Jake's Tower

by Elizabeth Laird

  Kieran walked halfway home with me. It was in the wrong direction for him. He usually got the bus back down towards the railway bridge, near the flats, but he said he wanted to go to the model shop at my end of the high street. I knew he was just doing it so he could look out for me.

  I was glad. The minute I got out of school, the powerful feeling left me and I was really scared about what I’d done. I couldn’t work out if I was glad or sorry.

  Mum opened the door when I got back to Mrs Judd’s house. My heart skipped a beat. She didn’t usually get off work till five.

  ‘What happened?’ I said. ‘Why are you back early?’

  She made a funny face and jerked her head towards the kitchen door.

  ‘She got me an appointment at the doctor’s. They gave me time off for it at work.’

  ‘Are you OK? You’re not ill or anything?’

  ‘No. Just a check-up. For the baby.’

  The phone rang on the table in the hall. Mrs Judd came out of the kitchen, dusting flour off her hands, and picked it up.

  ‘For you,’ she said, giving it to Mum.

  Mum backed away and put her hand up.

  ‘I’m not talking to him. Just tell him to leave us alone.’

  ‘It’s not Steve. It’s Jake’s school.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She looked worried, and took the phone from Mrs Judd’s hand. My blood had turned to ice. The muddle in my head cleared away and I knew I’d done a terrible thing, the worst thing in Mum’s book.

  The person on the other end of the phone was a woman. She was speaking quietly, going on and on. Mum was hardly saying anything, just, ‘Yes,’ and ‘No,’ in a tight flat voice. Every now and then she started to say ‘It’s not—’ or ‘I didn’t—’ but the voice at the other end interrupted her and she shut up.

  I sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and tried to think about what I was going to say to her, but the blood was hammering round in my head and I couldn’t get my thoughts straight.

  I was used to getting it from Steve. I’d learned long ago to guard my mind from him. But when she was angry with me and said things, it hurt all the way down.

  She put the receiver back.

  ‘Mum, I couldn’t help it. It was Mr Grossmith. He sneaked up on me in the cloakroom. He saw my back. I didn’t want to say anything. He stopped me doing PE, then afterwards he went on and on at me. I kept telling him I’d crashed a bike but he didn’t believe me. Mum, I’m sorry. He got it out of me. I didn’t mean to say anything. Mum, you’ve got to believe me.’

  ‘That was the social services,’ Mum said, still in the same flat voice. ‘They’re pulling in the child protection team. They’re going to do an investigation.’

  Hot tears spurted out of my eyes.

  ‘I won’t go, Mum. I won’t let them take me. I’m staying with you whatever.’

  ‘It’s all right, love, I know.’ This was worse than anger. She sounded defeated, as if her guts had been ripped out. ‘They’re going after Steve.’

  ‘Good. About time too.’ Mrs Judd’s mouth snapped tight to stop a smile spreading across her face.

  ‘He’s never going to forgive me.’ Mum was twisting her hands together.

  It was Mrs Judd’s eyebrows that snapped together now.

  ‘Marie? I don’t believe I’m hearing this. You’re not regretting leaving him, are you?’

  ‘He loves me,’ Mum said. ‘I know he does. And we had some good times, didn’t we, Jake? We had some laughs?’

  I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t.

  ‘Anyway, he’ll kill me for this,’ Mum said.

  ‘No, he won’t.’ Mrs Judd was taking charge again. ‘He’ll be too scared. I’ve known Steven Barlow since I caught him stoning my cat when he was ten. Red-handed. When he saw me he ran as if Dracula was on his tail. He’s a coward, is Steven. He’s scared of anyone in authority. He only picks on people who can’t fight back. Mention a policeman to him and you won’t see him for dust.’

  I remembered what had happened the day before, when Steve had seen Mrs McLeish and Mr Grossmith watching him, and how he’d let go of me at once.

  But it’s OK for Mrs Judd, I thought. You’d have to be a nutter to go for her. She’d scare off anybody.

  ‘I’m putting the kettle on,’ Mrs Judd said, marching back towards her kitchen. ‘Look at your faces, the pair of you. You’d have thought the sky had fallen in. This is the best thing that could have happened, in my opinion. Anyway, it saves me the trouble of reporting Mr Steven Barlow to the authorities myself.’

  My head’s spinning round these days till I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.

  Everything’s changed.

  Here’s a list: we’ve left Steve. We’ve left the flat. We’ve moved in with Mrs Judd. I told on Steve at school. I’ve got myself a best mate. My unreal dad has gone off into nowhere in his scarlet uniform. My real dad is . . . I can’t get my head round him at all.

  I feel different too. I never used to get angry, but I do now. I never used to think I could stand up to anyone, but sometimes I think I can now.

  I reckon there’s some of Mrs Judd in me. She’s my grandma, after all.

  We’ve got a real fight on our hands now, Mrs Judd and me. We’re in it together and it’s going on all the time. It’s her and me against Mum. Since the day the school phoned up and told her they were going to go after Steve, Mum’s been on and on about him.

  ‘Say what you like, he’s not all bad,’ she says. ‘He’s looked after us all these years.’

  ‘Looked after!’ snorts Mrs Judd, and I raise my eyebrows too. ‘He damn nearly killed your son, Marie. He terrorized you.’

  Mum won’t look Mrs Judd in the eye.

  ‘I’m not saying we didn’t have our bad times,’ she says, going all obstinate on us. ‘But there were good times too.’

  ‘Like when?’ I chip in. ‘Like when you got me that space station at Christmas and he trashed it on Boxing Day? Like when he was trying to belt me and you got in between us and he landed one on you and broke your collar bone?’

  She looks shifty.

  ‘It was accidental. He didn’t mean it.’

  ‘No. He meant to break mine,’ I say, and I feel my new anger flare up. It’s a hard feeling, a shiny kind of feeling, and it makes me feel good.

  ‘If you go back to him, Mum,’ I say, ‘I won’t go with you. I won’t. I’ll stay here with Grandma, or I’ll run away.’

  Then I see her wavering, and it’s so awful I can’t bear to watch. I see my mum trying to choose between the meanest man in the universe, and me, her son.

  ‘Go on, then,’ I say, and I’m petrified my anger is going to go and I’m going to start crying. ‘Go back to him. You know what he’ll do, don’t you? He’ll start on the baby. The minute she cries, he’ll go for her.’

  She gives me a funny look.

  ‘Why do you keep saying ‘she’? How do you know it’s a girl?’

  ‘I just do.’ I don’t want her to be distracted. ‘So who’s it going to be, Mum? Steve or me?’

  So far, things have always ended the same way, with her saying, ‘Give over, Jake. What you take me for? I’m your mum, aren’t I?’ But I’m not too hopeful. If he turns up here in his best shirt, stinking of aftershave, with a bunch of flowers in his hand, I think I know what’ll happen. He’ll be all smarmy, and she’ll go all gooey, and he’ll make promises, and she’ll say she believes them, and that’ll be that. We’ll be out of here and home again before you can say ‘lying creep’. It’ll be back to the old terror, night and day.

  I keep reckoning without Mrs Judd, though. She’s a fixture in our lives now. She’s in there with us, and she’s rooting for me.

  He did come round with flowers, like I was afraid he would, only thank God he got his timing wrong. Mum had got back from work so tired she looked like death, and Mrs Judd had sent her upstairs to have a bath.

  ‘Do you good,’ she said. ‘Relax yourself. There’s some bub
ble stuff on the shelf. Don’t worry about supper. It’ll keep.’

  Mum had rolled her eyes at me when Mrs Judd had marched back into the kitchen. Mrs Judd was bringing out all kinds of new things in Mum. Sometimes it was great, and they were laughing and gossiping and joking like a couple of sisters, and sometimes Mum was like a little girl, lapping up all this spoiling one minute, then going rebellious and naughty the next.

  ‘Relax in a hot bath,’ she’d mouthed at me as she went up the stairs, making a funny face. ‘Supper will be served in half an hour.’

  I’d giggled and gone back to the telly in the living room. One of the nicest things about being at Mrs Judd’s, was having a say in what we watched on TV. At the flat, it was always what Steve wanted, and if I sat in the big armchair when he was out, and he came back and caught me in it, he’d kick me off it, whether he wanted to sit down himself or not.

  I heard the water run upstairs, and then the doorbell rang. I didn’t want to answer it myself, but I didn’t have to. Mrs Judd was opening the door almost before I was out of the sitting room.

  I could smell his aftershave before I even saw him. It made me want to puke.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Judd,’ he said at once, in a wheedling voice, smiling till I thought his cheeks would crack. ‘I’ve come to apologize for my hasty words the other night. All I want is to sit down and talk things over with Marie.’

  ‘Oh, do you?’ said Mrs Judd. ‘Really.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ said Steve. ‘I’ve been that worried about her, with her being pregnant and all.’

  ‘Get lost, Steven.’ Mrs Judd started to shut the door.

  His smile slipped.

  ‘I’ve got my rights,’ he said, his voice hardening. ‘Let me in.’

  ‘It wouldn’t do you any good if I did,’ she said. ‘She’s out.’

  ‘Out?’ His eyebrows nearly met across the top of his nose in a thunderous frown. ‘Where? Who with?’

  ‘She’s talking things over with her social worker,’ said Mrs Judd triumphantly.

  I was getting worried. Mum had the taps running, but if she turned them off, and Steve heard, he’d realize she was there, and nothing would stop him barging past Mrs Judd and up the stairs. And if she heard his voice she’d have a towel wrapped around her and be down in a flash, batting her eyelashes and dabbing at her hair.

  Then, thank God, I heard music wafting down the stairs. She’d taken the radio into the bathroom with her. With any luck she wouldn’t hear a thing.

  Anyway, Mrs Judd had got it right. The words social worker had got to Steve. He was too rattled to notice the noise from upstairs. I could see the change come over his face, the anger redden his eyes. He was losing it. I backed away into the sitting room and watched through the crack of the door.

  ‘Old bag!’ he snarled. ‘Interfering cow!’

  ‘Have they been on to you yet, Steven?’ Mrs Judd said sweetly. ‘They will soon, if they haven’t already. They’re calling a case conference about the violence that’s been done to Jake. Didn’t you know? The meeting’s on Thursday. Social workers, teachers, lawyers – oh, they’ll all be there. The police too, of course.’

  I could see by Steve’s face that he knew about the case conference.

  He muttered something.

  ‘What was that?’ Mrs Judd said. ‘I don’t think I heard. They’re going to decide about taking legal proceedings against you. So here’s a piece of free advice. You’re in deep trouble already, and if you don’t want worse, stay away from Jake and Marie. Next time I see your face round here I’m calling the police.’

  Steve seemed to recover a bit.

  ‘That’s what you said last time, but you didn’t, did you?’

  ‘Oh get lost, Steven,’ Mrs Judd said, as if she was losing patience with an irritating little boy.

  Steve seemed to turn into one, before my eyes. Then he went back to being smarmy again.

  ‘Just give her these,’ he said, and he pushed the flowers into her hands and turned round, and I saw him wriggling his shoulders under his leather jacket as he went out of the gate, as if he’d won some kind of victory.

  Upstairs, the radio had stopped and I could hear Mum moving about.

  ‘Quick, Jake, put these in the bin,’ Mrs Judd said, shoving the flowers into my hands.

  I waited a moment or two, getting my courage up, then I went to the front door and looked up and down the road. I could see Steve walking away, and feeling safe I took the flowers to the dustbin by the gate and rammed them down, head first, on top of a heap of manky chicken bones, till all the stems were snapped. I stirred the whole thing up a bit so Mum wouldn’t see them if she took the lid off the bin. And then, I don’t know why, I spat on it all.

  When I got back to the door Mum was coming downstairs. She was sniffing the air, with a wistful look in her eyes. ‘What’s that smell?’ she said.

  ‘Air freshener,’ I said quickly. ‘I had some dog shit on my shoe. Grandma blasted the place to get rid of the stink.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said sadly, and drifted off to the kitchen, and I stood there, feeling almost guilty, as if I’d betrayed her, and telling myself off for being a fool.

  This is what I was thinking when I went to bed in my dad’s old room that night.

  I was thinking about fathers. About what they should be like.

  A father should be fit, strong enough to go after anyone who threatens his kids. He shouldn’t have enemies, though. He would be friends with people outside his family, so that his son would feel good walking down the street with him. People would come up to them and say, ‘Is this your son? Nice kid.’

  His son wouldn’t have to be quiet all the time, and slip past people trying not to be noticed, with shameful bruises on him, and dirty secrets in his head. He’d hold himself up straight, and call out to his mates, if he saw them in the distance, and laugh out loud, even out of doors, whenever he liked.

  A father ought to let his kids be at ease in their house, not make them want to freeze, or run away and hide when he comes in. He wouldn’t trash their stuff or swear at them.

  He’d want to be with them, like reading them stories when they were little, and taking them out to play football, and going places together when they were older. Fishing, maybe, or down to the coast for the day. The funfair and stuff like that.

  And if there was a parents’ evening at the school, he’d go to it, and his son would be proud of him.

  ‘Is that your dad?’ his mates would say, and there’d be respect in their eyes.

  His son would never be scared of his dad, not even when he’d been down the pub.

  A father shouldn’t punch his kid. Or kick him. Or burn him. Or shake him. Not ever, ever, ever.

  Sometimes he’d say, ‘Good for you, son. You’re a good lad. Come here, and give your old man a hug.’

  Things aren’t ever the way you think they’re going to be, not even the biggest moments in your life. Especially not the biggest moments in your life.

  It was the biggest moment in my life today.

  Mum and Mrs Judd went off to the case conference this afternoon. They’d been fussing about it for days. Mum had had her roots done, and Mrs Judd had had her hair permed, and she was wearing her best coat and shoes.

  They were still out when I got in from school. Mrs Judd had shown me where to find the key (under a flower pot on the windowsill), so I could let myself in.

  I hadn’t been in the house on my own before. It felt weird. I half wanted to go round and look at everything, poke around in Mrs Judd’s bedroom, and in drawers and cupboards. But it didn’t feel right so I didn’t.

  Instead I got myself a cup of tea and a couple of chocolate biscuits out of the tin on the side, and did the usual. Lay down on the sofa in front of the TV.

  When I heard the key in the front door I thought it was them coming home, and I sat up and brushed the crumbs off my sweatshirt and tidied up the cushions a bit.

  It wasn’t them, though. No, it wasn
’t them.

  There was a kind of pause in the hall, and I heard a heavy bag being put down on the floor. I must have been waiting for this moment without realizing it, because I guessed at once who it was.

  I felt cold all over. I think I started shaking, but I’m not sure. Whenever I try to remember exactly how it was, my brain turns to jelly.

  The sitting room door opened and he came in.

  He was a bit shorter than I’d expected, and heavier, but I knew him at once, even though he wasn’t at all the way I’d imagined him. Not one bit. He wasn’t fat, really. Just well-rounded. He had one little gold earring and his fair hair was very short. Almost stubble. You could only just see the place in front where it grows straight up.

  He was frowning at me.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said.

  I never thought, in all my life, that those would be the first words he’d say to me.

  He must have thought I was goofy, staring at him with my mouth half open, but I could hardly breathe. My head was being squeezed tight.

  This isn’t happening, I told myself. He’s not real.

  ‘How did you get in here? Where’s my mother?’ He thinks I broke in, I thought, in a panic. He reckons I’m a burglar.

  ‘I’m Jake,’ I said. ‘I’m . . .’

  I couldn’t tell him any more. Why? Why couldn’t I say, ‘Hello, Dad. I’m your son!’

  ‘Jake?’ he was staring at me now.

  ‘You’re Danny, aren’t you?’ I said.

  He sat down suddenly on the easy chair opposite the sofa, as if his knees had given away.

  ‘What’s your other name, Jake? Who’s your mum and dad?’

  He sounded breathless, and he’d gone a sort of pale colour.

  ‘My mum’s Marie.’ I couldn’t say about my dad, so instead I said, ‘Mrs Judd’s my grandma.’

  He shook his head disbelievingly, but his eyes never left my face.

  At last he said, quite quietly. ‘You’re my son. You’re Jake, aren’t you? You’re really him.’

  What did I expect him to do next? Stumble across the room and hug me? Burst into tears? Punch the air and say, ‘Yes! To think that I’ve found you again after searching so long and so far.’?

  He didn’t do anything like that. He just made a nervous noise in his throat. All the time he was staring at me, staring and staring, his mouth hanging open in amazement. And my whole life was beginning to fall in, and Steve’s voice was there in my ear, saying, ‘His son? Your dad? He never gave a toss for you.’