Wonder Women (41 page)

That evening, she and her mum sat opposite one another
at the kitchen table. Her mum was carefully painting her nails, her own hair up in rollers. The house was very quiet – the very last night when it would be just Mel and her mum, because the next day, Phil and Patrick would be moving in. Most of their stuff was already upstairs in boxes and bags. Mel watched her mum closely for what seemed like hours. She was a little plumper and softer in the face than she had been when Mel's dad had died. She looked pretty and happy, in anticipation of her big day. Mel so wanted to be happy for her, but then she started thinking about how, from tomorrow, her own life would change, never to be the same again. She didn't mean to do it, but suddenly the tears came, and once she began to cry, she couldn't stop. Her mum looked up in surprise. ‘What now?' she said, a little impatiently. Mel got up and came around the table and buried her face in her mum's lap, in the way that she used to when she was a tiny girl. Her mum patted her hair lightly and exasperatedly, with the flat of her hand, trying not to ruin her nails. ‘Don't be silly now,' she said. ‘Is it your dad? Are you thinking about your dad, then?'

Mel hadn't been, but now she did. She imagined how her dad would feel if he knew how his daughter was being bullied and frightened by a boy who was coming to live right in her own house, and that made her cry even harder. Eventually she managed to gasp, ‘Mum, please don't do it. Don't marry Phil. I'm scared of Patrick. He hurts me. Please don't.'

Her mum grabbed her then, with no thought for her nails, and hauled her to her feet so she could look her in the eyes. She was clearly furious. ‘Listen, you selfish little cow, I'm getting married tomorrow. I need Phil. We need Phil. We
need a man to care for us, and he's a good man. You've been a spoiled brat and an only child for too long anyway. It's about time you learned how to live with a brother. It'll do you good, and you're just going to have to manage. All right?' and she shoved Mel away, a little hard, so Mel stumbled and almost fell. Without another word, Mel turned and went to her bedroom. When she took off her jumper to go to bed, there were smears of red nail varnish under the arms, like blood.

She learned then and there that there was no point in speaking out, because her mother wouldn't help her. She got through the wedding with grim determination, and only sustained a few bruises from Patrick's pinching as they stood side-by-side during the speeches. She kept her head down at home, spending as much time as she could in the living room in plain view of the adults, or visiting friends' houses. She focused hard on her schoolwork. She knew that good marks could be her ticket away from home. She got a paper round, and with Gloria's help opened a Post Office account, where she put away every penny she earned. And she spent every spare minute she had working on her performing skills.

At fifteen, she finally and belatedly hit puberty. Although she was still petite, slim and wiry, she developed breasts and hips. She had always dreaded it, although she had known it would happen eventually. One day, she was out in the garden practising her acrobatics. She was standing on her hands when she saw Patrick come out of the kitchen door and stand staring at her. She was suddenly aware that her shirt was untucked and her midriff was showing. She
jumped to her feet and tucked it in. His face was red and tense. ‘Don't look at me like that,' she said harshly. ‘It's disgusting.'

‘Why?' he said, and grinned. ‘It's not like you're my sister.'

She didn't want to run yet. She wanted to get her qualifications. She also knew that if she left home before she was sixteen, her mother would send the police after her. But she was pretty sure that if she was over sixteen, they would probably just let her go. So she stayed. It was like living with a time bomb. Patrick suddenly seemed capable of much worse than Chinese burns and trip-ups.

It was a Friday night, and her mum and Phil were out with friends. Mel had gone to bed early with a book. Patrick was out with mates, hanging around in the park and drinking. She was reading but she quickly switched off her light when she heard the front door bang open. She prayed that it was her mum and Phil. But then she heard his heavy and unsteady tread on the stairs. She huddled down under the blankets and pretended to be asleep. He threw her door open and she could hear him breathing heavily as he looked at her shape under the blankets. She didn't stand a chance against his strength and weight, so when he ripped the blankets off her, she lay there like she was dead. Through the whole, awful experience, she didn't even open her eyes.

She got up very early the next morning, packed the bare essentials into a bag and was outside the Post Office before it opened. As soon as she could get inside, she withdrew all her money. Then she went around to Gloria's house and pounded on the kitchen door. When Gloria opened it and
saw her face, she drew Mel inside and shut and locked the kitchen door.

‘What did he do?'

‘He …' She couldn't say the words. She just shook her head, and closed her eyes. Tears leaked on to her cheeks. ‘I've got some money. I need to get away.'

‘Yes,' said Gloria. She didn't argue. She also, to Mel's surprise, didn't suggest they tell Phil or her mum, or call the police. ‘I have a friend in London you can stay with. She's in an area called Streatham. I'll ring her in an hour. In the meantime, go upstairs and have a bath.' Gloria gave her a gentle push towards the stairs. That evening, Gloria put her on a coach bound for London. She handed her an envelope, stuffed with notes, and a piece of paper with her friend's address and telephone number on it. ‘She'll put you up and get you into a school to finish your studies. We'll keep in touch through her. Don't come back,' said Gloria, and squeezed Mel's hand fiercely. Mel climbed on the coach and the doors hissed closed. She waved to Gloria through the window. She would never see her again: Gloria succumbed to lung cancer less than a year later.

As the coach pulled on to the motorway and Mel stared out at the setting sun, she wondered where her mum was, and what she was thinking. What would Gloria say to her? Would she come after Mel, or leave her be? Instinct told her her mum wouldn't come looking for her, and she was proved right.

She got to London, where she lodged with Gloria's friend Doreen, who was kind but distant. She soon saw Mel was more than capable of looking after herself, and left her to
get on with it, which is exactly what Mel did. She got excellent O and A levels and won a place to study theatre at Goldsmith's.

She didn't miss her mum. Where the love should be in her heart was only an echoing emptiness, drained by years of disappointment. She had tried to speak out and had been shouted down, and even when Mel had been in danger, her mum had chosen to ignore it. Mel didn't know a lot, but she did know that if she ever had children of her own, she would listen.

At the moment, Lee thought, his relationship with Jo seemed to consist of fleeting brushes. She would sweep past him in the morning, kissing his cheek as she rushed out of the house to get to work, and she would briefly rub his arm or shoulder as she fell into bed beside him late at night. If he saw her in between, she was always in motion, rushing from her desk to the door, flying out of the car into the shop, dashing into the bathroom to grab a few minutes with the kids as they played in the bath.

Richard had rented them office space in Angel, and together they had hired a small but high-powered team: a PR person, someone to scout locations and a fashion buyer. Holly was still in overall charge of the look of the range and the original designs, but Gary, the new buyer, was there to get stuff in bulk as they opened more stores. Jo had had to hire more store staff for the shop in East Finchley to help Mel, because she quite simply had no time to be there herself. Things were moving fast, but in a good way. Even though he missed her, Lee had to admit when he did see
Jo, her face was aglow with excitement. She was loving every second of this new adventure.

And Lee? How was he finding his new adventure? Stay-at-home dad extraordinaire? Primary caregiver? House husband? The first day was an unqualified disaster. He'd managed to get Zach ready for nursery, but hadn't got Imogene dressed or given her any breakfast. As a result, he ended up stuck in traffic on the way back from nursery with a hungry, screaming baby in pyjamas. Once they were home and he'd got her fed and dressed, he was exhausted. He had sat with her on his lap, watching some kids' TV, and then let her play on the floor while he tackled the breakfast dishes and put some washing on. Then she got tired and fractious and wanted to have a nap, and Lee put her down without checking the time. When he did look at the clock, it was only fifteen minutes until he had to go and fetch Zach. He hadn't made any lunch, or got a minute's creative work done. Off he went, back to the nursery, with Imi screaming in the back once again because he'd had to wake her up to put her in the car.

It was raining, so they couldn't go to the park or even play in the garden, so the afternoon was spent devising games indoors. All of a sudden, it was six o'clock. The living room looked as if a toy bomb had exploded, there was nothing for dinner, the remains of the sandwiches they had had for lunch were drying out on the plates that were still on the table and the load of laundry he had put on that morning was still lying, wet, in the machine. He was angry with himself. He felt like he had failed, and particularly failed Imogene, who seemed to have had a thoroughly miserable day.

He resolved to do better the next day, and he did. He had both kids dressed and fed well before it was time to take Zach to nursery. He'd worked out that Jo was right, and that walking with the pushchair was easier and less stressful than driving and having to find parking, so he did that. He timed Imi's nap so she had plenty of time to wake up naturally before they had to leave to pick up Zach, and he even managed to organise beans on toast for lunch and a pasta dinner before Jo got back from work. The same load of washing was still languishing in the washing machine, but what the hell. One day at a time. Each day got a little better and he got a little more done, and managed to keep both kids reasonably happy. By the end of the week, he was on his knees though. He felt much more exhausted than he ever had putting in a full week's work in an office. If he thought about why, it was because he would set out to do the simplest task, but never manage to complete it. Going out in the car, shopping, washing dishes, cooking … anything he tried to do meant he had to see what both children were doing, either engage them and get them ready to do it with him, or occupy them safely while he tried to do the task alone. Nothing ever got done without interruption either.

By the second week, he felt a little more confident, so while Zach was at nursery, he took Imi to a couple of the baby-and-toddler groups she had previously attended with Jo. The first one they went to was in a church hall. He still hadn't quite cracked timekeeping with a small child, so they were about fifteen minutes late. They walked in hand-in-hand, and the group of women sitting on chairs near the
coffee table all turned to look at them. One woman smiled brightly and said, ‘Oh hello, Imogene! Lily's over there, waiting to play with you!' She indicated her own daughter, a little girl of about Imi's age, who was banging two saucepans together in the kitchen corner. Imogene leaned against Lee's leg and hung on to his hand shyly. The women all turned back to their conversation. No one spoke to Lee.

He led Imi over to the kitchen corner and knelt on the floor. He passed her a spoon and a plastic bowl, and she began to play, keeping up a stream of babbling commentary as she went along. She and the little girl, Lily, didn't seem at all interested in playing together. Lee knew that Imi was still too small to play with someone, but she often liked playing alongside another child, as long as they didn't snatch things from her. He got off the cold lino floor and pulled up a chair. He was quite happy to sit near her and watch her play. Every now and then she brought him a plate with a piece of plastic food on it, and he obligingly pretended to eat it. She moved on and played with some bricks, then rode around on a little push-along car. Her coordination was good, probably from trying constantly to keep up with Zach, and Lee watched in pride as she propelled herself efficiently with her fat little legs.

After forty-five minutes or so, there was a snack break, and all the children sat on a big waterproof sheet on the floor and ate raisins and breadsticks. Imi scoffed all her raisins and helped herself from the bowl of the little boy next to her, then got up and hurtled off to the play-dough table for a while. Ten minutes before the end of the session, there was a singalong, and Lee sat with her on his lap while
she clapped her hands to all her favourite nursery rhymes. She had had fun, but he could see she was exhausted, so he took her to the baby-changing area and changed her nappy before loading her into her car seat. She was asleep before they reached the end of the block. It wasn't until he got home that Lee realised that not one of the mothers in the group had even greeted him, let alone engaged him in a conversation.

He mentioned it to Jo later that evening. She was surprised. ‘Really? I've always found that lot will never shut up. I mean, granted, they only talk about kids and babies, or pregnancy or birth if you're lucky, but they're normally very friendly.'

‘Perhaps I was just so caught up in playing with Imogene that they didn't want to interrupt.'

‘Maybe,' said Jo, but she didn't sound sure. ‘Maybe … they're just not used to seeing a dad there,' she said thoughtfully. ‘I've certainly never seen one there before. You are rather a rare bird, you know.'

‘What, a stay-at-home dad is a rare bird? That's ridiculous.'

‘In middle-class yummy-mummy playgroups like that one, you are. The dads just aren't around.'