by Jean Ure
Dad said, “Trust me! It’s for your own good.”
At night he locked us in. It was so embarrassing, he gave us a bucket. He tried making jokes about it.
“Slopping out, that’s what they call it in the nick… pretend you’re making a movie! You’re a couple of bank robbers, and you’ve been banged up. Prison movie! Right?”
I said, “Right!” and tried to smile. But it wasn’t funny. We felt we really were in prison.
“Oh, come on, now, cheer up!” said Dad. “It’s not as bad as all that. It’s not like you’re in for a ten-year stretch… with time off for good behaviour, you’ll be out before you know it. Couple of days! Three at the most. Surely you can manage that for your old dad?”
Actually, it was five days. Five whole days, shut up in one room! Apart from a big dramatic scene – Don’t look! And don’t listen! – every time she had to use the bucket, the Afterthought coped with it better than I did. She said she didn’t mind where she was, so long as she was with Dad.
“After all, I’ve got Titch,” she said.
At least Dad got Titch some proper cat litter. That was a relief. But I discovered that I suffer from this thing where I don’t like to be locked up. I know now how animals must feel in zoos. I think zoos are just so cruel. I won’t ever go to one again. Not unless the animals are allowed to roam about. I couldn’t roam anywhere, and I began to have these nightmares that Dad had gone mad and we would be kept locked up for ever.
We weren’t even supposed to look out of the windows in case somebody saw us. I tried, once, just lifting up the edge of the blind, and the Afterthought nearly went berserk. She yelled at me to “Get away, get away!” She thought the bad guys might be out there, watching.
“How would they know who we were?” I said.
The Afterthought said they would know because they would have cased the joint. (She picks up this sort of language. She is like a magpie.) She said they would have spied on us in Brighton. They would know that we belonged to Dad, and they would guess that if we were here, Dad would also be here, and then they would come and get him. She was really quite scared, so after that I didn’t try looking out of the window any more. Partly because I didn’t want to upset the Afterthought, and partly because – well, because I thought she just could be right. I didn’t want anything happening to Dad.
“What’s out there, anyway?” said the Afterthought.
I said, “Nothing very much. Just garages.”
Dad did his best to keep us occupied. We had a television, and we played lots of games, like going through the alphabet with pop stars, movie stars, TV programmes. We played card games – Dad taught us how to play poker! – and pencil and paper games, and Scrabble and Monopoly, on a very old Monopoly board that was falling to pieces. Dad also brought us books and magazines – including the one that Mum wouldn’t let me read. I asked him to get it for me, not thinking that he would, but he didn’t seem to see anything wrong with it, or maybe he just picked it off the shelf without really looking. The only thing was, I couldn’t enjoy it properly. I opened it up, looking forward to a good wallow, and all I could think of was… Mum! How I was deliberately going behind her back. Reading stuff she didn’t approve of. I mean, like, normally it wouldn’t have bothered me, I’d have thought “Sah, sah, and sucks to Mum!” But now it just seemed like I was being disloyal.
The day after we arrived I tried ringing home on my mobile, but there wasn’t any reply and I couldn’t leave a message as we didn’t have an answer phone. (We do now.) I then tried Vix, but she obviously wasn’t back from holiday yet. I left a bit of a message, just saying that we weren’t in Brighton any more and I’d ring her later, or she could ring me when she got back, but it wasn’t the same as actually talking to her. I needed to talk to someone!
“There’s nobody around,” I said. I collapsed, dispiritedly, on to the bed. “I can’t get anyone!”
“You shouldn’t be phoning people, anyway,” said the Afterthought. “The line could be bugged. They could be listening.”
By “they” she meant the bad guys. The Afterthought had become obsessed by bad guys. At night she was terrified of going to sleep in case they broke into the flat with machine guns. I told her there was no way anyone could have bugged my mobile. I mean, there probably was, because what do I know about these things? But I didn’t want her totally freaking out. I said that just ringing Mum or Vix couldn’t do any harm.
“It could if they traced the call,” said the Afterthought.
“Not if I only speak for a few seconds,” I said. “They wouldn’t be able to trace it.” I had seen enough police series to know that much.
The Afterthought still wasn’t convinced. “They’d know who you were calling! They might go and get Mum and beat her up.”
I said, “What would they do that for?”
“To find out where Dad is!”
“But she wouldn’t know where Dad is! We don’t even know where we are.”
The Afterthought sucked at her thumb. “She might go to the police.”
I had already thought of that. Maybe, at the back of my mind, it was what I was hoping for. I wouldn’t do it myself, because that would be betraying Dad; it could get him into a whole lot of trouble. I still didn’t know what he’d done, exactly, or where he’d got his money from, but I had this uneasy feeling that it might be something not quite legal. I wouldn’t want to be the one who got him into trouble! I didn’t care how oddly he was behaving, he was still my dad, and I still loved him. But if Mum were to ring the police – well! There wasn’t much I could do about that.
“Do you honestly think she would?” I said.
“Yes! ‘Cos if you told her we weren’t in Brighton any more she’d want to know where we’d gone, and if you said you didn’t know she’d get really mad and tell the police that they’d got to find us, and then Dad would get into trouble big time for running away without paying the rent!”
“That would be better than the bad guys getting him,” I said.
“It wouldn’t, ‘cos they’d put him in prison!”
“But at least he’d be safe,” I said.
“He wouldn’t!” The Afterthought shook her head, violently. “They could still get at him! They could get at him in prison, it’s what they do!” I wasn’t the only one who’d seen police series. The Afterthought knew all about bad guys and what they got up to. “I don’t think you ought to ring anybody,” she said.
As it happened, I didn’t have the chance. Next time I tried (shut away in the bathroom, where no one could hear me) I discovered that I had run out of credit. And I didn’t have another phone card! That is the trouble with mobiles; they can let you down. I once saw this movie where some poor woman was having her house broken into by a gang and she was shut in the loo trying to ring for help and she couldn’t because her phone was dead. Really scary.
I was starting to get a bit scared, too. There were moments when I actually, almost, felt really frightened. It wasn’t so much the thought of the bad guys, nor did I truly believe that Dad had gone mad, but I was desperately worried about how we were ever going to get home, especially now I didn’t have my phone. I asked Dad next day, without too much hope, if I could get my credit topped up. He said, “Why? Who do you want to call?”
The Afterthought said, “She’s trying to ring Mum! I told her not to. I told her it wasn’t safe!”
“I’m afraid Sam’s right,” said Dad. “I’m sorry, poppet! I know it’s not easy for you, cooped up here, but it won’t be for much longer. Promise! Just give it another forty-eight hours, and we’ll be out.”
“Are we going back to Brighton?” said the Afterthought.
“Not on your life! We’re going somewhere far more exciting than Brighton.”
“Where are we going?” I said.
“Would you believe, the South of France?” said Dad. He announced it with a big happy grin. I stared at him, in dismay.
“The South of France?” I said.
“But… what about Mum?” I said.
“Stephie, love, face it,” said Dad. “You’re with me, now. Your mum —” he waved a hand. “It’s not that she doesn’t love you any more, but – well! She feels it’s time to make a new life for herself.”
There was this moment of absolute silence. I think even the Afterthought was a bit stunned. She didn’t even try saying I told you so.
“You mean…” I could feel my voice starting to crack. “You mean, she really doesn’t want us back?”
“Oh, I’m sure! For holidays,” said Dad.
“N-not to s-stay?”
“Well, yes, like you’ve stayed with me.”
“But not to live!”
“See, it’s like this,” said Dad. “Your mum feels she’s done her stint. Now it’s my turn. That’s all right, isn’t it? It’s not so bad, being with your dad?”
Stupidly, I said, “But what about s-school?”
“Find you a new one. Go to a French one!”
“But I don’t speak French!”
“Soon learn,” said Dad. “You’ll probably learn faster than me. Now, come on, cheer up! Happy face! It’ll be fun! Life’s a big adventure, eh? Sam wants to come with me, don’t you? She loves her old dad!”
“Don’t you at least think we ought to – to ring Mum and ask her?” I said.
“I’ve already asked her,” said Dad. “She’s given us her blessing.”
I was, like, gob-smacked. I couldn’t believe it! I couldn’t believe that even Dad would do such a thing. He had gone behind my back! Spoken to Mum without telling me! Why hadn’t he let me speak to her?
“When did you do it?” I said.
“Oh! A few days ago. Just before we left Brighton.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I screamed.
“Sorry, poppet! Didn’t mean to upset you.”
Dad reached out to give me a hug, but I wriggled away from him. I didn’t feel like being hugged. I felt hurt, and angry, and betrayed. He was treating us the same way he’d treated Mum all those years, making decisions without consulting her, doing things he knew she wouldn’t approve of. Then saying sorry and expecting to be forgiven.
“Stephie, Stephie! Don’t be cross.” Just like with Mum! “My main concern,” said Dad, “was to get you girls safely away. We were in a lot of danger, you know. I couldn’t bear it if anything had happened to you!”
I thought to myself that if Dad was so worried about me and the Afterthought, he shouldn’t have got mixed up with the bad guys in the first place.
“Now she hates me,” said Dad.
“I don’t hate you,” I said. “But I don’t want to go to France!”
“Ah, Steph, you’ll love it once you’re there!”
“You will,” said the Afterthought. Her hand stole into mine. “You will, Steph! Honest!”
The Afterthought seemed to be OK with the idea now that she had had time to get used to it. Me, I was sunk in gloom. It is really upsetting to be told that your mum doesn’t want you any more. I knew we had both been mean to her, but I had never, ever thought she would get rid of us. I didn’t want to go to France! I didn’t want to go to a French school, I didn’t want to speak French. I wanted to go home, to my mum! And there was something I didn’t understand. If Dad hadn’t had the money to pay Ms Devine her rent, how come he had the money to take us all to Nice? If he really did have the money to take us to Nice.
I put this to him, and he laughed. “I’ve got money! You surely don’t think I’d be irresponsible enough to let you join me on my travels if I didn’t have the means to look after you?”
I knew what Mum would say. But Mum wasn’t there. She didn’t care!
“If you’ve got money,” I said – I said it quite carefully, not wanting Dad to think I was having a go at him – “couldn’t you have paid Ms Devine her rent?”
“Oh, look, just forget about Ms Devine!” Dad sprang up and began pacing the room. “She’s loaded, she doesn’t need it. You don’t want to waste your time feeling sorry for people like her. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just scum. They wouldn’t give us the snot out their noses! I’ve had to work hard for this lot.”
Dad patted a hand on a case that he had brought with him. One of those smooth, flat sort of ones that people snap open in movies to reveal bundles of notes. Did Dad’s contain bundles of notes?
“I’ve put my life on the line for this! Why should I give any to the likes of her?”
“She was hateful, anyway,” said the Afterthought. “She didn’t deserve it!”
“Precisely,” said Dad. “So don’t let’s shed any more crocodile tears for Ms Devine. I have you two girls to care for. You’re far more important to me than she is!”
I still felt that it was wrong of Dad not to pay her the money, but I didn’t try arguing. Dad hated being argued with; he always said it was a form of nagging. Mum used to argue all the time. It was one of Dad’s worst accusations, to say that either of us was “starting to get like your mum” Not that he ever really said it to the Afterthought. She didn’t argue. She thought whatever Dad did had got to be OK.
“Ms Devine’s got a whole house,” she said, as we lay in bed that night. “Dad hasn’t got anything!”
“Still doesn’t make it right,” I muttered.
“Oh, stop sounding like Mum!” said the Afterthought. She’d picked it up from Dad; she knew he used it as an insult.
“At least Mum doesn’t run away without paying people what she owes them,” I said.
“Mum doesn’t need to! She’s got things. She’s got a house, she’s got a job, sh —”
“Yes, and how is Dad going to look after us when he hasn’t got anything?” I said. “He hasn’t got a house, he hasn’t got a job… how’s he going to earn money?”
“Dad can earn money,” said the Afterthought.
“He can get money,” I said.
“It’s the same thing!”
“It’s not,” I said. It wasn’t the same thing at all. I thought of the case he had showed us. The flat case with the snap locks, like you see on the movies. I sat up, and crawled to the end of the bed.
“What are you doing?” said the Afterthought.
The case was sitting there, on top of the dressing table. I reached out for it.
“That’s Dad’s!” shrilled the Afterthought.
Yes, it was – and I wanted to find out what was inside it. But I couldn’t! It wouldn’t open; it had one of those special combination locks. It did feel quite heavy, though. How much money could you get in a case like that? Hundreds? Thousands?
“Stephanie, put it back!” said the Afterthought. “It’s nothing to do with us.”
I had the feeling that in spite of her bravado, the Afterthought was actually a bit nervous. She really didn’t want to know what was in the case.
“I think Dad got this from gambling,” I said.
“So what?” said the Afterthought. “People are allowed to gamble!”
“Yes, but it’s not the same as earning it… it’s not like doing a proper job. And why are we having to run away?”
“Because of the bad guys!”
“But why? What do they want? Why are they after us? Because it’s their money, maybe. Because Dad—” I didn’t want to say because Dad had stolen it from them; I refused to think my dad was a thief. But perhaps … perhaps he had been too clever for them?
“I’m going to sleep,” said the Afterthought. She scooped up Titch, and put him into bed. “I don’t want to talk about it!”
I didn’t want to talk about it, either, but I felt that I had to say something. To Dad, I mean. I wasn’t brave enough to ask him where the money had come from, but I did think I needed to know what was going to happen to us once it had run out.
“Quite right!” said Dad. He had brought in our breakfast tray next morning, plus a littl
e saucer of cat food for Titch. “A sensible question. I’m glad you asked it! I did tell you, didn’t I, that I wouldn’t take you with me if I couldn’t provide for you?”
“Dad, you’re not going to – to gamble?” I whispered.
Dad laughed; this big hearty laugh. “Oh, Stephie, Stephie, you grow more like your mum every day! No, I’m not going to gamble – at least, not for a living. I might have a little flutter on the gee-gees just now and again. You wouldn’t begrudge me that, would you?”
Numbly, I shook my head.
“That’s all right, then! I couldn’t lead a totally joyless existence. Got to have a bit of fun, eh?”
He winked at the Afterthought, who beamed and nodded.
“Good! Right. Now, you’ll be happy to hear –” Dad rubbed his hands together “– that today is the day… we’re up and off! So, it’s a question of finishing your breakfast, getting yourselves packed, and we’ll be on our way.”
The Afterthought instantly began cramming food into her mouth as fast as she could go. Dad, amused, said, “No need to choke yourself!”
He still hadn’t answered my question.
“Dad,” I said.
“Mm?”
I took a deep breath. “What are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do! First off, I’m going to find us somewhere to stay, and then I’m going to pay a visit to an old chum who runs a casino.”
“Casino like on the pier?” said the Afterthought.
“Casino like in Las Vegas,” said Dad. “Bright lights, diamond tiaras – and money, money, money!”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to gamble!” I cried.
“I’m not going to gamble,” said Dad. “Other people are. Your dad’s going to be a —”
I thought he said “croopyer” but have since discovered it’s spelt croupier. It’s one of those people that stand at gaming tables with a sort of rake thing, raking in the money and pushing little piles of it back to you if you’ve hit the winning number.
