Helen
Lizzie seemed to spend a lot of time with Rachel for someone who hadn’t even liked her a few weeks ago.
They walked to school together, while I tagged on behind like a third wheel. They smoked together, and lunched together, and disappeared off home together while I trekked back to babysitterville.
Two weeks. Just two crappy weeks.
Things really were like old times at school. No lingering glances. No whispering. No stolen touches. No lunchtime cosying.
No afternoon hanging around. No car rides. No anything.
It sucked bad. But at least it felt safe. At least we’d still have weekends.
I’d checked Mum’s rota and she was back late from shift on Saturday night, but at least she was back. I’d have some time, even just a little. Enough time to feed the craving and make the next week of crud bearable.
Mark and I talked about it every night. Amongst other things. Plenty of other things.
Sometimes I’d get him on a roll and he’d keep on chatting for hours. Other times he’d come on the line with a breakdown of what assignments he knew I had due in and cut me short.
But that was ok, too.
We were ok. That’s all that really mattered. I couldn’t wait to be in his bed again.
I thought I was home and dry with the weekend arrangements. I laid it out nice and clearly to Mum and Dad that Harry and I had plans, and they didn’t even argue.
It’s serious, I maintained. Really serious. We’re happy. So happy. And he’s nice. He’s such a nice lad.
And then disaster struck, and I hadn’t even seen it coming.
A knock at my bedroom door sounded late on Friday night, hushed voices on the landing.
I’ve got to tell her, Angela!
Not tonight, George! Sleep on it! Tonight, Angela, she’s got to know!
My stomach fell through the floor, hands shaking as I reached for my light. And then Dad was in the doorway. “Can you come downstairs, Helen? We need to talk.”
“What is it? What’s happened?” And then the silence. “Dad! What’s happened?” “Just come downstairs, love.”
I pulled on my dressing gown and raced to the kitchen, and Mum pulled me out a chair even though she looked so tired. I wondered why she was even home.
They looked at each other, and they looked so sad. Mum twisted her fingers, and it made me want to cry, nerves jangling everywhere.
“What is it?!” I said. “Please, just tell me!” Dad took a seat, and a breath.
“It’s Harry,” he said. “I saw him tonight.”
My heart stuttered, dread rising up. Dread and shock. “You saw Harry?” Oh Lord, no.
He slammed his hand on the table. “The nasty little prick played you, Helen, played all of us. I thought he was from good stock. Just wait til I see Mick around, he needs to pull his son back into fucking line, that’s what I say.” I could hardly breathe. “What… what happened?”
He sighed. “I was driving up through town, just about to head back out on the city run, when I saw him. Him and… some stupid bit of skirt.” He groaned, and his face was angry. Really angry. “He was with another girl, Helen.”
Everything felt so far away. “With another girl?”
“Yeah, with another girl. I’m so sorry, Helen. I’m really bloody sorry.”
Mum’s hand was on my shoulder, squeezing me, expecting the tears. “Are you sure, George? You’re absolutely positive?”
He stood up and slammed his hand down again. “Of course I’m bloody sure! If the bus had been empty I’d have pulled over and demanded to know what the fuck he was playing at!”
“It doesn’t make any sense.” She stared at me. “You’ve got plans, haven’t you? Plans for tomorrow night. And you’ve been talking to him, love, surely? Did you not have any idea?”
“He’s a fucking prick!” Dad spat. “A real fucking prick.” He reached for his phone. “Let me call fucking Mick, find out what the fuck that kid thinks he’s playing at.”
Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I didn’t have time to think it through, didn’t have time to form a better strategy, didn’t have time to do anything other than get Dad off that phone.
“I knew,” I said. “About the girl.” Their faces were a picture.
Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”
I tried to calm my breathing. “It’s over, me and Harry. Mutual decision. You know how it goes…” There was one long moment of silence before the questions started.
“No, Helen, I don’t fucking know how it goes. Mutual decision?! Since fucking when? It’s only bloody Friday, you were with him for two weeks solid last week.”
“And tomorrow night,” Mum butted in. “You only said about that this afternoon.” “Don’t try and defend him, Helen. I’ll have none of that!”
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m really not.” My story was fucked, but I didn’t have a better get out. “I, um… just hadn’t got round to telling you. It happened today… lunch… I just didn’t want to worry you…”
Mum looked thoroughly confused. “But you were both so happy… You’ve been so happy…”
“So, he was still seeing that bit of stuff behind your back, was he?” Dad demanded. “Because I’m telling you now, Helen, there’s no way that shit he pulled tonight was hot off the press. They were pretty fucking familiar. So he did pull a fast one, didn’t he? Mutual decision or bastard not.”
“But you must be devastated,” Mum said. “You liked him so much!” Tears pricked at her eyes and she pulled me into a hug, and I felt so bad, so very bad. “Don’t you worry, love, we’ll make it alright. We’ll still have a nice night tomorrow, you’ll see. We’ll make up for it at home, girls’ night, hey?”
I felt so bad lapping up Mum’s sympathy, especially when my brain was whizzing through a whole host of excuses to get out of her concern.
“I’ll be ok,” I said. “I’m ok.”
And that’s when Dad looked strange. His eyes suspicious and beady.
“You don’t seem that upset, Helen. Not considering you only split up today.” “Mutual decision,” I maintained. “Like I said.”
“Mutual decision my fucking arse. You were well into him. He seemed well into you as well. Croissants, and potato bloody waffles.” He scowled. “Something doesn’t make bloody sense about all this.”
Mum waved her arm at him, jabbed a finger. “Don’t you start up with the conspiracy theories, George. Not now!”
“But it doesn’t,” he insisted. “Something’s fucking off.”
“It just is what it is,” I snapped, and I shouldn’t have. I definitely shouldn’t have.
Dad stared so hard I had to look away. “What does Mick Sawbridge look like, Helen? What car does he drive?” I wanted to die, right there in my seat. Shrivel to nothing.
Mum sighed. “George, stop it! Seriously!”
“No, Angela, I won’t stop it. Helen can answer the question, it’s a simple bloody question.” I could hardly breathe. “He’s… old… just, normal… haven’t seen him that much…” “You’ve been in his house for two fucking weeks and you don’t know what he looks like?” “Brown hair…”
And Dad lost it, he slammed his fist on the table and walked away, over to the sink and back again. “Mick’s blonde. He’s a throwback from the pissing eighties, Helen. He drives a fucking truck. A big fucking truck. Tattoos all over his arms.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Yeah, that’s it…”
It was a dumb answer. Even Mum drew breath.
Dad jabbed a finger. “So, where have you really been going?” “With Harry!” I lied. “Just not at his house. We just hung out!” “Don’t fucking lie to me, Helen Palmer. Don’t you fucking dare.” “Leave it, George,” Mum hissed. “Not now.”
“Not fucking now?!” He was seething, absolutely seething. He pointed to the doorway. “Get to bed, before I really lose my fucking temper.”
“But Dad…” “GET TO BED!”
And I did. I did go to bed.
It was a long time before the shouting stopped downstairs.
I keyed in message after message to Mark, but I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face sending them. Everything was about to fall apart, everything in my soul was screaming. Screaming danger. And I couldn’t stop crying.
***
Helen
“You’re not going out. End of story.”
Dad was serious. He had his don’t push me face on. Not even Mum could argue with that face, but I had a go anyway. I had
to have a go anyway.
“I’ve got plans… Dad, please!”
“Plans with Harry bastard Sawbridge?! Not bloody likely, Helen. Do you think I was born fucking yesterday or something?”
“Not Harry!” I used the only other card in my hand. “Lizzie’s. I’m going to Lizzie’s.”
“Lizzie can come here,” he said. “Unless you want to tell me where you’re really bloody going. Where were you over Christmas, Helen?”
“George!” Mum said, but even she was tired of arguing. “Please… just give it a rest now.” He downed the rest of his tea. “This isn’t done,” he said. “I’ll be getting to the bottom of this.” “Lizzie wants me to go there… I have to help her with clothes… for a date…”
“It’s Lizzie’s, George, for Christ’s sake!” Mum put her head in her hands. “You’re giving me a migraine and it’s not even nine o’bloody clock yet!”
Dad’s eyes glowered. “Fine. I’ll drop you at bloody Lizzie’s house. What time?” “But you have work…”
“WHAT TIME?”
I weighed it up. Mum wouldn’t even be home until eight. “Half eight?” “Quarter past. I have a break between runs.”
“Cool,” I said, trying to seem a lot calmer than I felt.
I told Mark to meet me at half eight, at the pull-in at the bottom of the old recreation ground, but that meant time would be against me. I was wringing my hands by the time Dad picked me up, and that didn’t cease on the drive to Lawnside. I waved a lacklustre goodbye and walked slowly up to Lizzie’s block, hoping he’d pull away and drive off back to his own business, but he didn’t. He sat and watched me like a hawk. I had to go right up to the communal doorway and still he didn’t leave, so with trembling fingers I pressed the buzzer, praying to anyone who’d listen that someone would be home.
Ray’s slurry voice came through the intercom all crackled and demanding. “What?”
“It’s Helen, is Lizzie in?”
Dad was still watching me. I tried to keep a smile on my face. “Nah, she’s out.”
Fuck.
“Can I come up anyway?”
A moment’s silence, and I was willing him, really willing him. “Fancy a bit of company do ya?”
My stomach tightened. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
The bleep of the door lock sounded and I was in. I held up a hand to Dad and climbed the stairs. Finally, once I’d reached Lizzie’s landing, I saw the car pull away. I breathed a sigh of temporary relief.
Ray opened the door in nothing but a pair of boxers. He had a can of cider in his hand, and looked at me with a smile that made me shiver.
“Where is she?”
He shrugged. “Dunno.” “Is she with Scottie?” “Who the fuck’s Scottie?”
“You know, Scottie her boyfriend…?”
He eyed me up and down. “Never heard of no bloody Scottie. She was with some girl. Blonde. Nice ass.”
Rachel. It twisted in my heart. “Ok, well, could you please give her a message?” “Like she ever listens,” he laughed to himself. “Alright, what is it, sweet cheeks?” “Please tell her that my parents think I’m with her tonight, staying over.”
He smirked. “You being a naughty girl, Hels? I’ll put ya over me knee if you ain’t careful, love.” The idea made my skin crawl. “Thanks, Ray.”
“You ain’t coming in? Got a can for you. Watch some TV all cosy if you like?” He scratched at his boxers. I was already backing away when I thanked him for his offer.
Mark was waiting. I dashed through the swings and nipped under the fence, darting around the car to slip into my seat with ragged breath. I asked him to drive away before I even had my seatbelt on.
“Are you alright, Helen? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” “It’s Dad,” I said. “He knows I’m not with Harry.”
He didn’t seem fazed. “Ok. That’s not such a problem in itself, surely?”
So I explained the whole deal, everything. My stupid lies and Dad’s conspiracy theorist mentality, and Lizzie not being in.
He listened calmly, and slowly my breathing calmed, too. “We’ll figure something out.”
I was still trying Lizzie, but there was no answer. I sighed. “I hope so.”
“We will.” The town disappeared behind us, and his hand reached for my knee, squeezed it. “Relax.” I put my hand on his, squeezed him tight. “I’m trying.”
“Just breathe, Helen. The night’s alive, and young. Enjoy it. We’ll have plenty of time to concern ourselves with logistics, I promise.”
“You aren’t worried?” My eyes fixed on his but his were on the road.
“I didn’t say that.” He sighed. “The situation isn’t ideal, but we’ll manage.”
“Dad won’t let it go,” I said. “He’s like a dog with a bone. On and on. He’ll want to know where I’m going. He’ll want to know where I’ve been. He’ll want to know who I’ve been with…”
“And he definitely knows you weren’t with Harry?” “Definitely.”
“Fine,” he said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll get our thinking caps on, ok?” I nodded. “Ok.”
“In the meantime, I’ve been waiting all week to see you. I missed you, Helen Palmer. A lot.” I smiled. “The sentiment is entirely reciprocated, Mr Roberts.”
It made him smile, too.