The Girl Who Just Appeared

by Jonathan Harvey

  Cat got your tongue Lucy?

  Lucy nods.

  Lucy’s shy. Goes April.

  And he nods. Like that’s fine.

  And Lucy has no idea if he’s playing mind games with her. Does he recognize her? Does he not recognize her? Shorely he must recognize her she can’t look that different. Lucy has started shaking.

  He puts his hand out and squeezes her waste.

  No need to be scared darling.

  He never calls Ma darling. He gives her another squeeze. Then heads back to his seat.

  He likes you. Goes April.

  April can we go?

  Why?

  I just need to go.

  Of course.

  Lucy and April leave. At the door Lucy looks back. He’s still lookin straight at her.

  I can’t say anything. I can’t say anything to Ma or she’ll kill us. If I say something then I’ll have to tell her about Lucy which I can’t do. And if I say I seen Woody in a gay bar then she will say am interfering, which is what she sort of said after I told her the truth about ____ , she said I’d messed with her work. Even with him dead on the floor and the pan on the side and the blood on the lino she made some comment about protection. Even though she could see I hated the fucker. Even when she knew he’d hurt me. So if I was to say I’d seen him out and about, Woody, she would turn it into something else. And as she says. She’s got shit on me. April says she’s known Woody a little while. He likes to flirt with the girls. He likes to by drinks and be the big I am. And he likes a pretty little thing. And if April is to believed. And Woody’s eyes were on storks. Lucy is a pretty little thing. Prettier than me that’s for sure. If I say anything to Ma she will just say I am tryina ruin the wedding.

  I was really worried Woody would say something. But when he come round he did his usual trick of slapping me on the back saying all right fella and then ignoring me. Does Lucy look that different from me? Obviously she does.

  I have got away with it. I better keep my gob shut.

  Maybe he is just bein nice to people by drinking there and bein kind. Yes. That’s what he does. And that is why I can’t say anything to Ma.

  But then I find myself starin at him. And thinkin. He wanted me. And it doesn’t feel bad or scary like with ____. Coz the way he done it was wrong. I remember one time he hit me round the head with something like a kosh. I honestly don’t know what it was. I blacked out. And when I woke up he was inside me. I threw up over him and he punched me in the face.

  It wasn’t like that with Woody.

  Old school. That’s what Ma says he is. Old school.

  Well maybe he was bein old school with Lucy.

  Sometimes I want Lucy to be here when he comes round. See how he reacts. And then I hate myself. He’s marrying Ma. And when I think of him like that it makes me think of ____ and I worry that maybe with ____ it was my fault and I put out a signal I didn’t know I did and then I feel really last. There’s no one to talk to about it and when things like that fizz round in my head they feel like there gonna make me explode. I’ve never had no one to talk to. Then I had April. But she’s gone on her travels again and now there’s no one. No one would understand. And why should they?

  It’s all to much.

  I go to the bathroom. I lock the door. I kneel in front of the cabinet. Blood comes easier than tears.

  I’m in the corner shop. Rob’s mindin our Ruby. I’m reading through the magazines when I hears a voice I recognize.

  Twenny Marlbros.

  I look round. It’s Woody.

  I puts the magazine down am readin and walk past him like am heading out.

  Oh hiya Woody. I goes.

  Oh oright Dar laa. And he slaps me on the back as is his wont.

  We step out together.

  Where you goin? I go.

  He shrugs. Just shootin the breeze. Yer Ma in?

  No.

  Oh rice.

  We walk along. It’s sunny. He puts sunglasses on.

  Mate a mine seen you the other night. I goes.

  Fuck. Why did I say that?

  Oh I? Who’s that?

  Oh this girl I know. Lucy.

  There. I’ve said it. Feel like am kacking my pants it feels such a massive thing to be saying.

  He looks none the wiser.

  Where was this?

  The other Satday. Place in town. I forget what it’s called but you have to knock on the door to get in and this weird lookin fella shouts you up.

  Woody went pale. He stops. He lights a ciggie. Offers me one. Even though he knows I don’t.

  Is it called Sadie’s? I go – and fuck me they should be givin me the Oscar.

  Nah snot called that. He goes.

  Oh rice. I go.

  What does she look like?

  Dunno. Pretty. Brown hair in a long bob. Was with an older mate. Think she was wearing a red dress and matching heels.

  How jew know her? He goes.

  I just do. I go.

  Have you told yer Ma?

  No. Forgot. I go.

  Woody’s lookin well freaked out. He takes his sunglasses off and looks at me. Like he’s tryina work out why am saying this.

  She said you bought her a drink.

  I never.

  She didn’t mind.

  And I said that a bit too quickly. And it startles him. He freezes. Lookin at me. and then I add. For good meshure. She really didn’t.

  His face changes. It goes from shock to dawning to shock again. And he’s still sayin nothing. He suddenly jolts into life and starts walkin away.

  Where you goin? Am shouting after him.

  He doesn’t reply.

  Woody?

  He just keeps on walkin down the street.

  Am an arlarse for doin that. But something tells me. He won’t say nothing.

  Ruby looks so pretty in her flour girl dress. But Ma had Ruby’s ears pierced yesterday and she don’t like it. And on top of that she is makin her wear this flour thing on her head on a piece of elastic and them two things combined I think are makin her grouchy. She hasn’t stopped all day. She’s only three months old. I may as well have a doll in my hands bein flour girl for what she can actchally do. She just has to lie there bein a baby while I hold a basket of flours in my other hand and scatter them on the ground in front of Ma.

  I know. Feel a cunt for myself.

  The church round the back of us has agreed to do the weddin. Ma and Margy have been goin every Sunday in there best clothes and comin back raving about Father Parr and his wise cracks.

  There’s only an hour to go and Margy is doing Ma’s hair. She looks ridiculous. She looks like Kiki Dee in the 70s. The flick is back with avenjance. The dress is nice. And the flours are nice. Ma called in a few favours from her punters. She’s draggin on a ciggie as Margy messes with her hair. Rob sits board on the couch in his school uniform and I try and shut our Ruby up.

  How do I look? Goes Ma.

  You look beautiful Frankie. Goes Margy. Someone needs there eyes testin.

  Tina Charles is playin on the record player. Ma keeps nocking back a voddie and then singin along. Her and Marg do a little dance round the living room when there done. Giggles. Never seen Ma so happy. But jittery. She’s all on hedge.

  It’s a bright sunny day and the sun is streaming in through the open winders. Not even the cathedral can block out the sun today. The music’s blarin. The baby’s cryin. There all laughin and dancin when suddenly there’s this noise and a black thing has bombed into the room. It’s a pigeon. It’s flown in through the winder. Its flyin everywhere tryina get out but Ma’s screamin and Marg’s laughin and Rob’s jumpin up. Ma’s screamin. Get it out get it out before it shits on me dress. An she runs into the kitchen and comes back with the broom and the pigeon’s goin mental flappin around everywhere. It’s bedlam in here an then almost as soon as it come in it’s gone out again. And the music stops. And then we hear a man’s voice.

  Frankie?

  We all look round. Some fe
lla stood there. In a track suit.

  Ay. You wanna get a move on. Ma goes. We’re meant to be at the church in fifteen minutes. Everyone this is the best man. Billy. Why haven’t you got your glad rags on Billy?

  Only Billy just shakes his head. Ma takes Ruby off me. Like she wants to look like the devoted mother.

  Shut your gob Rube. She goes.

  He’s not comin. This fella goes.

  Ma says nothing.

  Y what? Goes Margy.

  He’s not comin the wedding. This fella goes.

  How jew mean? Goes Margy.

  No one can find him. I’ve been round his. Nowhere to be seen.

  He’s probly at the church. Goes Ma. Finally finding her voice. And then she coughs, clearin her throat, like talkin took it out of her.

  No he’s not. This fella goes. I found a note. I was meant to be going round. Gettin im ready. He’d left a note. Says he can’t go threw with it.

  Last minute nerves. Goes Margy.

  You know his heart was never really in it. This fella goes. Shot gun wedding. Am sure he’ll see the baby all right.

  Ruby. Shut it. Goes Ma. Coz the baby is getting on her tits.

  Ma I’ll take her. I go.

  Fuck off Darren. She goes.

  Am goin the church. This fella goes. Tell everyone.

  He might be there now. Ma goes. Sounding just a little bit despret.

  Am sorry Frankie. This fella goes. Then this fella really does go.

  Ruby. Shut it. Goes Ma. Coz Ruby’s really cryin now.

  Ma you need to rock her a bit. She’ll soon . . .

  Darren.

  Silence.

  Rob stands up. Well. Best get this crappy uniform off. He goes. And he heads off to his bedroom.

  Marg looks to Ma. Am gonna go. Am gonna make sure he’s not there. You wait here.

  And she runs out after that Billy fella.

  Ruby’s really cryin now. Ma starts pacing the room. Struttin n tuttin n you can tell she’s fuming. Really fuming. She starts laughin.

  Cheeky fuckin bastard.

  And then she’s off again. Pacin.

  Ma give me the baby.

  But she ignores me.

  How dare he. How dare he. Each time getting louder, which I think is scaring Ruby.

  And then. It was so quick. I would’ve stopped her if I could but it was that quick.

  She goes. Oh SHUT UP RUBY. And she throws the baby across the room. Ruby hits the arm of the settee and falls on the floor.

  I freeze in horror. I do. I actchally freeze. And Ma goes into the kitchen. I come to me senses and go and pick her up. Ruby. She’s cryin so loud. I hold her to me to try and comfort her. Rock her. Jiggle her. But the cryin gets worse. Our Rob comes through from the bedroom. Stares.

  What did she do?

  I can’t speak.

  Darren?

  I think she’s hurt.

  Rob runs to the kitchen. You fucking evil bitch Ma.

  But Ma won’t answer.

  I look at Ruby. And I know what I have to do.

  32C Gambier Terrace

  15 August 1982

  Dear Darren,

  I know for a long time we have never seen eye to eye. I know for a long time I have been dismissive towards you. I do not approve of how your mother runs your house. I’m sure we are both clear on that. I remember this street when it was a real destination, a place to be proud of. However, I fear your mother and her ilk have sullied that lately. I naturally assumed I would never be proud of anyone on our terrace again.

  I was wrong.

  Yesterday I saw you running along Myrtle Street with your beautiful sister in your arms. I saw the state she was in and I saw the panic and care in your eyes. I saw you dash across the street between the oncoming motorcars. I know what you were doing and I am sure in your home you will get no thanks for it. In fact I am under no illusions that you will receive some sort of punishment for it.

  I want you to know that you did a very good thing yesterday. I want you to know that what you did was courageous and I am incredibly proud.

  For years I have been going to church, professing to be a Christian. I now realize I was most unchristianly in my attitude towards you, and for that I humbly apologize.

  There is no need to acknowledge this letter.

  Burn it for all you wish. But even though you will never see that little girl again, know you did the good and Christian thing yesterday. You have given that girl the gift of life.

  Yours truly,

  Helen Chance

  HOLLY

  THIRTEEN

  Irish Alan stood on his doorstep looking slightly bewildered. It was mid-afternoon, but he was still in his dressing gown, unshaven, eyes slightly bloodshot. Maybe he’d had a bad night.

  ‘I’m sorry, Holly, but she’s not here.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Er . . .’ Just then a whistling neighbour passed, walking his dog. Both men nodded at each other. Alan then pulled the front door open wider and beckoned me in, clearly embarrassed to be seen looking like a dosser in the middle of the day. We went into the living room and he fanned his hand in the direction of the settee, which I took as an invitation to sit.

  Where was she? Where was Rose? Maybe he was going to say, ‘She knew you were on to her and has done a midnight flit.’

  But how would she have known I was on to her? She didn’t know I had the biscuit tin. How would she have known I had worked out her secret? And why had she indeed kept it a secret from me? That is, if I was correct in what I assumed I had deduced. Maybe I was wrong. Should I ask Alan? But then again, if she had kept it a secret from me, maybe she had hidden it from him too. But was that really possible? Can you keep something like that from the person you love, the person you share your life with, the person who sees you naked? Maybe they never saw each other naked. Maybe they kept the lights off. Or maybe they had a platonic relationship. Questions, questions, so many questions, and not enough courage to ask them.

  How I wished I was the yes-woman I had tried to be. A more go-getting woman would have stamped her foot (if that wouldn’t be deemed too churlish) and demanded answers. A yes-woman would push out her bust and say stuff like ‘Come on, buddy, spit it out. I wanna know ’bout my heritage.’

  In my head this particular yes-woman looked remarkably like TV cookery presenter Nadia Sawalha. I always thought she looked like she didn’t stand for any nonsense. No, sir-ee!

  Maybe I could sound like her.

  As it was, I trembled a bit and tried to speak, but nothing came out.

  Alan was in the kitchen putting on the kettle. He returned and sat on the edge of one of the armchairs.

  ‘She’s gone to see her mother fora few days.’

  I looked instinctively to the photo in the alcove. Alan followed my eyes.

  ‘Is her name April?’ I asked.

  Yikes. Jessica Fletcher had nothing on me.

  Alan nodded slowly. ‘How did you know? Did she tell you?’

  ‘She must’ve done,’ I flustered. ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Greece.’

  Greece. Of course she did. Santorini.

  ‘How long’s she there for?’

  ‘About a week.’

  ‘You not gone?’

  That had to be one of the worst questions I had ever asked. Alan did this little frown thing, then shook his head.

  ‘I prefer my suntans off a neon tube,’ he said, then got up and headed back into the kitchen.

  So Rose was making out her mother was April. On one level that made sense. She had probably had more support over the years from her than from her natural mother. And besides, what was natural about Frankie? If anything, she was a very unnatural mother.

  I had so many questions to ask Rose. I had to see her. I knew if I saw her, I’d find the courage, somewhere, to ask them. I’d have to – no one else could answer the questions apart from her.

  But maybe I could ask Alan them. Surely he would know all he
r secrets and stories and . . .

  I saw him looking at me from the kitchen. When my eyes met his, he looked away quickly.

  But what if I was wrong? It was completely possible that I was. Maybe Rose really was the daughter of someone called April who lived in Santorini. And the fact that I had ‘met’ – on the written page at least – someone with that name and that desired place to live in an old diary in an old biscuit tin was merely coincidence.

  Merely. Didn’t feel there was much ‘merely’ about any of this.

  I couldn’t risk too much with Alan. I had to tread carefully.

  I also felt that I had to tread carefully with Rose. This is why I had turned up unannounced. Even though my initial reaction had been to phone her and accuse her, or email and pin her down, I had a feeling that if I did that, she might scarper. She had lied to me so much surely she would be embarrassed and angry that I had found her out. So although it had been hard overnight not to just pick up the phone, I had resisted.

  But now my efforts had been futile anyway. She wasn’t here. In my absence she had gone to Greece. Shirley Valentine, eat your heart out.

  ‘What are you doing on the Wirral, anyway, love?’ Alan was asking.

  And this was indeed a very good question. Had Rose been here, the answer would have been straightforward, but she wasn’t. And I didn’t wish to arouse any suspicions. If Alan didn’t know, I didn’t want to blow Rose’s secret.

  OK, so that’s a lie – maybe part of me did. I was just desperate to talk about it. To someone, anyone. What I had discovered was, frankly, mind-blowing. Well, mind-blowing to me. Mind-blowing and eye-opening and . . .

  But then another part of me had to respect her wishes. Even if I was perhaps only imagining what those wishes were.

  I was second-guessing everything.

  God, I needed to speak to her.

  ‘Oh, I was just in the area.’

  He looked most suspicious. As well he might. I had made such a song and dance about leaving to return to London. Rose had even driven me to Lime Street, and yet here I was, back again, a day after my departure. So I lied. So what? Had I not been lied to enough already in this house? Was it not payback time?

  Through the back window I saw a butterfly dancing close to the glass.

  Ah yes. And Rose had made the ultimate transformation!