I was amazed and delighted when Mum said we could go. We had a lovely time, running around the caravan park and making friends with the donkeys who lived on the other side of a ditch. Jenny would buy apples and carrots and we’d throw them over and watch while the donkeys chomped them down with their big yellow teeth. I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders for that week. It was like the old days when I was little. No anger, no violence, nothing to be wary or frightened of, only love and happiness. When it was time to go home I sobbed and cried, and not just because I had to say goodbye to the donkeys.
When I walked back into the flat, carrying my clothes in a bag, already washed and pressed by Nanny to save Mum the trouble, and clutching sticks of pink rock for everyone, the atmosphere was heavy. I found it harder to breathe somehow, and the thick fog of cigarette smoke that lingered in every room had little to do with it.
Mum and Dad were sitting on the sofa watching television. I went in to say hello, and they both just stared at me. I could see Mum was nervous, already worried I might try and tell them what a good time I’d had, therefore breaking the golden rule about not mentioning or alluding in any way to the people who lived over the road.
‘Tell her to fuck off away from me,’ said Dad, giving me my first clue that all was not well. He didn’t talk to me again for weeks after that. He stared, snarled, sneered and even spat at me, but he never spoke to me once. On the whole I was pleased because it meant less shouting and swearing, less risk of plates, cups and ashtrays whizzing past my head, but I had an inkling that it wouldn’t last.
During this time I noticed he was being a bit friendlier to Cheryl and Davie–especially Cheryl. One day when I was confined to the bedroom, she came bursting into the room crying wildly and clutching her dressing gown to her chest. I heard Mum shout, ‘What’s going on?’ and Dad replied, ‘Well, she’s always flashing her tits.’
A massive row began with Mum shouting at Dad, and Dad shouting at Mum. But it wasn’t long before Dad turned to violence and Mum stopped answering back.
Cheryl and I wrapped our arms around each other and sat crying in the corner, flinching as we heard crashing and banging all over the flat.
‘I never touched her, the slag,’ shouted Dad. ‘But I fucking will if she ever comes near me again. I’ll stab her, the fucking bitch.’
Later when Dad went to the pub, Mum came into the bedroom with a bleeding lip and stared long and hard at Cheryl.
‘You satisfied, are ya?’ she asked.
‘Mum, it’s him,’ said Cheryl. ‘Ask Diane. He’s always leering. I can’t stand it much longer.’
‘Well, you know where the fucking door is,’ snarled Mum.
Cheryl burst into fresh tears and began to stuff some of her clothes into a plastic bag. ‘I’m going over to Nanny’s for a few days.’
‘That’s right,’ said Mum. ‘You always did like to stir the shit. What’s the matter, you jealous?’
‘How can you say that to your own daughter?’ asked Cheryl, shaking her head. ‘It’s sick.’
I couldn’t quite work out what it was all about, but I suspected Dad had been rude with Cheryl. The thought frightened me.
Cheryl left and went to stay with Nanny later that afternoon. The atmosphere in the flat got even worse. Davie and I were the only ones left, and we didn’t know which way to turn. We spoke in whispers and spent most of our time in our rooms. We never knew when another row between Mum and Dad would erupt. But we didn’t have long to wait.
‘I ain’t no fucking pervert,’ shouted Dad, followed by the sound of something smashing against the wall.
‘When have I ever said that?’ protested Mum, more than a hint of appeasement in her voice. ‘I love you, Frank. Just calm down.’
The shouting went on for what seemed like hours. I occupied myself by playing schools with my dollies, trying my best to block out the screams and shouts in the room next door. One of the neighbours rang the front doorbell to see if Mum was alright, and she shouted at them to ‘mind your own fucking business’.
Shortly after that it went quiet for a while, and just when I thought it was all over, Dad yelled, ‘I’ve had enough of you and this shit-hole, you fucking whore. I’m going.’
‘Please, Frank,’ Mum sobbed. ‘Please don’t leave me.’
I heard the front door nearly slam off its hinges then Dad’s voice shouting through the letterbox: ‘And don’t think I’m ever coming back. You were a shit fuck anyway.’
I was over the moon that Dad had left, but Davie told me not to count my chickens.
‘He’ll probably be back later,’ he predicted miserably, ‘off his head on drink.’
I was worried Davie was right, but I kept my fingers and toes crossed anyway.
The flat looked as though a tornado had sped through it, with broken cups and upturned furniture strewn about. It was a couple of days before we began to believe that Dad wouldn’t be back, but then we gradually reappeared one by one, as if we’d been taking shelter from a storm. In a way we had been. Diane came back from her boyfriend’s, Cheryl came home from Nanny’s and Davie and I emerged from our bedrooms, just in time to see Mum slam the door to her own. She didn’t want to be a part of the family reunion.
‘Just leave me alone, will you?’ she shouted if any of us tapped on her door.
It was a shame Mum was so upset. I thought she would have been pleased to get rid of him. Grown-ups were too complicated for me.
The flat felt different without Dad. It was bliss to be able to walk around without fear and watch TV and use the kitchen when we wanted to. When Dad was at home he dominated every room. If he was in the front room we’d all be too frightened to go in unless we knew for sure he was in one of his better moods, and even then we had to remain on guard for a change in the wind. If he was slouched over the kitchen table, we’d go and get a drink from the bathroom tap rather than show up on his radar. It just wasn’t worth the risk of upsetting him. But all that had changed now. It was like being released from some sort of prison, and best of all, now that he had gone, I didn’t have to be careful of accidentally mentioning Nanny’s or Jenny’s names. I was free to pop across the road and visit them any time I wanted to.
Everyone, apart from Mum, seemed happier than they’d been for a long time, including Eddie the dog. Poor Eddie had suffered so much. Dad had taken to kicking and cursing him every day. Now that Dad wasn’t around to torment him, he was like he was a different dog, almost reverting to a playful puppy again.
Mum remained in her room. I often heard her crying and muttering things into her pillow. When Diane and I took her in a cup of tea and some jam sandwiches, she was lying on her bed, a roll of loo paper resting on her tummy, and a cigarette burning between her fingers with an inch-high tower of ash. She lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.
‘Here, Mum,’ said Diane, making a space on the bedside table. ‘You’ve got to eat.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ said Mum, pulling herself up to stub out her cigarette. ‘Just leave me alone.’
‘Come on, it’s not the end of the world,’ said Diane.
‘It might not be for you,’ said Mum angrily. ‘But I love him, Di, and I deserve a bit of happiness.’ Her eyes welled up, and she pulled off a length of loo roll to blot away her tears.
‘What about us?’ asked Diane, a slight edge creeping into her voice. ‘Don’t you love us?’
Mum ignored her question and lit another cigarette. After she had blown out a long stream of smoke she said, ‘I’m over fucking forty. This is my last chance, and none of you wants me to be happy–not you lot, not me mum, no one. I’m gonna end up on me own forever.’
‘Don’t