by Lulu Taylor
Daddy rose to his feet. Daisy cowered in her chair, fearful at the sight of the rage on his face. She wished with all her heart that Mummy would stop talking when it was making Daddy so cross.
Julia smiled at her husband and gave a careless shrug. ‘It’s about time someone told you how it really is. Haven’t these children of yours been through enough? You divorce their poor, long-suffering mother because you fancy a change. A bit of posh, to buff up the Dangerfield bloodline. Well, it was looking a bit ropey, wasn’t it, what with your brother being born on the wrong side of the blanket? So you chose me.’ She thumped herself in the chest with her hand. ‘And I fell for it, like the idiot I am. What was wrong with your last wife, huh? I’ll tell you. She was from hearty peasant stock, just like you, and you couldn’t bear that. But your father chose her for you, and as long as he was alive – making everyone’s life a misery, just like you – you did what he said.’
Daddy’s fists clenched and he stared at his wife from under beetling brows. ‘You’d better shut up …’ he growled.
‘What are you going to do about it?’ cried Julia, a strange merriment dancing in her eyes. ‘Huh? Well? Will I be wearing long sleeves and high necks and make-up … to hide the bruises?’
‘You’re drunk. Get out of here. Now!’
She put her head on one side in a coquettish way and blinked at him. ‘And miss this delightful Christmas meal? How could I?’
He flung his napkin on to the table and roared, ‘Get out, NOW!’
Drake appeared as if by magic at Julia’s side and gently took her arm, lifting her up.
‘Get your hands off me, you shit!’ she screamed, trying to shake him off, but the butler was too strong for her. She glared at Daddy. ‘Always get your bloody heavies to do your dirty work for you, don’t you?’
‘Take her upstairs, Drake,’ commanded Daddy. ‘Lock her in the bedroom with a bottle of vodka. That’s obviously what she wants, the disgusting drunkard.’
Julia went pale with rage, unable to speak. As Drake pulled her to her feet, she managed to free her arm enough to rip the diamond-encrusted watch from her wrist and fling it across the table towards her husband. It hit one of the solid silver candelabra with a clink and bounced off to land with a plop in Daddy’s glass of Sancerre, where it sank to the bottom, like a strange glittering fish. ‘That’s what I think of your bloody present!’ she spat, as Drake hustled her out of the room. A moment later they were both gone.
They all stared at the magnificent piece of jewellery as it bobbed gently beneath the surface of the wine.
Daisy realised her hands were trembling. She was scared. Then she caught sight of Sarah who was weeping, her shoulders shaking and tears running down her scarlet cheeks. Will was stony-faced but his eyes betrayed that he too was shaken by what they had seen. He and Sarah had never shown any affection for their stepmother; they were polite to her, but the most that could be said was that they tolerated her. For her part, Julia had pretty much ignored them in return. Arrangements were made that included them when necessary, but otherwise life continued in much the same way whether Will and Sarah were there or not. Now Julia had just defended them in a way that had never been seen before, and it looked as though she was going to pay a nasty price for it. Will’s mouth tightened.
As Daisy watched her half-sister crying on to the plate of salmon before her, she felt her spine stiffen.
Daddy isn’t going to see me like that, she told herself fiercely. She knew her father well enough to be sure that Sarah’s display of weakness was only going to infuriate him further. He hated it when his children quailed before him, and always had – he was far easier to placate if he felt that they had showed spirit, even if it meant he had to punish them. But not me. He doesn’t punish me. It was true. Daisy had never done anything to warrant it – or not that he had seen anyway.
Daddy pulled the Cartier watch from the wine glass and tossed it on the table, wiping his wet fingers on the tablecloth. Then he sat down, his face like granite, put his napkin back on his lap, picked up his cutlery and took a mouthful of salmon. There was silence apart from the sound of silver rattling on china and some mournful whimpering from Sarah. After a few moments, Daddy could stand it no longer.
‘Stop that blasted blubbering!’ he yelled, throwing his cutlery back down. ‘Do you hear me? Shut up immediately!’
Sarah jumped in fear and knocked over the crystal wine glass that Drake had filled with elderflower cordial. It toppled over slowly, hitting the silver cooler and smashing. The tablecloth was immediately soaked and shards of crystal glittered everywhere like scattered ice.
Daisy gasped. Sarah stared at the mess, horrified by what she’d done. Daddy jumped up again, now properly irate. He strode over to Sarah and grabbed her by the shoulders.
‘How can you be so clumsy?’ he cried. It was obvious that she was going to become the target of the rage that had been building within him all morning. ‘You stupid, clumsy oaf! This is all because of your bloody mother … Julia’s right, she’s just a peasant – and so are you! Look at you. You don’t even look like a Dangerfield with that damn’ hair of yours!’
Sarah seemed frozen with fear, her eyes wide and her mouth open.
‘Go on!’ he screamed. ‘Go upstairs and get out of my sight!’
‘Don’t you bloody well touch her!’ Daisy looked over to see Will getting to his feet. ‘Get your hands off her.’
He had gone white, his freckles showing up as pale blotches. He had pulled himself up to his full height, and had set his broad shoulders. The muscles that he had worked into iron strength with his rowing bulged beneath his suit jacket. He looked suddenly more like a man than a boy.
‘Keep out of this,’ shot back Daddy, but he let go of his daughter’s shoulders. ‘Sarah – upstairs. Now.’
Will put up a hand. ‘You stay right here, sis.’ He stared defiantly at his father. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’
‘How dare you?’ snarled Daddy. ‘You’re just a boy. You and your sister will do as you are told, do you understand?’
‘No,’ Will said stubbornly. ‘You can’t control us. You’re our father, not a dictator.’
Daddy went scarlet in the face and seemed to be struggling for breath. He slammed his fist down on the table so that the crystal tinkled. ‘You … you … will do as I say! I will be obeyed. Don’t you understand that without me you’ve got nothing?’ He waved towards the ceiling. ‘That fancy equipment upstairs, the thousands of pounds worth of computer nonsense – I paid for all that. Everything you have, everything you own, every bloody thought that school of yours put in your head – I paid for all of it!’
‘No, you didn’t,’ Will said calmly. The more his father raged, the more in control of himself Will seemed, as though he was drawing his own power from Daddy’s fury. ‘Grandpa did.’
Daisy turned her eyes automatically to the portrait of Joseph Dangerfield that hung in pride of place against the far wall, a life-sized oil painting of the old man sitting in his favourite armchair in the drawing room of this very house. He was wearing a perfectly cut Savile Row suit, his leather shoes shining and glossy, his grey hair cut short and neat, his expression serious. Josef Mzareč, who had left Czechoslovakia in the twenties and come to seek his fortune in England, had become an English gentleman – or tried to. He had changed his name to Dangerfield, bought expensive houses, thrown lavish parties and sent his only son to public schools and Cambridge, but he had never belonged. His accent, still apparent despite his attempts to lose it, and his unpolished ways had shut him out of high society as effectively as an iron door.
Grandpa had died before she was born, but Will and Sarah had known him when they were very little.
‘What did you say?’ said Daddy to his eldest child in a choked voice.
‘You heard me. Grandpa made our money. You’ve just lived off it. And he put money in trust for me and Sarah too – and when it’s time for us to have it, we’ll be rid of you forever.’ Will s
uddenly smiled, and his face was transformed. ‘In fact, I don’t know if I can wait that long. You know what? I’ve had just about enough of all this. You’ve treated me and Sarah like shit for years while you spoil that little brat out of her senses.’
He means me! Daisy thought, shocked. Am I spoiled?
Daddy gaped at him while Sarah stared, her eyes frightened.
‘Do you think we haven’t noticed?’ Will’s smile vanished and his face hardened again. ‘You act as though we’re nothing … people you can cast aside when someone else takes your fancy, just like you did with Mum. Well, I’ve got news for you. We’re not nothing. We’re part of this family and we matter. Grandpa knew it – which is why he put the family fortune in trust for all of us. Maybe he knew you too well. No one cares what the fuck you do, Dad. There’s nothing you can do about the fact that we’re Dangerfields just as much as your little princess, and we’re entitled to everything Grandpa wanted for us.’
Daddy’s mouth had dropped open as though he was unable to believe what he was hearing.
Will stepped out from behind the table and walked around it towards his sister. ‘Come on, Sarah. I’ve had enough of this. Let’s go.’
She looked at him and then at her father, obviously scared to move. Will came up to her and took her hand. ‘Come on.’
The two of them headed for the door. Daddy watched them go and then hurried after them into the hall. Daisy leaped out of her own chair and ran after everyone. She was in time to see Will scoop up a set of keys from the vast china bowl on the hall console table.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ shouted Daddy. ‘Those are the keys to my Aston Martin!’
When Daddy wasn’t being driven by Ted in the Rolls, he used his British Racing Green Aston, speeding along the roads as though he owned them.
‘I know,’ Will said pleasantly. ‘I’ve always wanted to drive it, and now I’m damn well going to.’
‘You’ve only just passed your test!’ cried Daddy. ‘You can’t … you can’t …’
‘You’re so keen on telling me what I can’t do,’ Will said, grabbing his coat from the stand. ‘But you know what? I don’t give a damn. Tell you what – why don’t you just keep that Ferrari you got me for Christmas? We’ll do a swap.’
He opened the front door as Sarah slipped on her coat. The next moment, they were both skipping down the stone steps to the driveway. Daddy’s Aston Martin had been brought to the front by Ted earlier and Will pointed the fob at it so the doors clicked obediently to unlocked.
‘If you climb into that car, that’s it!’ screamed Daddy, his face puce. Daisy hid herself behind him, watching all that was happening, shivering a little in the cold December air. ‘Do you hear me? That’s it! You can consider yourselves no longer part of this family!’
Will climbed into the low-slung driver’s seat as Sarah slipped in beside him and pulled the passenger door shut. She looked much happier than she had five minutes before.
Will looked up at his father and grinned. ‘I don’t think that’s your decision to make actually, Dad. Sorry!’
He put the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. A moment later, the car roared over the gravelled drive, spun a little on the stony surface and then leaped forward as Will powered her round the turning circle. The Aston Martin headed out on to the asphalted drive that led between an avenue of limes, out to the great gates and the open road.
Daisy stood beside her father and watched the little car zoom away, still hardly able to believe what had just happened. Had they really gone? And from what Will had said, he meant for ever.
Her father seemed equally disbelieving and stood for a long minute staring after his car as it disappeared into the distance. When it was certain that his two eldest children were gone and not coming back, he seemed transported by fury, his hands with their little tufts of black hair on each finger shaking uncontrollably. Then, without a word, he went back into the house and climbed the stairs. Daisy followed him at a distance, not sure what she was meant to do now. Daddy climbed all the way up to the attic space that had so lately been converted for Will, went inside and shut the door. Then, from inside, came the sounds of wanton destruction, as he carefully and painstakingly destroyed every last piece of Will’s treasured equipment and ripped the room to shreds.
8
CHANELLE KNEW THAT her mum had made an effort for Christmas. She’d gone to the supermarket on Christmas Eve and bought the last turkey joint on the shelves. It came in a ready-to-roast tray with a packet of stuffing and some grey-looking chipolatas wrapped in pallid bacon, and she’d also bought some frozen vegetables and a Christmas pudding. There was even a tin of cheap chocolates.
And at least I don’t have to cook them too, Chanelle thought.
One thing her mother didn’t have any trouble remembering was the booze. That appeared every year without fail, even when the food didn’t. This year there were big litre bottles of whisky and vodka, cans and cans of beer, and great plastic barrels of cider. Because it was Christmas, there was also a bottle of wine.
She tries, Chanelle thought, but knew nevertheless that elsewhere people were having better Christmases than this. Her mother was still in bed although it was nearly noon, because she and Bill had not been able to resist all the alcohol in the house and had started as soon as Michelle had returned from the supermarket with it. Friends had dropped by later and they’d caroused into the early hours, singing and shouting, the air thick with cigarette smoke and toxic with the fumes of alcohol and skunk. The house was grey, cold and acrid-smelling when Chanelle had awoken, still drowsy from her interrupted sleep, and gone downstairs.
On the kitchen table was a present, shambolically wrapped but obviously intended for Chanelle. She pulled off the flimsy paper and saw that underneath was a pink teddy bear with a big heart appliqué-ed on its chest. She stared at it for a while. It was a rare present from her mother and she liked it for that reason, but it wasn’t what she’d asked for. She’d wanted a Discman so she could listen to her CDs but her mum had said it would just be nicked, so there was no point. Or else she’d wanted a pair of new pink Nike trainers, or some jeans with sparkles on the pocket and embroidery tattooed over the legs. Or the dancing slippers she stood and stared at in the cellophane-covered window of the dusty little shop on the high road that sold tutus, leotards and sparkly silver tap shoes.
Not a teddy.
She put the bear back down on the table and sighed, then opened the fridge and took out the cold, clammy tray of turkey, turned it over and read the instructions. It seemed easy enough. The only problem was guessing when her mother would be conscious enough to eat their Christmas meal. She cocked an ear and listened. There was no sound from upstairs.
No point just sitting around here waiting, she thought. She put the turkey on the side and turned the oven on to heat up. Then she picked up her coat and headed outside, pulling the door of the tiny terrace house shut behind her.
Her hands dug deep into her pockets against the wind that always blew bitterly around the sharp concrete angles of the Blacksmith Estate. It flicked her mousy brown hair into her eyes and she tried to shake it away without using her hands. For once she didn’t feel the usual nervousness when she was outside. The estate seemed deserted today: everyone was inside, eating their Christmas dinner, or glued to the television. All around houses were glinting with coloured lights, or had their windows sprayed with snowflakes and Santa stencils. Christmas trees were silhouetted against net curtains, and the silvery flickering rectangles of television screens glowed through from the rooms beyond.
The loops of flashing stars that hung from door jambs or were entwined in scrawny bushes by front doors lent the bare, harsh-looking estate a touch of sparkle and joyfulness that was usually lacking. Chanelle stuck her chin down into the collar of her coat and looked stubbornly at the ground. She didn’t want to think about families where children were looked after, where mums cooked meals every day, did laundry and m
ade sure that all was well, or where there were dads … Chanelle tried not to think about that ever. The knot that twisted in her belly was too painful.
She rounded the corner of a row of terrace houses into the square where the playground was. Above the front door of each house was a long blue plastic case with a light inside. The lights were all off but it was still possible to read the white lettering on the cases that would be illuminated when the lights were switched on: ‘Help needed – call the police.’ Panic alarms. Every now and then, late at night, one would flash and after a while, if anyone could be bothered to call, a police car would draw up, blue lights twirling on its roof, and the officers would get out in a leisurely fashion, ready to deal with the latest domestic drama. There was always something going on around here. Last year, a woman had been knifed by her ex-partner in front of their kids, even though she had a court order against him to stay away from her.
Chanelle wandered over to the deserted playground and sat down on one of the swings, moving it idly as she wondered when she should start to head for home. She was about to get up and retrace her steps to the house when she heard a voice.
‘Hey, you! Girly.’
She turned and saw the tall black boy who often hung out here with his gang. A tremor of fear ran through her as she saw him strolling towards her, though he was on his own. She would have to be brave. She put her chin up and said, ‘Yeah? Whatchu want?’
He came closer to her. He had fine clear skin and bright brown eyes, his black hair shaved close to his skull with the back patterned in wavy lines like the contours of hills on a map. There was a blunt cut through one of his eyebrows. As he approached, he grinned. ‘What you doin’ here? It’s Christmas Day, innit?’
‘Yeah, well, what are you doin’ here?’ shot back Chanelle.
The boy sat down on the swing next to hers. He shrugged and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for a packet of cigarettes. ‘It’s a bit crowded at mine. I came out for some air, laike. All my aunties and uncles and cousins and, laike, whatever. It was doin’ me head in.’ He offered the packet to Chanelle. ‘Want one?’
