She takes it. She sips tea and watches Jennifer as she brings out her favourite toys. I find some ginger biscuits under two packets of hair dye and as I pour them on to a plate, she takes off her coat and hangs it neatly on the back of the chair. Eventually the kids lose interest and go to their rooms to stare at their tablets. We are left alone with no Jennifer conversation filler. Mum looks around again.
‘This is very you. Very you.’ I am on guard, but this is no insult. She says it softly and kindly. I reach for a biscuit and she touches my hand then withdraws. ‘I’m not doing very well here. But something’s been bothering me. The police were up by the rocks again this week. Dougie was out, talking to anyone who would listen. Your … father. He was standing outside and I heard them talking about it. I went out.’
I shake my head. ‘Look. You don’t need to do this …’
‘No. Hear me out. I knew it was wrong. I knew all along. But your father, he … he’s a difficult man. Not really a bully. Not really … anything. I feel terrible telling you this because he’s your father but he’d shut me down long before you were born. With his “shoulds” and his silence. He would listen to me and then say, “No. That’s how it is, Dawn. That’s just how it is.” And if I disagreed or went against him, he wouldn’t speak to me for weeks. Months, sometimes. And yes, as you have guessed, he did occasionally hit me. And I’m sorry he did it to you. And that I didn’t intervene. I’m so sorry. And he took all the money, saying we could have an allowance each, but if I … well, he just wouldn’t give it me.’
I stare at her. I knew it was bad, but suddenly, this man who had been wrapped up in ‘Dad’ to me was suddenly another insecure man who controlled his little kingdom. I nod at her.
‘So does he know you are here today?’
She looks into her tea.
‘Yes. He does.’
‘And what will he do?’
‘I don’t know. But I don’t care now. I need you to know that I was never any part of this. I remembered what you said about Dougie and I went out and asked Dougie, right there and then on the garage path, if that bloke had been questioned. That he was a lot older and it could have been our daughter.’ Her breathing is fast and I can see a pulse in her temple quicken. ‘He just stared through the gap in the fencing, out over Manchester. He told me that he had a cast-iron alibi. That he hadn’t been round for weeks because he was bothering with our Ria. The police had interviewed him. So it’s not your fault. Even though you didn’t tell them everything, it’s not your fault. Even if you would have said, he would have had an alibi.’ She sighs. ‘I just wanted you to know. It wasn’t your fault.’
I don’t say anything. My breathing is even and calm and I think about that day when she didn’t believe me. I wonder whether I should tell her now that because of that he raped me and persuaded a fifteen-year-old girl to go off with him.
‘Why didn’t you stop it?’
She makes a little noise, a groan.
‘I spoke to your father about him. Told him he was too old. That I didn’t trust him. He told me that I didn’t know men. That it was normal. That you were practically sixteen and out there with boys anyway. That he had money and a car and didn’t I want the best for you? That he was nine years older than me, so what was the problem?’
I gasp. ‘Nine years older than you?’ Yes. He must have been. But somehow it didn’t seem a big age gap, and I suddenly see the trap people fall into. ‘So how old were you …?’
‘It was different then. I was sixteen. We went out for four years then got married. Then I had you later on. It was different times.’ She leans closer. ‘So you see, it was my fault if it was anybody’s. I should have put a stop to it.’
I remember the days at his house with Alice, Dougie and his books seeming so interesting and normal. Then his eyes following me down the road. I shudder. I raise my eyebrows and she responds.
‘His wife. She left. Had an affair and left. He lost the will to live. Alice was out day and night, or stood staring through the window. I used to see her running over the fields at eleven o’clock at night, up to the rocks, arms out like a little bird. I had a word with Dougie but he just laughed and said it was her mother’s fault. But I could have done something. I could have.’
I pull my chair closer.
‘But it wasn’t your job.’
‘But it was to look after you, and I failed. I know he hurt you.’ Her eyes fill with tears. ‘I knew and I couldn’t ask you. I couldn’t do anything. I did care, though. It’s eaten away at me.’
I sit back in my chair. All these years and I never knew. I thought they were well rid of me. But all these years she has been torturing herself. It would be so easy now to deepen her guilt. To tell her exactly what he did to me. But I don’t. I decide that instead I will seek help. Counselling. Anything but this. Dumping it on her is not fair.
‘It’s OK. We can start again. From scratch.’
‘But Danny?’
‘Danny will be fine. He’s a good person.’
She sobs and I hug her.
‘I’ll always support you from now on. Never mind your dad. I’ve learned a big lesson from you, love. You could have turned your back, and you would have had good reason, but you didn’t.’ She stiffens. ‘But about your dad. He’s … he’s … been to anger management. We went to couples’ counselling. Because I was going to leave, Ria.’ I almost laugh. Dad. Anger management. ‘Just so you know, he isn’t like that any more. So let me know what I have to do and I will do it.’
I hold her tight. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know what she has done by taking a stand. By standing up for me after all this time.
‘That’s just it, Mum. You don’t have to do anything. You never did. You’re free now.’
Tanya
Diary Entry: Saturday
I was so overwhelmed by my breakthrough yesterday that it made me think everything was going to be fine. But how can it be? Even if he came back now? He would know I had been in his study. I smashed his door. He would know I had tried to escape by the dents in the back door.
During the night I had woken up with terrible stomach cramps. I was weak and hungry but, most of all, I was angry. I had caused all this: selfish little teenage me, who ran away to be with her boyfriend. I wish I could say I had changed but I haven’t. I sent that letter. If, God forbid, the police had acted on it, it would only fan Alan’s flames. He would think Ria had told them.
Something inside me snapped and I went around the whole house with the skillet, swinging it and smashing the windows. A shard of glass bounced and cut my leg, but why not? I was a mass of injuries. My cheek was dark blue and there was movement in my cheek bone when I touched it. I still could not sit down without pain and now I was bleeding. I reached through the lounge window to the tough steel. I hoped that there would be some give, some way that I could force it. But it was thick and solid, the steel reinforced and tightly knitted.
When I turned around I saw the devastation: glass, blood, wood splinters. Alan’s cream wool carpet smeared with my bright red blood. If he walked in right now I cannot imagine what would happen.
I sat down and ate the last of the beans. I drank a pint of water — the coffee was nearly gone and there were ten teabags left. This was it. I lay down on the chesterfield in the study holding the picture of Ria. I am so weak. So tired. Whoever finds me will know that I did care about her and that none of this was my doing. It’s too late to tell my father now. But at least Ria will know.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Day 3
‘So she just turned up, no warning?’
Danny is lying next to me, looking at his phone as he twirls a strand of my hair between his fingers. It’s like he has never been gone. I hook my legs over his and reach over for the hot tea he brought me.
‘She knocked on the door. I’d just got back from the cop shop …’
He drops his phone on the bed and looks at me, his full attention on me.
‘Oh? What
for?’
I don’t want to say it. I don’t want it to be real. But I know I have to get used to it.
‘Sheila’s gone back to Frank.’
He throws up his arms.
‘What? Oh God, Ria. Why would she do that?’
I’ve told Danny about Frank. No details, I would never break their confidence, but he knows of Frank James and his dealings. Everyone does. Frank makes it his business to be notorious. All gracious and giving up front, with the bribes and the bullying round the back.
‘I don’t know. I guess she’s given up.’
He hugs me. ‘Bloody hell. After all the work you’ve put in.’
‘Yeah, well, they don’t all work out. It’s the funding result tomorrow as well. Look, Dan, what if it doesn’t go my way?’
He holds me away from him.
‘We’ll just wait. You’ll get something else.’ He picks up his guitar and plays the first bars of Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’. We’ll just wait. He wants this so much, but he is so reasonable. We’ll just wait. He’s worked twenty-seven days straight and he’s happy to just wait. He puts down the guitar.
‘As long as I finish the thirty days the money’s in the bank. Three more days after today. It’s not going anywhere. So we can bide our time. Don’t stress, babe.’
I relax a little. I know I need to talk to him, tell him all about what happened while he was away. If I’m going to even consider going to the police, or even if I’m not, he deserves to know. But I just can’t. Mum coming round is an excuse to bring it up, but I feel guilty. He’s so tired. I can see it in his beautiful face, his droopy eyelids and the way he pulls his lips in to stifle a yawn. Maybe, like the house move, it can wait until after he’s finished the contract. It’s only a few more days. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
‘What time do you have to leave?’
He glances at the phone. It’s only six-thirty on a Sunday morning, but I’m glad we woke and had this time. The kids are still asleep. It’s just me and him.
‘In about an hour.’ He puts his arms around me and kisses my neck. ‘Just enough time to get familiar. It’s been a while.’ He nuzzles me and I feel the heat from him. He fills my mind with the possibility of what is about to happen and for the first time in weeks I feel happy. This is what my life is about and I will do anything to keep it.
Then he’s gone. I half hear him shower then say hello and goodbye to the kids, who are playing in their rooms. I snooze in my happy haze, all the problems I had smothered under a sunny glow left by Danny and me and thoughts of this for ever. But it doesn’t last long. My phone buzzes and I see a text from Donelle.
Come round early. Haven’t seen you properly for a while. Let’s have a catch-up.
I would usually wait until lunchtime to impose on Vi and Danny Snr, but today I feel like being out and about. Doing something and not thinking about Sheila or my stalker or the past. So we walk over mid-morning and Vi is in the kitchen as we come in the back way.
‘Oh. No Daniel? I heard he was back.’
I shake my head.
‘Nah. But only another couple of days until the contract’s finished. Then you’ll be seeing a lot more of him.’
She’s peeling vegetables and I sit at the table. Donelle is talking to Jennifer and Simon; Danny Snr is watching a gardening programme.
‘Yeah. So did you ask him again about the money?’
I tense. She’s not going to like this.
‘I did, Vi. But he said no. Again. He said save it for the kids’ uni fees. He wants to do it himself.’
She drops the knife in the sink and I see her grip the edges, white knuckled. The kids are silent, staring at her. She turns round and her face is like thunder.
‘You know, I just don’t understand it. We save for all this time and then you turn your noses up. Danny and now her.’ She waves towards Donelle, who looks at her hands. ‘We’re just trying to help.’
Danny Snr intervenes. ‘Let them be, Violet. They’re your kids, they’re thinking about their kids. You’d be the same. It’s how we brought them up.’
She pulls on her coat and shouts to the kids. ‘Come on, you two, let’s go to the shops. Spend some of that money. Seeing as your daddy doesn’t want it.’
They bound after her, pulling their coats back on, and Donelle joins me.
‘Cos of me, this. She’s in a tizz cos I’m moving out.’
I can’t help but smile, and she grins widely.
‘You’re kidding me? When?’
She laughs. ‘Soon. That’s what I wanted to tell you. I won’t be able to get the kids no more. Well, once in a while, but not all the time like I used to. I’m making a go of it with Ian.’
She looks so happy. She is positively glowing and I can’t help but smile with her. Donelle has waited so long to meet the right person. Her job, with the long hours and two-day stopovers, means she hasn’t been able to hold down a relationship. They never last long and she has a myriad stories. One guy dated her for months then took a loan out in her name. First thing she knew of it was when the bailiffs turned up to repossess a car – he had been staying over when the statements were due, then dumping her, only to hook up again the next month. Another one had been married. He told her he wanted to wait. That he didn’t want to disrespect her and sleep with her until he knew her properly. But she followed him and he was still living with his wife.
Donelle and I had laughed about the bastardometer and she had a range of scores for 20 per cent right up to 80 per cent Some of them had tried to manipulate her, but she is wise. Donelle knows the score and I know that all she has been waiting for is someone decent who will love her. She is self-sufficient and doesn’t need anyone – she would have to want them. I laugh.
‘Ooo, Donelle and Ian … I want every detail.’
She thinks, rolling her eyes.
‘Well, he’s tall, handsome, treats me like a princess.’
‘And have you stayed at his much?’
‘Yeah. Course. You have to try before you buy. No, seriously, he’s got a nice gaff. And if it doesn’t work out, I can always get somewhere of my own.’ She looks around. ‘Much as I love them, it’s time to go.’ She pauses. Then she’s serious. ‘I don’t think Mum’s keen on him. I mean, she’s a bit funny with him. He’s been here a couple of times and she goes all weird. Eyes all big and suspicious. But he’s never been anything but nice to her.’
This is one of the reasons why I love Donelle. Not just because she is the sister I never had, but because she doesn’t realise her own value.
‘You’re her baby, Don, she’s not going to let go that easy. Bloody hell, she’s still trying to give Danny pocket money. So what chance have you got? She’ll come round. Anyway, tell all. Will there be a housewarming?’
She smiles with her eyes. ‘We’ll get round to it. But he’s quite a private person. A bit quiet and, dunno, a bit shy. Not many friends. But he works hard and he’s cool with my job. Now.’
We stare at each other, both our excitement palpable. I get a strange feeling, like even when things are on the brink of going wrong, there is still a chink of light. My early-morning Danny encounter and Donelle’s happiness lift me just enough to be optimistic. Just enough to believe that the funding bid might be ours. That Sheila will hold her own and will whip Frank into shape this time. That my problems will back off and fade into nothing. Danny Snr lets out a big snore and we both laugh.
Vi arrives back with the kids. They are clutching comics with plastic bags full of tiny toys and novelties stuck to the front. Jennifer is holding a diary with a key and Simon has a box of dinosaur pieces that I know he will take hours painstakingly building. I sense a quiet afternoon and, although Vi is clearly pissed off, she makes a beautiful Sunday lunch and Donelle and I tuck in and talk Netflix box sets and shoes.
At three o’clock it’s time to leave. I hug Donelle and Vi tears up. We know that this is the last time we will do this, that next time Donelle will be attached to Ian and he will be her
e with Danny, making man talk. That this is the last Sunday lunch in this era, and everything will change.
‘So when will I meet him?’
She is coy.
‘Soon. Like I said, he’s private. Just likes it with us two. But we’re … I’m making an announcement and you’ll be the first to know.’
I touch her arm.
‘I’m pleased for you. Let’s all go out to eat.’ I turn to Vi. ‘You and Danny, too. All of us.’
Donelle doesn’t look sure and I am just about to query this, but Vi laughs and she hugs us to her.
‘My girls.’
I’m reluctant to leave. I know that sitting alone on a Sunday night, the kids bathed and in bed early, is not going to be productive. But what choice do I have? We walk home through the empty streets and the further away from Donelle’s joy I go, the more dejected I feel. The kids skip along in front of me, still clutching their comics and toys. Simon has half built the T-Rex and Vi has glued it and popped it in a see-through bag, which he is careful not to swing against his leg. Jennifer is holding her diary against her like it contains state secrets, and I tease her about what she has written. Is it about a boy? Someone from school. She is bashful, and she in turn teases Simon about a girl in his class called Carly. They bicker and swing around the two-year-old saplings that have been planted near our home to screen the rubbish that is regularly fly-tipped.
We are home, and I habitually check the road to make sure the red car is nowhere in sight. It isn’t and in no time I am embroiled in the bathing and oiling of skin and waxing of hair ready for the new week. I think about dying my hair, but it’s eight o’clock before we are done and they are tucked up in bed, giggling and reading books. I read to them for half an hour from Lord of the Rings, then it is lights-out time.
How to Play Dead Page 25
