by Manjeet Mann
at my new not-old,
definitely-not-lost-property trainers,
feeling grateful,
feeling strong,
feeling I might really
fly.
Focus on running tall.
Head, shoulders, hips
and ankles aligned.
Look ahead
short strides
pump arms
lift knees
run tall.
Looking ahead
running tall.
Looking ahead
pumping arms
lifting knees
running tall.
Looking ahead
running tall.
Pump
lift
run
look.
Look ahead.
Looking ahead.
Till I reach the top.
No politics in this group.
We are equals.
Right here and now
I feel like I belong.
A sense of belonging
I’ve not felt
in a long time.
This is family.
David and I take selfies
on the minibus.
Just silly ones.
That’s what I like about you –
you’re not like other girls,
he says.
My head’s been
swimming
ever since.
My walk home
goes from open
skies
to watchful
eyes
as I enter
my estate.
Trying to do homework,
but all I can think about is David.
Imagining what it would
be like to hold hands,
what it would be like
to kiss him.
Wondering
if he’s already
kissed Tara.
Dad sits on my bed.
People tell me things,
he says.
His voice is calm.
His face soft.
There are people everywhere that know us.
You can’t do things that would bring shame on us.
I’m not.
I don’t want to say you can’t do this and you can’t do that.
I’m just trying to do my best. I’m trying to protect you.
Do you understand what I’m saying?
Yes.
Good. As long as you know that.
People tell me things.
I know.
So you were just at school doing extra study?
Yes.
That’s OK then, if that’s the truth.
I just care. That’s all.
When he leaves,
I start shaking.
I can’t make sense
of it.
My heart says
he cares,
he just cares,
bogged down by
pressure outside his control.
My mind says,
One and only rule:
look at what he does,
not what he says.
I see
everything.
I’m standing
my ground
as Dad
tries so hard
to keep
us under
his thumb.
We will not
be scared into
surrender.
We will not
lose momentum.
HONEYMOON
Revolutionaries
gain power.
But –
honeymoons
never
last.
I write her day’s work
in her little book.
When Dad leaves for the pub,
she asks,
Did you go?
Yes, but I think he might know.
Shhh,
she says.
Don’t worry.
I’ll handle it.
Happy?
I nod fiercely.
Happy.
Turn the volume down,
turn the telly off.
Don’t say a word.
Can’t he wait?
Five minutes,
just five minutes.
He stands in the doorway, swaying.
Mum – exhausted – rolls out chapattis.
I serve.
Dad first,
he always eats first.
One day
this will change.
Must be patient.
All in good time.
When he goes to bed,
and we hear him snore,
her lesson starts.
Tiya’s box of books
is a treasure trove
of learning for Mum.
The alphabet.
I write a letter
on each piece of paper.
I lay them out on the floor
like a giant poster.
She has almost got it
by heart.
I mix the letters.
She’s quick to learn.
I recall Miss Sutton’s pep talk.
This is only the beginning.
It’s a long road ahead.
This is her time.
Her time is NOW.
Mm ah tt MAT Listening
Ss ah tt SAT to
Buh ah tt BAT her
Buh oo tt BOOT sound
Buh ih tt BIT out
Ff uh nn FUN words
Tt ee ch TEACH is
Luh uh vuh LOVE beautiful.
It feels like things are
possible.
Dad’s nightmares
are drowned
by dreams
of the good life.
A life where
Mum and I
live with open skies
without towers
and concrete.
Where Ruby and I
laugh like we used to.
Love like we used to.
Space to breathe
Space to run.
Space to fly.
It’s shifting
and something
inside is
lifting.
I’m busy rattling my tongue off,
trying to make David laugh.
Me and Tara,
playing games,
trying to keep David’s attention.
I see it
even if she thinks
I don’t.
He seems to be mesmerized
when she twirls her hair.
So I tell another joke,
make him laugh.
Tara giggles,
using the excuse to
touch his arm.
I sit enraged
in maths.
Working on
simultaneous equations.
If x = Tara
and y = David,
what is the probability
they are in love?
Answer:
very likely.
Tara is stunning
perfect
petite
girly
nice
kind
generous
clever.
I am
I am
I am
I am
nothing.
We don’t compare.
It’s not like the running track.
In this game,
I’m so far behind
I’m a dot
on the horizon
to them.
High knees
hamstring curls
jog round the field.
Our first competition is
coming up after Christmas.
Miss Sutton gives
us another pep talk.
You need to start thinking of yourselves as a team.
Not individuals. During the inter-school games
we stick toget
her, lift each other, are there for each other.
We win together.
This is more than our own individual sports.
The team high-fives.
David catches my hand,
holds it in a fist.
I try and pull away.
Hey, what’s up?
Nothing.
I want to ask him about Tara.
I want to know why he can’t just tell me.
Hey, sister from another mister …
Don’t call me that.
Whoa, what’s going on?
Please, I just want to focus.
Are we OK? You’ve been acting strange.
Of course we are,
I lie.
I turn, start jogging,
hoping each stride
will shake out the
jealousy raging inside.
Getting off the school bus,
I forget myself for a moment.
Runner’s high
has me letting my guard down.
I forget about Tara and David.
What does it matter?
It’s not like we could ever date.
Just be friends,
be grateful that we’re friends,
I tell myself.
Outside the gates
I hug David goodbye.
I’m sorry I’ve been weird.
He takes my arms away
and steps back,
holding me at arm’s length.
Easy. Do you think it’s safe to do that?
Of course, don’t be silly.
I fling my arms round him.
Just as we embrace,
a car whizzes by
and from the car window
someone looks me
dead
in
the
eye.
I feel like I’m choking.
I let go of David,
push him away,
run into school
with David running after.
What’s going on?
Someone saw.
Someone saw.
My breath is shallow,
my legs collapsing
underneath me.
Who? What?
I’m gonna get killed.
He’s gonna kill me.
Who? Look at me. Calm down.
I’m on my knees,
the world is spinning,
David’s voice is an echo.
Leave me alone.
Stay away.
You have to stay away.
Somehow –
I don’t know how –
I run home.
I check his face
for clues.
The phone rings.
I jump
out of my skin.
I run upstairs,
vomit into the toilet.
I lie on my bed,
wishing the ground
would swallow
me up.
It’s been weeks.
Dad hasn’t said anything
about anyone seeing me
hugging David.
Still
I’m not sure how much longer
I can keep up the lie
about training being a study group.
Every time I’m on the sports field
running,
I’m haunted by the words:
‘You know the man across the road …’
Should we shame, dishonour or disobey,
we would end up the very same way.
No more
headlocks
wrist holding
hand grazing
arm round my shoulder
arm round my waist.
Instead, he walks ahead,
only I haven’t asked him to.
Weeks pass as
David and I
drift further apart
and he and Tara
float closer together.
I tell Mum
that I
think he knows,
that I
can’t keep going
with the lie,
that I
feel sick with worry.
Mum is calm.
We make plans.
We hide evidence.
We get our story straight.
The teaching stops
with a knock at the door.
Both of us thinking it’s
Dad, too drunk to find his keys.
We hide all the evidence
under the settee.
I sneak a peek
out of the window.
It’s Ruby and Tiya.
Mum relaxes. I am tense.
Once they’re inside we continue our lesson.
Ruby sits silently, Tiya bouncing on her knee.
Mum reads one of Tiya’s alphabet books out loud.
I give her a little help when she’s stuck on a word.
Wow, Mum, that’s amazing.
I still needed your help.
Not on all the letters.
Mum looks pleased with herself.
Was I good?
she asks Ruby.
Ruby nods.
Really brilliant, Mum.
She pretend-yawns.
Pretends to rub her eyes.
Fingertips to sockets,
trying to fool me
with her Ruby trick.
I ran away once.
I ran out of the house.
No shoes, no jacket,
in the middle of December,
a light covering of snow
on the ground.
I didn’t even make it round the corner
before my dad grabbed my hair
and pulled me back inside.
I screamed the estate down.
Curtains twitched
but everyone stayed inside.
I was set
to achieve all my dreams.
University, studying
journalism.
Straight As in GCSEs,
straight As in A levels.
My picture in the local paper.
Working-class girl
done good.
I was exceptional.
Then Dad got mad.
Someone, somewhere,
had told him that
girls do
x, y, z
at university.
That so-and-so’s daughter
did
x, y, z
and now
she’s run away,
got pregnant,
doing drugs.
He was told,
you need to hold on
to your daughters,
keep them close.
And that was that.
Dad thought it best
I get married
and there was no one
to stop it.
I tried,
but in the end
I wasn’t strong enough.
Just because I can’t talk to her
doesn’t mean I don’t love her
doesn’t mean I don’t want her
doesn’t mean I don’t want the old days back
doesn’t mean I don’t want to hold her
doesn’t mean I don’t care about her
doesn’t mean I don’t worry about her
doesn’t mean I don’t want the best for her
doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect her
doesn’t mean I want her life to turn out like mine
doesn’t mean I don’t want her to fly
doesn’t mean I’m unaware of how mean I am
doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’ve said and done
doesn’t mean I don’t want to make it right
doesn’t mean I don’t think about her EVERY DAY
doesn’t mean that my heart doesn’t ache for losing her
doesn’t mean I don’t know that I’m the one to blame.
I am not a natural moth
er.
This I know.
I did things in the order I thought I should.
I thought a baby would give me
something to love.
A reason to stay.
But there is a switch inside
that hasn’t been turned on –
or maybe it’s been switched off?
It’s difficult to know
which way round it happened.
We met twice before the wedding, with our families.
First on the 20th of April. Again on the 5th of May.
We agreed to be married on the 6th of May
and were wed on the 19th of June.
We were, are, strangers.
The only thing I know for sure is that he is kind.
He is the best father to Tiya.
When the family hoped for a boy,
he put his hand on my stomach and whispered
that he wished for a girl.
Marriage first, love second.
You learn to love, they say.
It works. For so many people it works.
But I feel my heart is locked.
When love has not been in abundance,
you seek it first.
You look for it in every corner of your being.
Love.
Love must always come first.
I’m like Mum,
her personality,
her looks.
They say
I am delicate,
I am just like a flower,
like a quiet little mouse.
They say
I am all my mum.
I’m nothing like Dad.
Little do they know.
As if it were even possible,
he drinks more at
this time of year.
I immerse myself
in revolutions
and rebels
as wars rage
in my home.
I hold up an
A4 piece of paper.
Not ‘O’ …
Look at the straight line.
No?
D.
Mum is doing great
but some letters still confuse her.
I pick up another A4 piece of paper.
This is O,
this is D –
see the difference?
D has a straight line.
O. D.
I shuffle the paper.
Which is O and which is D?
She points to the correct letter.
… Good.
TERROR
