Daddy's Prisoner (17 page)

‘Alice likes the same as me, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘So what do you like?’ Jimmy asked The Idiot.

‘A bit of this, a bit of that. What’s it to do with you?’

‘Nothing really. I just wondered what kind of thing you enjoy.’

Dad was silent for a moment as if he was trying to work Jimmy out. But in the end the chance to talk about his favourite subject was too much to resist. No one else could get a word in as he started talking about himself.

‘I do a bit of Elvis on the karaoke,’ he boasted to Jimmy.

My eyes met Jimmy’s for a minute before I looked back at Dad.

‘And I like Jim Reeves too,’ he added.

We all sat silently and listened as Dad rambled on until eventually Michael and Jimmy stood up to leave.

‘See you at the club, Alice,’ Jimmy said as he stood at the door.

‘We’ll be there,’ Dad grunted, and I looked at the ground.

I sat in my chair until I heard the thump of the front door closing.

‘What was he doing here?’ Dad spat.

‘I don’t know. Michael brought him. I didn’t ask to see him.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’

‘I’m not. I’ve hardly spoken to him. I wouldn’t invite him here.’

‘Well, you’d better not, do you hear? I will not have him back in this flat, understand? Who does he think he is? Coming here and asking questions, trying to speak to you while I’m sitting here like a fucking prick.’

‘Of course, Dad. I didn’t ask him up. I don’t know why he came. I won’t let him in again.’

‘Just make sure you don’t.’

As I got up to leave the room, The Idiot raised his hand and flung his cup at me.

‘Are you listening?’ he growled. ‘Because you know what I’ll do if you’re not.’

I tried not to think about Jimmy but sometimes a picture of his smiling face would creep into my mind. Part of me was scared that Dad might read these new kinds of thoughts I was having but I couldn’t stop them. I wished I’d been able to talk to Jimmy, find out more about him. But for now it was enough to remember sitting with him in the living room. It was the first time anyone I might be able to call a friend had come to visit me.

I was watched closely for the next few days and The Idiot didn’t take me back to the club. But later that week there was another knock on the door and my heart turned as I heard it. This time I was alone. The Idiot had gone out to the shops with Mum.

‘Hi, Alice,’ Jimmy said as I opened the door. ‘Can I come in?’

I was silent for a moment as I looked at him.

‘Of course,’ I said in a rush.

I don’t know what made me rebel in that instant but I did. If I didn’t let Jimmy stay too long then Dad would never find out he’d been here again. We wouldn’t do anything wrong. How could a couple of minutes’ chat hurt? I just wanted to be like every other young woman.

‘Hello,’ Jimmy said as he walked inside and leaned towards me.

I breathed in – unable to move as I felt Jimmy’s lips peck mine softly. It was the first kiss that hadn’t been stolen from me.

‘It’s good to see you,’ he said.

‘You too.’

We started chatting as we stood in the hall and Jimmy asked about what I’d been doing, whether I’d visited the clubs recently. Time stood still as I spoke to him and a voice whispered inside me: Jimmy liked me, he wanted to see me so much that he’d come back. But then I heard a key in the lock and turned to see Dad walking into the flat. He stared at Jimmy and me standing together for just a second before he started screaming.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he yelled. ‘Did you think you’d get away with it, Alice? Did you think you’d get him in here without me knowing?’

‘No, Dad,’ I whispered.

‘We were just talking,’ Jimmy tried to insist as Dad rounded on him again.

‘Get the fuck out of my flat,’ he yelled. ‘And if I ever see you here again then I’ll call the police, do you hear?’

Jimmy looked uncertainly at me for a moment before turning towards the door. I didn’t dare look at him a last time as The Idiot started yelling even louder. I knew what he’d do to Jimmy if I made him any angrier.

‘I said get out,’ Dad roared. ‘Get out now before I do for you.’

Jimmy moved towards the door and his eyes met mine for a moment but I looked away as he opened it and went down into the street.

‘How dare you?’ The Idiot screamed as the door closed. ‘Did you think you’d get away with it? Did you think I wouldn’t know, you little slag?’

‘No, Dad, of course not. He’d only been here a couple of minutes. I was trying to make him go.’

Dad rushed towards me and I felt his fingers grab tight around my throat as he pushed me backwards, pinning me to the wall.

‘No, Dad,’ I gasped.

I could not breathe. My lungs were bursting inside me.

‘Don’t fucking lie to me, do you hear?’ Dad screeched as he punched me in the chest. ‘What have you been up to? Did you shag him, you fucking slut? Is that what you were doing?’

‘No,’ I gasped.

He grunted as his hand gripped tighter around my throat.

‘What the fuck were you up to? Do you think I haven’t been watching you all these months? He’s just one in a long line, isn’t he? I’ve seen you at the clubs. Smiling and whispering to all the men, letting them look at you. You’re just like your mother – a dirty whore.’

His hand smashed across my face and my eye stung as he let go of my throat and I gulped for breath.

‘Did you think you’d get away with this? Did you think you’d make a fool of me?’

‘No. No. Please, Dad. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I didn’t want to.’

The Idiot pushed me away from him and I gulped air into my lungs.

‘Well, you won’t get the chance again,’ he spat, ‘because this time you’re going to learn your lesson.’

My bruises healed but the tiny flame of hope Jimmy had lit in me was gone for ever. From the moment The Idiot realised another man had shown an interest in me, he was like a bulldog protecting its mate. Snarling and yelling, he kept me at home for weeks as he refused to allow me out to the clubs.

‘I’m not taking you. I know what you’re going to get up to and I won’t permit it. Do you hear?’

There was nothing I could do but pray and I was sure not to show even the tiniest reaction when he spat at me or lashed out. He wouldn’t even let me out of the flat now to run to the shops and back so Mum had to do the shopping. I hated it when she returned home and couldn’t get her breath back. I knew she wasn’t well enough for the walk but Dad would get angry if I tried to suggest that I went instead.

‘Why do you want to do that, then?’ The Idiot would say. ‘Are you meeting someone?’

‘No, Dad. Mum’s not too good. She gets so tired.’

‘She’s making it up. You’re staying here.’

‘I wouldn’t take long. I’d go straight there and back.’

With a grunt, he flung his walking stick at me.

‘Do you think I’m going to let you out like a bitch on heat? Do you think the local boys wouldn’t see you coming? Who the fuck would want you? Look at yourself, you fat, lazy slag. You’re not going anywhere.’

Once the front door had often been left on the latch but now Dad insisted it was locked all the time and he was given the keys. He didn’t want me letting anyone in or me getting out and the only time I was allowed to leave the flat was when The Idiot made me go down to the family planning clinic to get a pregnancy test. But however much I told him there was no way I could be pregnant, he didn’t want to listen.

‘You were having that Jimmy when my back was turned, weren’t you? And now you’re pregnant by him, aren’t you? You’re like a bitch on heat.’

After two tests, Dad was finally convinced no one had touched me and started ordering me back on to his bed again. I was sure I’d never be given even the tiniest moments of freedom again. His anger was blacker than I’d ever seen it.

Eventually, though, he took me back to the clubs because Michael had moved further away from us by now so we only saw him every few months and Mum was often too unwell to go out. Dad wanted someone to fetch and carry for him so he had to take me but Jimmy didn’t say hello when I saw him. He must have realised what a bad lot I was with a father like mine and I didn’t enjoy going out any more because I felt so scared all the time. The Idiot took me a couple of times a month and I didn’t dare look at a man, let alone breathe a word to one. Dad’s eyes were on me all the time – when I got up to go to the toilet, if I bumped into someone on the way, he watched my every move.

‘Were you chatting him up?’ he’d hiss when I got back to my seat.

‘No,’ I’d insist. ‘I was just trying to get past.’

‘Don’t lie to me, you little bitch.’

The only man I was allowed to have any contact with now was Gavin, who had the mind of a child. He didn’t pose any kind of threat as far as Dad was concerned so I was allowed to dance with him for one song. As soon as the music ended, I’d sit down again wishing I could leave. I didn’t want to be at the clubs now knowing that I’d never have what I’d dared dream of.

But however quiet and obedient I was, Dad wouldn’t forget what had happened with Jimmy. Even the gas man wasn’t allowed into the flat to read the meter any more. What did The Idiot think I was going to do? Who did he think would take any notice of me? I wore shapeless clothes and baggy underwear because he picked all my clothes and they never fit. He was the only man who touched me.

I’d gone back on the pill after Jonathan but stopped taking it because of terrible migraines so The Idiot had to use condoms. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t and I knew he’d want revenge for Jimmy. Each month I waited anxiously for my period to arrive – counting down the days until I knew it was due and feeling almost weak with relief when it came. But although it took a long time after losing Jonathan, I eventually realised I was pregnant again and was filled with an even stronger horror than when I was a young girl. I knew now what might happen and hated my body for doing this to me again.

Once again, though, I started bleeding a few weeks later and went up to hospital where I was told I’d miscarried. The Idiot made me sign in under a false name just in case anyone was watching us and I knew he was annoyed with me. I had miscarried three babies now and lost Jonathan – I was as useless as he had always told me. It was the simplest thing in the world to carry a child and I couldn’t even do that. The Idiot was never going to give up. Why wouldn’t my body give him what he wanted and set me free?

I had learned when we were kids that The Idiot would never back down if there was a fight to be had, like the time he got arrested for attacking a neighbour during a row about an ice-cream cone. Dad never let anyone beat him. It was the same now, all those years later, when he picked a new fight with the woman who lived downstairs with her kids. It started because she liked listening to loud music and Dad would spit with rage when the beat thumped up through the floors and into our lounge, disturbing whatever he was watching on TV at the time.

‘Shut up,’ he’d scream as he started banging on the floor.

But the woman below didn’t seem to take any notice because she never turned down the volume and The Idiot got more and more incensed. A couple of times the police were called when the two of them came face to face and started screaming insults at each other. Or Dad would pick up the phone to them when he’d had enough and just wanted to cause trouble.

‘That fucking bitch,’ he’d spit as he dialled, ‘I’m going to teach her a lesson once and for all.’

Most of the time, though, Dad just turned up the volume on our TV and Apache screams would fill the room as he tried to make the sound of the western he was watching drown out the music below. Our neighbour, though, was nothing if not a fighter and nothing my dad said or did could intimidate her. So as soon as he turned up the volume on our TV, she’d do the same to her music and Mum and I would be deafened by its pumping beats as they fought with the roar of a film.

It went on for months. Complaints were investigated and accusations made as each side vowed to win the fight. However, in late 1992 it came to a head when The Idiot decided he was going to shut her up good and proper. Sick and tired of banging on the floor, he realised he needed to do something extra noticeable and rummaged through one of the boxes of junk he kept lying about the place. Soon he found what he was looking for: a huge bar bell that he’d kept from the days when he weight-trained.

His face went red and his breath came in gasps as he lifted the weight above his head and crashed it on to the floor. I heard a crack as he groaned and lifted the bar bell up again. His cheeks were purple by now but he didn’t stop. He lifted the weight once more and crashed it down with a scream.

‘If you want some fucking noise I’ll give it to you,’ he roared.

The bar bell ended up smashing through two of our floorboards, caving in part of the woman’s ceiling, and finally the battle was over. Not because the woman was frightened into giving in and turning down her music, but because Dad decided it was time to move. He had shown her who was boss and couldn’t be bothered to walk down all the stairs any more from our third-floor flat. We moved to a ground-floor place and I was happy because at least no stairs meant Mum could get in and out so much more easily. Her walking was pretty bad now and she got breathless if she tried to move too much. But she didn’t complain and whenever I asked how she felt she’d tell me the same thing.