Disappearing Home (27 page)

I shake my head.

‘God bless them.'

‘Where's Mum?'

‘In the toilet, been mixing her drinks.'

Mum's voice is breathless from the bathroom. ‘Margy … a cloth.'

Mum comes into the living room, wobbly-can't-stand-up drunk. One of Margy's kids starts crying. ‘Come on, Robyn, I need to get back … can't stay here. Feel fucking terrible.'

Margy takes Mum's bag off her, wipes it with a cloth. ‘It's late, Babs.' She checks the clock. ‘Nearly four. Get your head down here.'

‘I'll get a taxi, Robyn's with me …'

Margy opens Mum's bag. ‘Have you got enough?' She hands it to me. ‘See what she's got.'

‘One pound something.'

Mum walks the palms of her hands across the living-room door. She grabs the handle with both hands, sways backwards, Margy catches her.

The crying gets louder.

‘Wanna go, Robyn,' Mum says.

Margy sees us to the door. ‘Sorry, love,' she says.

I link Mum's arm all the way down the stairs. Her breath reeks of sick. It's only a short walk to the main road where we can get a taxi. I tuck her bag under my other arm. She leans her weight on me. By the time we get to the road she can't stand up. I sit her down against a low wall and step out onto the edge of the kerb.

It's cold and under the street lamp the wind peels gaps between Mum's curls, showing her white scalp. Her head has fallen to one side and her eyes are closed. There's no sign of a taxi. I've left my magazine in Margy's.

Mum is fast asleep against the wall. If I can get her up, get her to walk towards town then we'll have more chance of getting a taxi there.

I look down at Mum. There's no way she'd make the walk, she can't even open her eyes. Why did she get that drunk? There's no way I'm ever minding Margy's kids after this. When she wakes up I'll tell her straight. I check the road both ways for a cab. I
start to think it might be better if we turn back around, spend the night in Margy's flat. I look up at the landing to see if her light's still on and it is. She must still be up.

I see him step out from the block opposite Margy's.

He walks fast. Black polo neck, blue jeans, blue denim jacket. My heart licks the inside of my throat. I think maybe I am seeing things. I check both sides of the road, say out loud,
Bastard bastard taxi hurry up.
Then I see an orange light speeding towards me. I put out my hand and the taxi driver turns in. Dad's beside me. ‘Your nan's been taken to hospital,' he says. ‘Nellie knocked tonight.' He looks at Mum sitting on the pavement, eyes still closed. ‘Told me to let her know.'

‘Where is she?'

‘In hospital.'

‘What hospital?'

‘Dunno. Nellie knows. We'll have to be quick. She says it's bad.'

The taxi driver gets out, helps Dad get Mum into the cab. ‘Where to?' he asks.

‘Tommy Whites,' Dad says.

I feel sick. ‘What's happened to Nan?'

‘Nellie said she was crossing the road.' The way he speaks I can tell he hasn't had a drink. The cab pulls away. Mum's head flops all over the place. I rest it on my shoulder and hold it still with my palm. All the way to Nellie's he talks in a low voice to the driver about football. He does not look at me or Mum.

He carries Mum over one shoulder up the stairs. When he turns to take a corner, her shoes scrape across the wall. He stops at 33B.

‘I'm not going in there,' I say. ‘You said we're going to Nellie's.'

‘Can't bring her to Nellie's like this. Get the key out of my pocket and open the door, then get her a drink of water first. Once she straightens herself out, you two can go to Nellie's.'

As soon as the front door opens I can smell paint. The heavy wooden wardrobe from Mum's room is standing in the hall. All of the doors have been painted black so have the skirting boards. I can't believe I'm back in this place where I felt more afraid than I did sleeping in the stairwell. I think about turning around and running to Nellie's, but I don't want to leave Mum on her own with him.

Sometimes when I try to sleep at night it feels like I'm drowning. My head fills up with shadows; I sink lower and lower inside the darkness. It is a weird, floaty feeling. There's no way up that I can see and no part of me feels like searching for it. When I am close to the bottom it gets cold. That's when I turn myself around, kick my legs and push back up again. I wake up feeling lucky. Tonight, I think, I might not be so lucky.

LOVE HATE
fingers strum on the wooden arms of the chair. Mum's lying on the settee. I get her a drink of water and put it to her lips. Eyes closed, she pushes my hand away.

‘Mum, just take a sip. We've got to go to Nellie's. Something's happened to Nan.'

Dad watches me try to wake her up.

‘She won't drink it. I'll go and get Nellie now.'

‘It's too late,' he says.

He leaves the room and I can hear the click of the latch, the rumble of the bolt being pushed all the way along. I shake Mum's arm and whisper to her. ‘Wake up. Something's wrong with Nan.' I start to shout at her, feel like hitting her hard in the face. ‘Mum, for fuck's sake, wake up.'

He is back in the room.

‘I'm going to Nellie's,' I say.

‘I said it's too late.'

‘No, it's not too late,' I say. ‘I want to see my nan.'

He doesn't answer. He's looking at Mum in a bad way. He folds his arms, sweat shiny on his forehead. He pushes away a strip of dark hair that's come loose from his quiff. He gets down on his knees, crawls across the floor, pinches Mum's mouth together between two fingers. He bares his teeth. ‘Dirty little slut, been out dancing, have you?'

Mum swats his arm away with a flimsy wave.

He squeezes tighter. ‘Think I don't know what's been going on. Well, I've got people watching and I've been watching.'

‘Leave her alone,' I say. His eyes rest on my hand.

‘What's in the bag?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Toss it over.'

I hold onto it.

‘Toss it over.' He grips the front of Mum's neck. ‘I'll break her neck.'

I slip my hand inside the bag and grab the note, scrunch it into a ball.

‘There's money inside. Let her go and you can have it.'

He wraps Mum's hair around his hand, pulls her head backwards. Mum groans.

‘Toss the fucking thing over – now!'

Mum opens her eyes.

I throw him the bag. He pulls her off the settee, lets go of her. She falls to the floor. He opens the bag, takes out the coins. Her key to the hostel falls out; lipstick, cigarettes and matches. He picks Mum up again by the hair, pushes the tip of the key under her chin. ‘What's this for?' He stabs harder. She lets out another moan.

‘Margy's house,' I say. ‘Margy gave her that key.'

‘Shut the fuck up. Nobody's talking to you.' He walks towards me, holds out his hand. ‘Give it.'

‘What?'

‘Whatever you just took out of the bag, give it.'

‘I didn't take …'

He's got my arm twisted up my back. I hear a crack and feel liquid drain inside my head. He lets go and my arm won't do as it's told. It hangs there, the wrong shape for anything. He stuffs the note into his pocket. I hold my arm still across my belly, flop down onto the settee.

He drags Mum up off the floor, flings her next to me. She hits the back of her head on the wall and starts lashing out into the air with her hand, cups the back of her head with the other one. For a second she opens her eyes. ‘Robyn?' she says.

‘It's your fault, all of this,' he says to me. ‘I should have never taken on another man's bastard.'

‘You're the bastard,' I scream at him. ‘You're only here to take her money.'

He grabs my neck. ‘I told you to shut up.' He squeezes it hard.

I do as I'm told.

Mum's eyes are open. He lets go of me, moves over to her. Mum's head nods up and down, she can't hold it up on her own. ‘Why?'

He doesn't answer.

He kneels at the fireplace; balls up pieces of old newspaper, places wood on top and bits of coal. I want to say I'll get Mum a coat from the lobby to cover her up. I want to say, ‘Is my nan really hurt in hospital?' Something tells me not to speak, not to say anything at all. To keep him away from me. I look over at Mum, who doesn't really know the trouble we are in yet. I must keep my mouth shut, at least until there are two of us again.

He piles on more newspapers and more wood. Lights himself a cigarette from Mum's box, sits down in his chair. He takes long
pulls on the cigarette, a mad thin smile on his face that looks like it could spread to a grin any minute. ‘I'll show you,' he says looking at nobody. His words make me shiver. I look down at the black splashes of paint above the skirting boards, feathery edges coming apart like dark clouds. I didn't see this coming. I should've made Mum stay in Margy's. My skinny eleven-year-old mind scrambles for a plan.

I keep thinking about the wardrobe and why, like me and Mum, it isn't in the place it's supposed to be. I remember how often I imagined leaving this place in bed at night, and how good it felt when I finally did. I look at the ugly wallpaper and hear an echo of my screams. They disappear again behind the black paint which is the only thing that holds them back.

Outside I can hear the milkman's cart rattle, the belch of a bus from the front road. A world carrying on without us. My arm is killing me and the light from the bulb above my head stings my eyes. There's no way I'm going to let myself fall asleep. Mum is sleeping it off, but he sits there staring straight ahead, waiting for something to happen.

After what seems like ages my heart still bangs loud in my chest. I want him to fall asleep in that chair. I know how to open the living-room door fast so it won't creak, how to avoid stepping on the long runner mat in the lobby in case it slides and I slip; I know how to shuffle the bolt up and down and along to the end all at the same time so it won't squeak. I see myself running along the landing to Nellie's house to get help for Mum.

His eyes are closed. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, feel my body move forwards. My feet grip the floor. My eyes don't leave his face. I look over at Mum, think about giving her a nudge. What if she makes a noise and wakes him? It's better if I get to
Nellie's on my own. My bum is on the tip of the cushion. I hold my bad arm close to me and stand. The settee creaks. He opens his eyes and looks at me just as I sit back down.

‘I need the toilet,' I lie.

He stands up, waits outside the bathroom door. I turn the cold tap on over the sink, just a trickle so it sounds like I'm peeing. He watches me walk back into the living room and sit down. Mum is still asleep. In the distance a yappy dog barks. It is a sharp, annoying sound that I hope will wake Mum up. He lights a cigarette. The smoke floats into his eye. He rubs it with the edge of his finger and sits back down with his eye all bloodshot.

I close my eyes, count the minutes that pass into hours. I can see the view from our bedroom window at Carmel's. The shape of my favourite tree, arm arched above itself like a ballerina, the bar-of-chocolate front door and the small patch of grass in front of the house. Carmel, cooking in the kitchen. It's right there in my mind, so close I step inside, let it cover me, whisper,
Everything's going to be all right.

Mum's awake. She looks around the room, looks at me as if she is seeing me for the first time. She stands, cups the back of her head. ‘Come on, Robyn,' she says. ‘We're getting out of here.'

He stands up. ‘You're going nowhere,' he says. He slaps her hard in the face.

Mum's eyes are watering. Her face is shiny and red. She sits back down. ‘What are you talking about? What do you want, you mad bastard?'

He strikes a match, lights the fire. ‘To be rid of you two once and for all.'

Mum starts to laugh a raggedy laugh that makes me feel sick.

‘We'll see who has the last laugh,' he says.

I think of Bernie and the way he lit the fire when I didn't want him to. I wish he would knock at our door and punch my dad in the face hard.

Mum stands.

‘Mum, sit down,' I say.

He throws more balled up sheets of newspaper onto the fire. Gets behind the settee and pushes us up close to the fire. My legs are just inches away from the flames. ‘You two look cold. Can't have you feeling cold now, can we?'

‘For fuck's sake …'

‘You'll both be toasty in a minute.'

‘Stop it.'

‘Stop what?'

‘Let us go.'

‘There's only one place you're going.'

He puts his shoes on and his jacket. Takes Mum's fags and matches, slots them into his coat pocket. ‘Now you're awake it's your turn to watch me leave you.'

He takes a piece of wood, lights it from the fire, waits for it to gather strength, then sets the nets and the draw curtains on fire. He lights a piece of newspaper, throws it onto his chair. The cushion cover catches fire. I can feel the terrible heat against my cheek. I move away, hold onto Mum. Mum screams and so do I. We scream as loud as we can. ‘For fuck's sake,' Mum shouts. Then I know what he's going to do with the wardrobe before he leaves. We'll have to jump out of the back window onto the concrete path. Like he reads my mind, he says, ‘Oh yeah, every window is nailed down.'

Mum stands, starts lashing out at him. I scream as loud as I can. He punches her hard in the face. She falls to the floor, but he carries on punching.

We don't hear the thud as the front door falls backwards into the lobby.

Police officers are in the living room. Three of them grab him and rush him to the floor. They handcuff his wrists behind his back, march him out of the flat. Two officers are in the kitchen filling pans up with water to throw onto the fire. One is talking into his radio asking for the fire brigade. Another officer takes off his coat and smothers the flames on the chair dead.