages. Nothing seems right until we find the nightwear. ‘Feel this,' Angela says. I run my fingers across the fabric. It feels the way chocolate éclairs taste. A long nightdress with thin straps, a nightgown over it to match.

‘That's silk,' a voice says behind us. ‘Beautiful, isn't it?'

The lady is beautiful. Dark hair built up on top of her head like it's waiting for a tiara. ‘If you're looking for a gift for your mum, chocolates might be more affordable.' She walks away.

‘She'd love that,' I say.

Angela looks at the price tags. ‘Jesus, have you seen this?'

I unfasten my coat. Look behind me. The lady is talking to a customer on the other side of the store. I take the hanger off the rail, roll them both around it and stuff the lot inside my duffel coat. Angela collapses on the floor laughing. Her hand cups the middle of her skirt.

I fasten up my coat. ‘Angela, get up,' I say, looking across the shop. I sound like a teacher. Her face is purple and there's a dark patch in the middle of her skirt. ‘I've peed,' she says.

‘I don't care.' I start to walk away. ‘Get up now, or you'll get us caught.'

Angela stands. ‘I'm sorry but when you …' Her face grows dark.

‘Are you all right?' The lady is behind me. I can feel the nightgown slip down too low inside my coat. I make my eyes big at Angela so she'll walk away.

‘Oh, you poor thing,' the lady says, looking at Angela's skirt. ‘Of all places for that to start; give me a minute, I've got a packet in my bag.' She walks away.

I don't know what she's talking about, but I do know I've got to get out. I make my way down the stairs; take them three at a time. At the bottom I look back, Angela is behind me. She's taken off her jacket and is tying it around her waist. Once we are outside I see the 17C bus and start to run. Angela's face is bright red; she can't stop laughing. She runs with her legs wide open; drops of pee dribble down the inside of her leg, yellow stains on the top of her white socks. We laugh all the way home on the bus. A lady shouts across at us, ‘Are you two wearing mohair knickers?' This sets us off laughing even louder.

T
he next day, I can see Nan watching for me from her window. Hear her voice when I'm in the hall. ‘Hurry up, Robyn, you're late. I'm going out tonight, believe it or not, with a man.'

‘Who?'

‘He'll be in the Throstles Nest at eight o'clock and his name's Eddie.'

I sit down in my place on the settee,
Anne of Green Gables
in my pocket. Nan brings in a box of day-old cakes from Sayers. She puts the box under my nose. ‘You get first choice, putting yourself out for an old codger like me.'

I take an egg custard. ‘You're not that old, Nan, you've got a date.'

‘It's not a date,' she says, taking a cake from the box. ‘It's a meeting that's all, with loads of other people around.' She takes the empty box into the kitchen.

I take out the book, the sun comes out and lights up a half–moon shape on one side of the page.

‘I might not go yet,' Nan says. ‘If I do, I'll be the talk of the wash house.' In front of the mirror she pats her hair into place
and winks. ‘I suppose I could go around the block one more time before I die.'

‘You're not going to die, Nan.'

‘Not yet, I hope. But I will some day.'

‘But you're not really, really old. Are you?'

Nan doesn't say anything. Just looks at me and I know it's a question without a word answer.

When I've finished reading, Nan can't sit still. She fusses over crumbs, washes through a tea towel in the sink and stays in the toilet for ages. When she finally sits down I say, ‘Can you remember anything else about my dad?'

She shakes her head. ‘There's nothing more to tell.'

I get up to leave. ‘Are you sure, Nan? Please tell me, I promise I won't ask again.'

‘Oh Robyn, you should know, you're old enough. Promise me you'll let what I tell you lie.'

I sit back down. ‘I promise,' I say.

She crosses herself. ‘On Granddad Jack's life?'

I cross myself. ‘On Granddad Jack's life.'

‘I know his name.'

I lean forward. ‘But you said you couldn't remember.'

‘I lied. It's Robert, but everyone called him Bob.'

‘Bob what?'

‘Bob Naylor.'

For a minute I say nothing. My belly drops like a stone too far down. My mind races through all of the horrible thoughts I've had about Mrs Naylor. And how she says I've got the divil in me. And I think maybe she means a different Naylor from miles and miles away. But then I look up at Nan's face and see that it's hopeless trying to pretend.

‘Robyn?' Nan says.

‘Does she know about me?'

‘I don't think so. And you promised …'

‘I know. But Mrs Naylor's …'

‘But Bob wasn't like her. He was more like his dad, gentle and just nice.'

I don't know what to say.

‘He's married now, love. I asked around. You need to know he's got a couple of kids, a boy and a girl. So you see, unless he comes looking for you, it could cause him a whole lot of bother. But you have a right to know about him. And I'm glad I told you, love. It's best you know.'

I start to cry. Loads of salty tears drench my lips.

Nan gets up and puts her arm around me. ‘I'm so sorry. But it's best you know.' She takes a hanky from her pinny pocket and hands it to me. ‘And I'm not meeting my maker holding onto a secret like that.'

I dab my face. ‘What use is knowing if I can't change anything?' I ask. ‘Does he ever come and see his mum?'

‘As far as I know, Bob fell out with her years ago. She treated her husband like dirt; he was so unhappy, he drank himself into an early grave. Bob couldn't bear that. Everything Gwyn Naylor ever loved she crushed.'

I know so much about my dad now. I know his name, I know his mother, I know he has a wife and kids and I know he's my dad. I know all of this and it all means nothing. Knowing it makes me feel useless.

I imagine he waits at the bottom of the block for me on my birthday. It's Saturday; he wants to make it a special surprise. He holds my hand in the queue while we wait to go in. My first time
at the game. I fling the rattle above my head and shout,
Come on the reds.

In my dreams we're in the football match queue and his real wife and kids turn up. They pull my hand out of his and say, Who are you? When I tell them he's my dad they flip and chase me away. They scream after me to leave him alone. I shout back at them, I don't need him anyway, I don't need anybody. I can look after myself.

I
meet Bernie after school by the phone box, like we'd agreed. He's inside, school shirt hanging from his side trouser pocket, black handset in his hand, talking importantly to nobody in particular. He rubs a finger inside the coin return slot but it's empty. ‘Who was that?' I say when he steps outside.

‘Nobody. I just like to dial.'

‘You're mad.'

I don't see much of him any more. He boxes or trains nearly every night. His dad takes him to a club in Toxteth, like Jack's dad took him to a barn in Crosby.

While we walk, I let my feet fall in time with his. I feel safe. We walk through Stanley Park; most of the branches are bare. Bernie's shoulders have grown wide, but he seems to have stopped growing up; he only reaches my shoulder.

‘I'm not boxing tonight,' he says. ‘Want me to knock up at yours?'

‘I'm going to my nan's later,' I lie.

Every Friday, at the disco with Rose, I have to say I've got pains so I can leave. I don't mean it. I have to be in. When I'm older, I want to say the things other people say and mean it.

The grass is damp, so we sit on a bench. I take off my shoes and socks, see the daisy pattern printed on my leg. ‘My toes are all scrunched up in these socks,' I say.

‘They stink of classrooms and school dinners.'

Bernie looks at my feet.

‘Stop looking at my toes.'

‘Why?'

‘They're horrible, everyone says. Too long and too thin.' Bernie laughs.

‘What are you laughing at?'

‘Look at the size of that second toe, it looks like a ciggy.' He laughs again, grabs hold of my toe and wriggles it. ‘This little ciggy went to market …'

I snatch my foot away. ‘Very funny, Bernie.'

After a while, I feel drops of rain on my nose and face. Bernie says, ‘The sky's turned black, let's go.' I ball up my socks, stuff them inside my coat pocket, put my shoes back on. We head towards the gate that leads to Tommy Whites. Bernie tells me he's starving, runs towards his square, shouts back at me, laughing, ‘Wee, wee, wee, wee, all the way home.'

I don't know the front step has been painted until it's too late.

He sits in his chair. Mum's not in. He stands up when he sees me,
HATE
fingers point to the floor.

The words wriggle from his mouth like disturbed worms. ‘Look what you did, you stupid lanky bitch.'

For a moment I am confused. Then I see them, black footprints that trail behind me like a confession. ‘I didn't know,' I say.

He twists my foot up behind my back. The tip of my shoe touches the nape of my neck. I cry out with the pain at the top of my leg. It feels like he's tearing me in half. He grabs the back of my hair,
pushes my face down hard into a footprint. I can taste the paint in my mouth. I spit.

‘All afternoon it took me to paint that while you've been sitting on your arse in school. Wait until your mother sees the lino.'

At my ear his breath reeks of beer and smoke. ‘Go running to her, crying like a baby, and she'll get the same.' He jerks my leg up higher and I scream louder. ‘I could kill you right now,' he says. ‘But that would be too easy. I'm going to make you wait until I'm ready.' His hands are around my throat. ‘When I'm ready, I'm gonna squeeze every last drop of life out of you.'

He lets go of me. I collapse to the floor. Crawl away from him towards the table. He comes after me, tears off my shoes. ‘You won't need these where you're going.'

I grab onto the tablecloth. He rips a sheet of newspaper in half, places them either side of the mantelpiece, arranges my shoes on top. They sit like twin trophies won for two different events, waiting for Mum to come home. Event number one: not only did she stand in the black paint on purpose. Event number two: she proceeded to traipse the black paint all over the lino.

Fuck you and your lino.

In my bed I don't cry. I close my eyes and see a man with golden hair. He looks like Chris. He smiles at me and I get a warm feeling in my belly. He says, ‘Strong, now, like Granddad Jack.' I say this over and over to myself and it makes me feel safe.

A while later I hear a knock at the door. Dad answers it. I get up and look through a crack in my door. It's Bernie asking for me. Dad pushes a finger at Bernie, pokes his kind face. Tells him to piss off away from the step.

I feel under my pillow for the knife, at the same time scared of what my hands might do with it.

The front door slams. He's in my room. ‘That dwarfy bastard's just knocked. You stay away from him, I'm warning you. If he knocks here again I'll launch him over the fucking landing.'

The way he looks at me I can see he is not my father. I jump up, knife behind my back. ‘If you lay a finger on Bernie, I'll knife you. I'll knife you while you sleep, you bastard. You won't even hear me coming.' The sound of my voice shocks me. The knife in my hand shocks me. Him closing the door and walking away without saying a word shocks me. What shocks me most is knowing I will have to kill him before he kills me. Once I make up my mind to do it I won't stop until he's dead.

My body can't stop shaking. I want to smash his head against the wall and scream at him: ‘I'll see Bernie whenever I want. He's my mate, he's nothing to do with you. You're not my dad and you can't tell me what to do.' But I promised Nan, and he knows where she lives. I know I won't be able to keep that promise much longer. I know I'll blurt it out and he'll kill Nan for telling me the truth. I think about running away. Tell nobody where I am. I can't go to my nan's. That's the first place they'll look. I could go back to the hostel, ask Carmel for Lizzie's address. Nobody would find me there. But Lizzie wouldn't want me hanging around her.

I could write on the back of my English book for Mrs O'Connor to find.
My dad plans to kill me. Not with a knife, or a push under a bus, not even with poison. He plans to strangle me with his bare hands.
Maybe she'd invite me to live with her; then again, maybe not.

In the bathroom I look into the mirror. Black smeared lips, red marks on my neck. I bend over the sink to get a wash. The back of my head throbs, there's a dull pain at the top of my leg. I feel as light as a wafer. A voice in my head says over and over again,
Leave this place.
I stay awake all night thinking. It feels wrong to leave Mum, but if I stay I know something bad will happen. I'm not his child. He doesn't care about me. He's got nothing to lose if he kills me and I've got nothing to lose if I kill him. It's not about right or wrong, it's about what I believe. I believe if I stay he'll kill me or make me kill him. I'm tired of living in a place where every moment is guarded. There's nothing left for me to do but leave.