I wanted him to offer me a chair and buy me a drink.
‘Can a man have no peace?’
I wanted to join in on their pretend fighting.
‘Can’t you speak?’ He stared at me. ‘Jesus.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll see you, lads.’
‘See you,’ said one of them, stroking a dog.
Another man held his hand up.
Dad snatched up his jacket and marched us out. He waved at almost everyone; they all nodded at me. Then Dad staggered ahead, out of the pub and across the car park. He got keys out from his trouser pocket.
‘You can’t drive, Dad.’
‘Leave off.’ He climbed up on the driver’s side, leant over the two front seats to pull up the lock and open the door for me.
‘Dad, you can’t drive,’ I said, but he said nothing. ‘Dad, you’ve been drinking.’
‘Get in, will yeh.’
‘Please, Dad. We might crash and kill someone.’
‘Get in,’ he shouted and he thumped the dashboard, so I hitched myself up.
‘Whose van is this?’
I didn’t want to touch anything. The brown seat had yellow sponge bursting out, empty cigarette packets and a scrunched-up Daily Mirror. Dad pushed them on the floor.
‘Park your bum.’ He patted the seat. ‘So, who’s there?’ He leant into the steering wheel, trying to find the slot for the key.
‘Where?’ I said, watching him fumbling, picking up the keys after dropping them. The van was hot and stuffy and I was thirsty and my neck was stiff. I wound down my window for air.
‘Back at Alcatraz,’ he said, sitting upright.
‘Just Mum.’ I batted away flying ants that seemed to be living in there. ‘And Eileen for a bit but she’s gone to stay at Clare’s. And Edna and Aunty Marie came in as I was leaving.’
‘Jesus. Then why am I needed?’
‘Mum’s on nights.’
He nodded and the van bunny-hopped when he finally got the key in. The engine sounded furious at being woken up from sleeping.
‘Yee-hah,’ Dad shouted and growled as he forced the gearstick into reverse and we started moving. The gears crunched as we spun backwards while he looked out the front.
‘Dad!’ I shouted, and I was thrown against the door as he leant to the left, giving the steering wheel a full turn.
He lost his grip and his head smashed into my shoulder and he said, ‘Oh, shit’ in a slur.
A car I couldn’t see gave us long blasts of its horn while Dad sat up. I looked at him.
‘Bleeding oil on me hands,’ he said as he pulled himself close to the wheel again, gripping it, hugging it like his long-lost brother.
He took a deep breath and nearly broke off the indicator as he pushed it down. The windscreen wipers started even though the sun was shining and he looked down at his feet to check where the pedals were.
‘Dad, be careful.’
‘Piss off,’ he shouted at the car beeping its horn when we turned on to the road.
He settled back, stretching his arms and tapping the steering wheel to a tune inside his head. The road was quiet and the rhythm of the engine helped to settle my thumping heart. I watched the road and the people we passed; the trees and the houses were the same and the sky looked normal. I closed my eyes and tried to think of being somewhere better, but it didn’t work. When I closed my eyes, I could only smell the cupboard and her perfume and hear her voice and I wanted to ask Dad what change I had to make, but then his thoughts came firing out.
‘Now, Birdy. Your father, that is me, needs a word with you.’ He kept his eyes forward, holding tight to the steering wheel.
‘Can you open your window, Dad?’ Sweat dripped down my back.
He slammed on the brake. I thought my head would smash against the dashboard.
‘You see –’ Dad started, but then smashed the horn. ‘Idiot, get out of my way.’
‘Dad!’ I covered my eyes with my hands.
‘You see, you’re beginning to worry your father.’
I couldn’t look and didn’t want to listen.
‘As in your future, like. Your prospects.’
I tried to focus on the road ahead and concentrate on breathing.
‘Are you listening to your father? I am worried about the rest of your life.’
‘We’re going to die,’ I said.
‘What are you talking about?’ He turned to me.
‘Watch the road. Watch the road.’ I pointed ahead. ‘Look where you’re going.’
An army truck was in front of us with soldiers in uniform dangling their legs out the back.
‘I want to talk about your life.’
‘Dad!’ I screamed as he got too close.
‘What is wrong with you?’ he said.
We sat still in the van. I put my head out of the window and took in long breaths. When Dad had the ‘life’ talk with Noely he told him he had to be a man. The traffic started crawling forward and I watched the soldiers, dressed smart, having a laugh. I wanted to be one of those. I wanted to go back to when Dad took me and Noely night fishing and let us mix ground bait, and showed us all the knots.
‘So,’ Dad started, ‘you know I always say you should get into computers?’
‘Yes.’
One of the soldiers winked at me. I smiled back. I wanted his beret and his shirt and his boots.
‘How one day they’re going to take over the world?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I still think they will.’
‘I know.’
‘Well.’ Dad sat back in his seat, straightening his arms, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t think that’s any sort of work for a girl.’ He looked straight ahead. ‘Your father has been thinking.’ He paused. ‘Come on, you bastard,’ he shouted at the gearstick. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘I get that.’ His words spun out. ‘It is not to do with any blaming of you. It is . . . Well, it is more to do with, I would say, the way the world is. Do you get what I’m saying?’
The van stopped and started.
‘Birdy, are you listening?’
‘Yes,’ I said, but I was watching the soldiers.
‘It’s no work for a girl.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that is the way the world is run.’
‘I won’t be a girl.’
‘What?’
The van lurched and threw us forward.
‘What?’
‘I’ll be grown up.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘I feel dizzy, Dad.’
‘You feel dizzy?’ Dad wiped sweat off his head. ‘Dizzy?’
Then for a while we drove along but he said nothing. He huffed and fidgeted and, because he had no nails left, he chewed the skin off his fingers.
‘But you’re a girl now, aren’t you?’ he said as if he was checking.
‘Dad, look where you’re going.’
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
I wiped sweat off my face with my T-shirt.
Dad couldn’t say any more. The van stalled. He took a deep breath. He turned the key; the van hopped. ‘These fucking gears.’
We crawled along the road.
‘There are ways to behave, Birdy.’ He broke the quiet again. ‘Ways that you should be dressing.’ Dad scratched his head and his balls and moved through the gears as the traffic speeded up. ‘It should be your mother saying this.’
I wanted to get out of the van and walk, or ask if he could stop all the talk and take me fishing.
‘But there are worse things.’ He patted my knee. ‘At least you’re not stunted, or deaf and dumb or something.’
‘Dad, can you let me out?’
‘But it’s not easy for me or your mum.’
I stared straight ahead.
‘You have to remember that.’
I felt a burning liquid bubbling up from my stomach.
‘There’s too much fighting in the world.’
I didn’t want to bur
p in case I was sick.
‘Last thing we need is a daughter trying to be Barry McGuigan.’
‘Dad.’
‘Will you look at that?’ Dad pointed to a man hitting a dog. ‘Hey, pal.’ He thumped his horn. ‘Leave it alone.’ We turned a corner. Dad twisted his head to look back.
‘Look forward,’ I shouted.
We turned into our street.
‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’
I hummed a made-up tune in my head.
‘Are you listening?’
The van tipped to his side as he parked up on the pavement. I opened the door and climbed down. He walked around the van, tripped on the pavement and grabbed me to break his fall.
‘Oops, fuck,’ he said and he straightened himself up. ‘Our Noely was bad enough,’ Dad carried on mumbling, ‘but he’s a lad and lads get up to all sorts.’ He squeezed my neck from behind. ‘But that’s life, my girl. OK? That’s life. So sort it. Wear some nice clothes. Borrow Eileen’s. Ask your mum when she’s less busy. Make an effort to look more, you know, dressy.’ He pushed me forward, over the wobbly paving slab, down the side alley, up to our back door. ‘Life will be easier if you change. You understand that?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ I said, although I didn’t, but he gave me a slap on the back like it was the cup final and we’d been through extra time and I’d scored the winning penalty.
As Dad fell through the back door, Edna and Aunty Marie were leaving through the front, saying goodbye to Mum.
‘Did they find Murphy the mad moggie?’ Dad shouted to Edna.
She didn’t hear, or pretended she didn’t.
Mum turned to face him, with her right arm set to punch.
‘Did you bring wages home?’ She walked towards us. ‘Bernice, go and play.’
I stood still.
‘Will I see anything from your grand day of work, Frank?’ Mum’s voice was severe. ‘There’s the housekeeping tin there, Frank – will I open it?’
‘I’ve had a hard day. Would you understand?’
‘A hard day? Your right arm and your tongue must be busted, Francis Flynn. Fair play.’
‘Don’t mess with my pride, woman. It is hard when a man can’t get a job.’
I looked at both of them.
‘Ha,’ Mum shouted, ‘your beloved bloody pride.’
‘I have some, at least.’
‘What does that mean?’ Mum yelled. She reached over and grabbed the broom. ‘Go on, take this to me and beat me to a speck of a thing in the name of your blessed bloody pride.’ Dad took a few seconds to take that in. ‘There’ll be one less mouth to feed.’
Mum was frightening us both, but Dad’s body was too floppy for any fighting. He looked at me like a little boy who needed help.
‘Not in front of the child,’ Dad said.
‘Please stop shouting,’ I said to both of them.
‘Not in front of the child?’ Mum was off again. She was swinging her arms about. ‘Not in front of the child?’ she said as she shuffled about. Then she bellowed a fake laugh and spat out, ‘Don’t make me laugh.’
‘Mum, stop.’
‘I’ve been done wrong here, Ma.’ Dad’s voice cracked. ‘Nobody will give me work. You know that. Your lot have seen to that.’
‘What lot?’ I said.
‘Go to your room,’ Dad said. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he said to Mum.
She stared at him, still gripping the broom.
‘I went down to the dairy. They don’t need more milkmen. I asked a postie if there’s work – he said at Christmas. All the other jobs are in the army and they don’t touch anyone remotely Paddy. I drove around like a daftie, got myself a bit of labouring work, then this one turns up.’ He paused, then pointed at me. ‘And then I went for a couple pints, as any man would.’
‘So there is work out there?’ Mum slowed down her speech.
‘Birdy.’ Dad put his hand on my head. His eyes were tired and covered in little threads of red. ‘Would you like to work as a secretary, Birdy? That is steady work. Typing and all those things.’
‘Frank, have you gone mad?’
‘Look, woman, I’m here now. Enough.’ He pushed Mum out of the way. ‘What’s to eat?’
‘Soup,’ Mum said.
‘Soup?’
‘And there’s no bread.’
‘There’s no bread? After what I’ve been through you’re going to feed me bleedin’ soup with no bread?’
‘I’m on nights,’ Mum said.
‘I got bread. Where is it?’ Dad opened and slammed every cupboard. ‘Where’s the bread I got, Birdy?’ he shouted at me.
I shrugged my shoulders and tried to make a face that wasn’t worried.
‘I’ll get cod and chips.’ He fumbled with loose change in his trouser pocket. ‘And when I get back, we’ll play some darts.’ He pretended to punch my arm and I wondered when the change he’d asked me to make was supposed to start.
I nodded.
Mum faked a laugh.
I knew how the night would turn out. Mum would go to work, forgetting my kiss but shouting goodbye from the doorstep. Dad would slam the door on the way out. I’d wait for hours. I’d consider going next door to Edna’s, maybe phone Aunty Marie or Aunty Margaret.
Then I would know when he was home, even from under my pillow. I’d hear screeching brakes, the sound of Tammy Wynette yelling. He might fall asleep there. He might have crashed through a wall. He might have killed a car full of people on the way home.
When I was sure that Mum had gone, I opened the door to Eileen’s bedroom. I held my breath as I stepped into her universe of sickly smelling perfume. The air was sticky with hairspray and the smell of clothes that needed washing. A creepy plastic head watched me, her old Girls’ World, with bright red lips and plastic blonde hair tied up in bunches.
Her wardrobe looked ready to collapse from the strain of its overloaded hangers and the jumpers and handbags that were shoved on its top. Multicoloured shoes were scattered around the floor. Jeans, dresses and skirts were chucked over her plastic chair. I picked through them, my ears tuned for new movements downstairs. Most were simple skirts and I saw a black one that I could wear, although the thought of it was disgusting. I held it across my front, and when I was sure the house was still empty I took off my pyjama bottoms and slipped the thin skirt on.
I felt helpless and flimsy. Would I feel different if my legs were thinner, or longer, or my toes were properly looked after? I pulled it down to cover my knees. I could barely move in it. It twisted and turned and held my legs like they were wrapped in cling film.
From Eileen’s wardrobe I picked a blouse that was soft and silky. It felt smooth and calm to touch, and when I put my arms into it I liked the way it glided over me.
At Eileen’s dressing table I stood and watched in the mirror. Looking closely from my knees to my shoulders. Asking my body if it was me. Are you me? I stared. The longer I looked, the more I was not. I was a stranger. A body that was in Eileen’s room and in Eileen’s clothes but only visiting. Or should I try harder? Is that the cure? Is this what Dad wants to see? I wondered. Forcing myself to like it? Or, if I don’t like it, just facing it? Because time is running out, and there is no other option.
Waves of dread kept hitting me. Nobody was home, but I felt like someone was pushing me, trying to knock me over. My head was mad with chaos and thoughts banging about like bullets bouncing off walls. I’ll never be perfect. I’ll never be normal. Is it like this until I die? Pretending. Squeezed into clothes that I want to fight. Forcing a smile when I want to cry. Saying everything is all right. I wanted to rip all the clothes into shreds and run and hide. But I couldn’t hide for ever and I hadn’t said goodbye.
The earrings from Mum sat on the glass top of Eileen’s dressing table, with the powders and mixtures and strange smudges. I sat down and laid the earrings straight and close. Like two insects snuggling up. Sitting open was a tray, like a paint tray, of pinks, oranges and b
lues. The same muck that Mrs Cope used. Brushing my finger across the mixture made my skin feel grimy. Gritty mess was stuck under my nails. I remembered watching Mum do it, so I picked up a small brush and dusted bits across my face. Bits went up my nose and when I sneezed I sprayed the mirror and when I tried to clean it I got smears everywhere. I grabbed my pyjama top in both hands and forced it hard against every bit of skin, deeper into the bits near my lips and eyes.
I felt that I could bleed to death with the pain of it. But I couldn’t give up. I had to give it a go. The common sense thing, that was. It’s not good to be too happy. Being happy can make you do terrible things. Maybe Dad was right. I promised myself that I would really try. I am a good liar, I told myself. That was something I could do for a job. I could lie for ever – it kept people loving you. I had to decide what I was lying about.
I tried going back to my bed. For hours I lay wide awake, wishing Noely was still around. The sound of guns from the army training grounds crackled continually in the distant background. I had to get up and write something down.
Birdy Flynn
146 Prospect Street
Middleton
England
I don’t understand why Eileen would want a Girls’ World. I don’t understand the fun of having a plastic head to put make-up on. Or why you would sit still for hours brushing its fake hair. I know Eileen even talks to it, about things she says I wouldn’t understand. She is right – I don’t understand. Every bit of her girls’ world seems like an alien planet.
I hate it when it’s dark and quiet. I thought Eileen might come back. I don’t know where she stays at night. There should be a law that by midnight everyone should be in their home, tucked up tight.
I prefer the shouting to what adults do when it’s quiet. I thought she was going to kill me. The way she looked at me. I thought she liked me before. She made me touch her. I didn’t want to. She trapped me. I should have run but she was a teacher, not supposed to hurt you – same as your mum and dad.
I was staring at my ceiling when, a little after two o’clock, I heard Dad below my window, shouting and screaming. He was shouting at his keys. His stupid, fat, ugly keys that were ‘no fucking use to him’. But then he gave up, and with two massive kicks and bangs he had the lock to the front door bust.
Birdy Flynn Page 12
