That'll Be the Day (2007) (18 page)

At first she told herself it was because they were still virtual strangers, not having seen him since she was a young girl. Naturally he wouldn’t
feel
like a father, would he?

And although she would never tell her mother he had a strange habit of fondling her bottom, which Lynda really didn’t care for at all. It had only happened once or twice, but he’d slide his hand over her buttocks and knead the softly rounded flesh in an oddly intimate fashion. The first time she’d thought it a mistake, or her imagination, but the second time it had happened Lynda had got quickly to her feet and made some excuse that she’d promised to go over to Judy’s place, and fled. The sound of his laughter had followed her all the way out the door, which somehow made it even more chilling.

It was that same night she’d first had the dream.

The fear was the most prevalent part of it, that and a desperate need to escape. Then there were the hands. They were huge and very white, fluttering at her in the dream like a pair of avenging angels, or pigeons flying at her in Albert Square, something which she’d always found frightening.

Exactly what a pair of huge white hands had to do with Ewan Hemley, Lynda couldn’t understand but a small worm of doubt was growing inside her that perhaps she didn’t like him quite so much as she’d hoped she would. And watching Jake make a fool of himself getting drunk night after night in order to gain his father’s attention didn’t seem to be such a good thing either.

So maybe her mother did have a point, after all, and it was time Ewan moved on. Lynda still couldn’t bring herself to call him Dad, even though her brother used the word regularly, casting sly glances of triumph at Mam as he did so.

It went without saying that she would want to stay in touch with him after he left. He was still her father, after all, no matter what his idiosyncrasies. But attempting to reunite them as a family had probably not been such a good idea. Too late, maybe, after all these long years apart.
 

The trouble was that Lynda felt nervous of actually telling him so. What was even more worrying was that not a day passed without Betty demanding he leave. On one occasion her mother had even packed a bag for him, with sandwiches and a flask of coffee. He’d picked the bag up, looked inside, then thrown it at her. The flask had smashed and the coffee formed a dark stain all over the pretty flowered wallpaper.

‘I’m going nowhere, so you can stuff this up your own arse and shout lost, Betty my love.’

It was in that moment Lynda realised how her own over-eagerness to get to know her father might perhaps have been a bad mistake, resulting in more problems for her mam, whom she’d always tried to protect. Her eagerness for this long-dreamed-of family life had inadvertently landed them all in a mess. Therefore it was surely her duty to put it right. The trouble was, Lynda hadn’t the first idea how to set about the task.

‘What can I do, Judy? It’s all gone terribly wrong.’

‘Just a minute, Lynda. Let me finish wrapping this picture for Dena.’

It was a Wednesday and her friend was busy at her stall selling pictures of cats and flowers. Lynda was suddenly filled with pride for her friend, and suffused with shame over her own complaints. Judy had a much more difficult life than she, living with that controlling husband of hers who’d sleep with any woman who so much as glanced in his direction. And here she was moaning about a few clumsy cuddles from a father whom she’d spent her entire life craving to know, and all because he still felt like a stranger. What was wrong with her?

‘You look rushed off your feet,’ Lynda said when Dena had happily gone on her way.

‘Oh, I am. I would never have believed a stall selling my little pictures could be so successful. I can’t thank you enough for suggesting it. It means I can afford to spend so much more time painting, if only to keep up with demand, which I love.’

‘And how about himself? What does Sam think of your efforts?’

Judy pulled a face. ‘He’s still not particularly thrilled about my working, but seems willing to put up with it. Mind you, I take good care always to be home in good time to see to the children, clean the house and . . .’

‘Make it look as if you’ve never been out of it?’ Lynda finished for her, making Judy laugh.

‘That’s about it. Silly, I know, but it keeps him happy and makes life much more comfortable for us all. I’d want to pick them up from school in any case. I love my kids and enjoy spending time with them. But this special time for me is important too, and it’s only two days a week.’

‘The change in life-style must be suiting you. You’re looking so much better.’ Judy had in fact never looked prettier. Her blue eyes sparkled even more than usual, her dark curls were shining with healthy vigour and her skin didn’t have that dingy, tired quality to it any more. She seemed to have come alive. Even her shirt and slacks looked tidier than usual, although still bearing tell-tale signs of oil paint here and there.

‘So what were you saying about something going terribly wrong?’

Lynda shrugged her shoulders. Not for the world could she bear to unload her own petty problems on to her friend, not right at this moment when Judy was looking so happy and relaxed at last. ‘Oh, nothing important. Mam still isn’t getting on with – with Ewan, that’s all. But what would you expect?’

‘Are you getting on with him okay? You enjoy having your father around at last, don’t you?’ Judy asked, her voice soft and caring.

‘Oh, yes . . . yes, of course I do,’ Lynda agreed, pasting a brisk smile on her face. ‘I’m delighted.’

Lynda had made her decision. Seeing her friend standing up for herself at last seemed to give her the courage to do the same. Wanting to get to know your own father was all well and good, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of her mother who’d brought her up, and whom she loved dearly. And there was no doubt that having Ewan in the house day after day was making Betty very unhappy.

With this in mind, she plucked up the courage to tackle Ewan on the subject of his leaving.

‘So you see, I think it would be best if you were to move out. I know there aren’t many houses or flats to rent in the area but if you can’t find one, there are plenty of people who take in lodgers. And we could still keep in touch, of course we could, and see each other regularly. But you must see how it’s upsetting Mam having you here. The pair of you aren’t getting on at all, and why should you? You’re not even man and wife any more.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

Lynda didn’t know how to answer that one. ‘Hmm . . . so I think you should live some place else. It was a big mistake for us to expect it to work, don’t you think?’

‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready and not before.’

‘Look . . . Dad . . .’ The name sounded awkward on her tongue but Lynda wanted to reassure him, to let him see that she wasn’t rejecting him in any way. ‘I feel bad about it but this is a small house. Mam works hard on the flower stall and when she comes home she needs a bit of peace and quiet, not tension and arguments. Jake and I can’t bear to see the pair of you at each other’s throats the whole time. You’re divorced, and that’s that. We all have to accept that fact and you need to make a new life for yourself. I just want you to know that we will still be a part of that life, as you will still be a part of our family. But you can’t stay here.’

He hit her. One minute he was smiling at her in that sardonic, I’ll do as I please sort of way, the next he’d smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. The violence of the blow sent Lynda reeling. She fell against the table and slumped to the floor.

Ewan stood over her, knuckles clenched. ‘The best way to stop the arguing is for you all to do as you’re told. That’s not too difficult to understand, is it? Good, now we’ve got that sorted you can make my tea and stop your blathering.’

Lynda gladly escaped to the kitchen where she leaned against the door in a state of total shock. Finding her legs were shaking uncontrollably, she half collapsed into a chair, leaned her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands, feeling ice cold tears slide through her fingers. Dear God, what had she done? She’d brought a monster into their home. So this was the reason her mother had left him; this was what Betty had always refused to talk about. Ewan was violent and had probably beaten her too.

A surge of hot fury soared through Lynda’s young veins. Well, he damned well wasn’t going to bully her. She grabbed a knife and as she peeled potatoes, sliced and cooked chips and fried him an egg, Lynda wished she could chop him into little bits and throw him away with the potato peelings, even as silent sobs and tears wracked her body. How could she have been so foolish as to imagine he could love her? He might be her father but he was still a stranger to her.

Ewan Hemley had ignored them for years and now thought he could simply walk back into their lives and order them about to suit himself. Worst of all, her mother had protected them from him for years and now she, Lynda, had thrown that care in her face by inviting him in for that dratted Sunday lunch. If she hadn’t done that, they wouldn’t be in this terrible situation.

When Betty came home, her daughter’s tear-stained face told her at once that something was wrong and she turned on Ewan. ‘What have you done to her? What have your mucky hands been doing to her now?’

That was the phrase she used:
your mucky hands
! Words that electrified Lynda.

The hands in her dream, were they her father’s hands? Did he used to hit her before, when she was a small girl? Did he do other things too? Oh dear God, let that not be the case. But if so, why couldn’t she remember?

Lynda knew the answer even as the question formed in her mind: because Mam had made sure that they
didn’t
remember. She’d been determined that they forget all about their father and his nasty ways. Betty had taken them to what she believed to be a safe place here on Champion Street in the heart of Manchester, and shut Ewan Hemley out of their lives.

Oh, why hadn’t she listened when Mam had begged her not to allow him home for Sunday Lunch? Why hadn’t she tried to understand?

Lynda longed to hear the full details of the marriage now, so that she could understand everything, but how could she ask with him sitting there like - like a king of his own domain? A demon king, wasn’t that the word her mother had used? And it was true. Lynda was ashamed to discover that a part of her actually hated him, for all he might be her own father.

Chapter Nineteen

Sam was not sympathetic over his son having been bullied and told the boy he should have been able to give a better account of himself. ‘Haven’t I paid for you to have boxing lessons at Barry Holmes’s club? I’m surprised you didn’t see them off. Look at you, covered in bruises. I can see I’ve wasted my money. You’re nothing but a weakling.’

Judy gasped, drawing her stricken child protectively to her side. ‘But there were
three
of them. How can one six-year-old boy stand up to
three
bullies?’

Sam ignored her as he again addressed his son. ‘Your failure to stand up for yourself means you’re going to need extra training. Let go of him, Judy, you’ll turn him into a mummy’s boy, and I won’t have that.’

‘The man said that I did well.’

‘What man?’

‘The one who came to help me.’

Sam’s flint-like gaze slid from his son to his wife. ‘Do I take it you weren’t even there?’

‘I arrived within minutes – seconds.’

‘Go to your room, lad. I’ll deal with you later.’ When Tom had gone, dragging his feet and glancing back anxiously at his mother, as if to make sure he wasn’t in trouble with her as well, Sam rounded on Judy.

‘The fault for this episode is entirely yours. Had you been there on time, as you should have been if you’d been doing your job as a mother correctly and not playing at running market stalls, then this would never have happened.’

Judy was stunned by the accusation. ‘Oh, Sam, that’s a cruel thing to say. I was only seconds late, mere seconds. I told Tom to wait for me by the school gate but he’d set off home alone.’

‘And where was Ruth through all of this?’

‘Her class were at the swimming baths having a lesson. We picked her up on the way home.’

‘So you were late for her too. Right, that’s it , the stall will have to go.’

‘What? But I can’t . . . Oh, don’t make me give it up now, when it’s doing so well.’

‘It’s exactly as I predicted. The stall, and that hobby of yours, is standing in the way of your proper duties. I’ll give you a week’s grace, but I shall expect to see you back home being a proper mother again by this time next week. I’ve no intention of putting our children’s lives at risk for one of your selfish fancies.’

‘But that’s not fair. It’s not me or my stall at fault because some bullies beat up our son. It’s theirs and theirs alone. I intend to say as much to the headmaster.’

Sam slammed his fist down on to the table. ‘
You will do no such thing
! Apart from the fact he will think exactly as I do, that it wouldn’t have happened if
you
, his mother, had been there; complaining to the school will only make Tom’s situation worse. It’ll make him look a real namby-pamby, needing his teacher’s help.’

‘But we can’t let those boys get away with it. We have to . . .’