Bad Company

by Cathy MacPhail

  For David and Suzanne

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Also by Cathy MacPhail

  Chapter One

  June 1st

  What have I done? What have I done?

  How did I ever get into all this trouble? I’ve never been so scared in all my life. Or felt so guilty. I’ve ruined Mr Murdoch’s life, and he’s never done anything to hurt me. He always liked me, though I can’t imagine why. No one else does, and now, I don’t blame them. Lissa Blythe, the wickedest girl in school. We’ve done a terrible thing, Diane Connell and I, and I don’t know how to change it. I can’t tell anyone the truth. No one would understand. We’ve been sent home. We’ll probably never go back to school. Diane’s right, she said they won’t want us there now anyway. I feel like crawling into a hole and dying. I’ll go down in history as evil and bad and …

  I threw the diary across the room in my anger. Why was I writing in that stupid thing anyway? This is the worst moment in my life and I’m writing in a diary. Yet, my diary’s the only place I can tell the truth. It’s the only place I’ve ever told the truth since my dad went into prison. Was that when I changed? When I found out that my father, so successful, rich and going places, was really a crook and the only place he was going was jail? Or was it when Diane Connell came into my life? Diane Connell, my best friend. Or is she? Now, I’m not so sure. I’m so mixed up. I’m so unhappy.

  I picked the diary up from the floor. It had fallen open at the entry for last December. How I remember that day. The day I found out that after almost three years my father was coming home from prison.

  December 4th

  I had just come in from school today when Jonny came screaming at me with the news. ‘He’s coming home, Lissa!’ He was jumping up and down with delight. ‘Daddy’s coming home for Christmas.’

  I ran into the kitchen to find Mum. ‘Is it true? Is he coming back here? To this house?’

  I refuse to call this place ‘home’. This is the grotty little house we had to move to when he went into prison and our real house had to be sold, and the cars and the timeshare in the South of France. We lost everything because of HIM!

  ‘He is your father,’ Mum said patiently.

  But I’ll never call him that again, or Dad, or Daddy. His name’s Jonathan Blythe, and I’ll call him J.B. if I have to refer to him at all. I hate him.

  ‘I don’t want him here. Not for Christmas. Not any time.’ I was yelling. I wanted to cry. But I wouldn’t. Not for him.

  ‘He’s coming home and that’s all about it.’ Mum tried to smile at me, but she doesn’t smile much any more and that’s all because of him.

  My mum’s lovely, with her long, curly, dark hair and her blue, blue eyes. Irish eyes, J.B. used to say and he’d kiss her. He was always kissing her. Is that what she misses? Is that why she wants him back, so he can kiss her again?

  She’s lovely. Even though the smile has definitely gone from her eyes, she could get someone else to kiss her no problem.

  ‘And Jonathan wants him back,’ she went on.

  ‘Jonny’s daft.’ And he is. Even though he’s only eight I can tell he’ll be daft for the rest of his life.

  ‘And little Margo needs her daddy too.’

  ‘Margo’s not even three,’ I shouted at her. ‘He’s been in prison since she was born. She doesn’t even know him. So how can she need him?’

  It was all so stupid. She was making excuses. It’s Mum who really needs him. I want to hate her too. But I can’t. She’s my mum, and while J.B.’s been away she’s made our life good. I still get my dancing lessons, and Jonny goes off to cub camp every year. We go on holiday every summer too. Maybe not to the South of France like we used to. This summer it was a lodge in the Highlands. But it’s all thanks to her. So why can’t she see that we don’t need him at all?

  I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn’t listen. All she said was, ‘I need him, Lissa.’

  The children of lovers are orphans, Mr Murdoch had once told us in English. I didn’t understand what that meant until today, till that moment. They were still so much in love with each other, I didn’t matter.

  I was an orphan.

  Reading my diary again, I can remember how angry I was. And even angrier when I went to school and discovered that it was all round the place that J.B. was getting out.

  Nancy Ryman and Asra Bebbi were waiting for me at the school gates when I got there. I knew they were waiting for me though they were pretending not to. They used to be my best friends. Now I wouldn’t even talk to them. When it had all come out about J.B. they had pretended they still wanted to be friends, still wanted me to come and sleep over at their homes. But I knew the truth. They were just feeling sorry for me. And I won’t have anybody’s pity. I promised myself that I would never set foot in their houses again. Nancy’s dad is always in the local paper for his charity work. They say he’s in line for an MBE. And Asra’s father is a consultant at the local hospital. Oh, I’d really be out of place with them now. The only thing J.B.’s in line for is parole.

  Nancy was smiling as I approached. ‘Hi, Lissa. Asra and I were wondering,’ she pulled Asra towards her for support. She wasn’t smiling. I suppose she thought I’d snubbed her enough in the past. Nancy never gave up trying. ‘Asra and I were wondering if you’d come to the Christmas disco with us. It’ll be great fun.’

  She knew about J.B. too. Both of them did. And they were feeling sorry for poor little Lissa. Well, no one was ever going to feel sorry for me.

  ‘With you two?’ I sneered. ‘How could that possibly be fun?’

  Nancy’s face flushed. She swallowed. For a split second I regretted it. I wanted to go so much. Asra pulled Nancy on.

  ‘Come on, Nancy. I told you it wouldn’t do any good.’

  I had a lump in my throat as I watched them go. In that second I would have shouted after them, but right then Ralph Aird yelled across the playground at me.

  ‘I hear the Godfather’s coming out on parole.’ He couldn’t ever leave it alone. I hated Ralph Aird, almost as much as he hated me. He was always chewing gum and trying to look cool. Scruffy was the word I’d use to describe him, with his baseball cap always turned back to front and his jeans that looked too big for him. He came from one of the worst areas of the town. His father had spent most of his adult life in one prison or another. Finally, ending up in the same one as J.B.

  I ignored Ralph Aird. Dirt beneath my feet. I swept past him with my nose in the air. But Ralph didn’t know how to keep his big mouth shut.

  ‘I don’t know how you can still be such a stuck-up wee snob, Lissa Blythe. Not when your daddy’s slopping out in the same cell as mine.’

  ‘He is not! He’s got a cell to himself and a job in the library.’ I had always insisted on that, even though I knew it was a lie. I was always telling lies about him.

  ‘The governor knows he’s innocent and he’ll be out soon,’ I used to tell everyone, believing that at least.

  But of course, he wasn’t. The papers screamed his guilt on the front pages, and he had confessed, quietly to Mum and me. I had believed in him. Made a right fool of myself sticking up for him, and he had let me down.

  Ralph swaggered into step beside me. ‘Know why I call
him the Godfather?’ He aimed that at his friends who followed along behind him. He always had a group of idiots, as scruffy as himself, who hung on his every word. I wanted to tell him to buzz off, but I knew he wouldn’t. He never did. ‘Because I remember our wee Lissa here telling me he was a big gangland boss. Head of the Underworld. The Godfather, see?’

  I blushed to remember that I had. When I’d finally admitted to myself J.B. was guilty, I decided at least he could be a leader, in charge, top man. Well, I’d only been eleven then. I was bound to say something stupid. And anyway, at that point I was sure I’d be going on to Adler Academy, the private school on the outskirts of the town. I would never see Ralph Aird or his like again. So I could tell them anything. They’d never find out the truth. But Adler Academy cost money, Mum had told me, and money was something we just didn’t have any more. So, after all my stupid lies, I was forced to go on to the same grotty High School as Ralph Aird. My stupid lies were found out and my torment got even worse.

  Ralph was still rattling on. ‘You even threatened to have me terminated, didn’t you, Lissa?’

  ‘Terminated? No. I would have had you put down, Ralph. That’s what you do to animals.’

  Ralph ignored that. ‘Some gangland boss. He ended up taking the blame for everything. My dad says that’s called a “patsy”. Too frightened to blow the whistle on his Big Boss. My dad says he’s a laughing stock in that jail.’

  That was it! I’d had enough of Ralph. I swung at him with my bag and caught him off balance. He staggered back and only saved himself from falling by landing on a couple of his friends.

  ‘You’ve had it, Blythe.’ He made a run at me, but I lifted my rucksack and swung it again at him. This time he did fall and, grabbing my rucksack, he pulled me down with him.

  ‘Punch her, Ralphie!’ someone shouted. So much for chivalry in this school.

  ‘Shut that big mouth of hers.’

  They were all against me. I didn’t have a friend left in the whole school. Everyone had turned on me when it came out that my father was a crook. Not a master criminal. I could have lived with that. But the one who was caught. The stupid one who had refused to tell on anyone even though that would have meant a lighter sentence. Maybe none at all. No wonder they laughed at him in prison. No wonder I hated him.

  I was ready to give Ralph another swipe with my bag, but just at that moment we were both dragged to our feet by Mr Murdoch, Murdo, our English teacher.

  ‘Ralph! Lissa!’ Murdo has a strong Highland accent, with a lisp and a habit of spitting all over you when he talks, which is why nobody ever sits in the front two rows in his class.

  His lisp was even worse when he was angry, which was often. He had a temper to match his fiery red hair.

  ‘Lissa!’ He lisped again, and I was showered with spit.

  ‘It was his fault. It’s always his fault.’ I aimed my bag once again at Ralph. He sidestepped it neatly and winked. Of course, he wouldn’t get the blame. Not Ralphie, not from Murdo. He thought Ralph had ‘potential’.

  Potential to be the next Hannibal Lecter is what I thought.

  Murdo had thought I had potential once too. Once. Now, he always seemed to be angry at me.

  ‘Get in there! I want to have a word with both of you!’

  And with an angry push he sent us both flying towards the English classroom.

  Chapter Two

  December 12th

  I got detention today, thanks to that awful Ralph Aird. But I’ll get him back one of these days, and then he’ll be sorry. We were both dragged into Murdo’s class and he bawled at the two of us at the top of his voice. I’m sure they could have heard him in Sydney, Australia. Of course, I got the worst of it. As usual.

  ‘You will have to control that temper of yours, Lissa,’ he yelled. He had the cheek to say that to me. He’s always bawling at someone and whamming down his desk lid in his anger. ‘You used to be a nice girl.’

  At that point Ralphie sniggered and I almost walloped him again.

  ‘People think you’re a bit of a snob, I know,’ Murdo went on, his voice a little softer now. He said it as if I had some sort of disease. If I’m a snob I have reason to be. I’m better than they are … or I used to think I was.

  Murdo went on. ‘But now …’

  He hesitated and I filled in his silence. ‘But now, I don’t have any reason to be a snob, is that it? Now, I’m a jailbird’s daughter. Just like him.’

  ‘Actually, I’m a jailbird’s son,’ Ralph corrected as if he was being really smart.

  ‘Neither you nor Ralph can blame yourself for what your fathers have done.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I snapped back at him. What makes him think I blame myself?

  ‘No one blames you.’

  But they do. I can see it in their faces when they pass me in the corridors. And they’re glad that it happened to me. To Lissa Blythe who always thought she was so much better than anyone else. I always used to be surrounded by friends, Nancy and Asra and me, we were always together. It took what happened to J.B. to make me realise how many of them only hung around with me because of who I was … or thought I was. A rich, successful man’s daughter.

  ‘I always hoped what happened to your father would make you a better person. More humble. It was all you were lacking, you know. A little humility.’

  Humble? Me? Never!

  ‘Instead,’ his anger came back with force, ‘it only made you worse.’

  ‘You can say that again. See her, she’s well spoiled, sir.’ This came from Ralph, and he liked the expression so much he had to repeat it. ‘Well spoiled.’

  To my surprise Murdo told him to shut up.

  ‘You’re every bit as bad as she is!’ he shouted at him.

  He eventually let me go, but of course he kept Ralph behind to discuss the banner he is making for the district art competition. At the moment it stretches around the walls of the English classroom. A collage of Great Moments in Literature. He really needs Murdo’s help with that one, considering Ralphie has never read a book in his life. Well, he has now, of course. He had to read them so he could draw the characters. The scenes go from some bloke getting his eyes poked out in King Lear (trust Ralphie to include that one. He’s so bloodthirsty), to Harry Potter, pointing off into the distance to a future where books will always survive. (Murdo’s words, not mine.) He’s always painting new figures and attaching them to the banner. ‘It’s going to be a winner,’ I heard Murdo shouting proudly. He was almost singing it with a happy Highland lilt. No wonder he was happy. It was Murdo who had first recognised Ralph’s talent for art. ‘His potential.’

  I left them to it. But I had a miserable day. And it didn’t help knowing that Ralph Aird, big-time loser, has more potential than me.

  I was so miserable when I wrote that. I felt I had nothing in my life. And I was dreading Christmas, even if everyone else in the family was looking forward to it. J.B. would be coming home and my mum couldn’t keep her excitement a secret. She was always cleaning the house so that everything sparkled. She had Jonny helping and even Margo tottered about with her little toy hoover. And how angry Mum was because I wouldn’t help with anything.

  But why should I have? I didn’t ever want to see him again. Hadn’t seen him for months. I stopped going to visit him in prison. It scared me. I was always so afraid they’d slam the door shut and not let me out just because I was his daughter. Mum didn’t object to me not going. I know she hated taking us there. Not that Jonny minded. He thought it was an adventure. But as I’ve said before, Jonny’s soft in the head.

  He thought it was an adventure that Christmas too. Every time there was a knock on the door, or the phone rang he would yell, ‘Is that Daddy now? Is he here yet?’

  And he’d made a poster just to welcome him. He had it hung in the hallway of our poky little semi-detached and he had painted it with Mum’s help, all different colours. WELCOME HOME DAD.

  It made me puke every time I looked at it.

  Eve
n Margo toddled around, nose running, dragging her favourite blanket and sucking her thumb and giggling.

  I spent most of my time in my room out of everyone’s way. Determined not to get excited at the prospect of J.B. back in the house. Sitting in his favourite armchair. (Mum had always kept it.) Filling the bathroom with all his shaving gear. (He was always so untidy.) Or finding him and Mum holding each other whenever I walked into the kitchen, or the living room, or any room in the house. They were always holding each other. And I never wanted to see that again.

  I wandered round the house after they left to go and pick him up. No amount of pleading would make me change my mind and go with them. This was to be my last few hours without J.B. here and I wanted to savour every second of them. We didn’t need him here. Why couldn’t he have stayed at one of those hostels especially for criminals who had just come out of jail? Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to be with us? Mum had bought the food in this house, with no help from him. She paid the rent. She even put up with the neighbours’ whispered, sneering comments. He would only make things worse. He had no right to come back. As I sat in his armchair, and waited for their return, I grew angrier and angrier. I didn’t want him back here at all.

  And there right in front of me was Jonny’s WELCOME HOME DAD poster. Taunting me, making a fool of me. Everyone else wanted him. The house wanted him. I was, as usual, the odd one out. Well, I’d show him. I’d show them all. I’d show just how unwelcome he really was.

  I was lying on my bed when I heard the car pull up outside the house. I recognised the engine. It never sounded healthy. It was an old car, a cheap car. But all that Mum could afford. I heard Margo’s giggling scream as she was lifted high in the air. Even Mum was laughing. I bet every neighbour was peeking out of their net curtains and having a good laugh too. A laugh at us.

  Then I heard J.B.’s voice. The first time I’d heard it in such a long time.

  ‘OK, Jonny boy, what’s the surprise you’ve got for me?’ Footsteps hurrying up the path. Jonny’s excited cries. ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.’ The front door opened. ‘Look what I made for you.’