Rosina hesitated… then decided that there were enough lies knocking about and she was sick of hiding what her dad was really like. ‘He smacked me across the face, Gran. It made my head rattle it was so hard. So I ran out the back door and down here to phone you.’
If rage could be transmitted down a phone line, Rosina swore she felt it echoing in her Gran’s voice. ‘Where is your father now? Has he gone to work?’
‘He’s packing, he’s going on a trip today.’
‘Good. I’ll be there by this afternoon. I’ll ring work and tell them I won’t be in then I’ll set off. How long is he going for?’
‘A week but I wish it was forever. I hope he leaves and never comes back.’
‘I know, love, I know. Right, you go home and keep out of his way and look after your mum till I get there. Tell her I’ll see her soon. You did the right thing, Rosie, ringing me.’
Hearing the pips on the line, Rosina said her goodbyes. ‘I’ve run out of money, Gran. I’ll see you in a bit, love you so much.’
‘And I love you, too.’
The line went dead and after replacing the receiver, Rosina stepped out of the phone box just in time to see her father’s car shoot by and to get a glimpse of his face. She despised him so much and couldn’t bear to look at his jowly cheeks, swollen and red from drinking too much whisky and eating like a pig. He didn’t even care that her mum was pregnant. Smoking in every room, leaving a trail of cigarette fumes everywhere, making their clothes stink. He was a selfish pig and a nasty, lazy slob. He did nothing to help around the house and acted like her mum was his slave, Rosina too.
It was like the older she got, the more he treated her with disdain. Perhaps it was because he knew she could see through him and wouldn’t pander to him like Vi did. God, it irritated Rosina so much that her younger sister hero-worshipped their fickle father and in return he focused all his attention on her, like he was playing a game, conning a ten-year-old into believing he was a nice person and rubbing their mum’s face in it at the same time.
It was Violetta’s birthday in a week’s time and he would no doubt turn up bearing gifts he’d bought in London, acting like he was the best dad in the world. One week. That’s all they had to relax. Not dread him coming home, be able to breathe easy without that tight feeling in your chest when you heard his car on the drive and not walk around on eggshells from the minute he came through the door.
It would be so good, to have Gran there. She always cheered everyone up in her own bossy, no messing kind of way and Rosina knew that within a day of her arrival the washing and ironing would be up to date and her mum would be able to put her feet up and get her strength back.
Rosina did her best to help out. The house was huge and her dad expected it to be clean and tidy always, inspecting things for dust and going apeshit if he found a tidemark in the bath or pots in the sink. It was like he was punishing her mum and used his favourite taunt as often as possible.‘You were the one who wanted to live in the big house so you can look after it.’That was why in between studying for her exams, she tried to ease her mum’s burden but she was tired too, of being scared most of all.
Running, eager to get back to her mum, Rosina hoped she wouldn’t be cross that she’d told what was going on and be glad that Granny Sylvia was on her way. It wasn’t the first time, though, that Rosina had rung her gran in tears. It was their little pact. To keep an eye on things and report back ever since the first time her mum had ‘walked into a door’. The truth was a completely different story.
Witnessing the scene from where she hid on the stairs, Rosina had peeped through the spindles as her dad threw a glass full of whisky over her mum, then, after he’d slammed the lounge door, she’d heard the sound of more glass breaking and her mum crying.
The very next morning, while the house was empty, she’d picked up the hall phone and rang her gran, telling her what she’d seen. In her fifteen-year-old eyes, the solution was simple. ‘Mum should throw Dad out, or we could leave and come and live with you in Manchester. I know your flat is tiny but we could squash in and we’d be really good, I promise.’
After assuring Rosina that they were all welcome any time, Sylvia had then gone on to explain a few home truths. ‘You see, love, when you’re married and especially when you have children, life isn’t always that simple and you can’t just up sticks and run away. And let’s face it, your dad’s a big bloke and from what you say, nasty with it. So I think we’d have a struggle chucking him out.’
‘But you left London with Mum, when her dad ran off with that woman.’ The moment she said it Rosina winced, it was a taboo subject with Gran that even her mum rarely discussed. The silence down the line was excruciating, like her gran was either annoyed or thinking what to say.
‘That was an entirely different situation, Rosina, and I know that’s one of the reasons your mum won’t leave, why she will keep trying with your dad. She doesn’t want you to feel like she did. She may not say it out loud, especially to me but she always missed her dad and probably still does. But that’s my cross to bear, and his.’
Rosina remained silent, knowing not to push her luck. She could already see her dream of squishing into a flat and being near her gran every day clouding over as she listened to more words of wisdom coming down the line.
‘And even if your mum did leave, she would worry about money and paying the bills. I know I did when me and your mum arrived in Manchester and I only had one little girl; she’ll soon have three children. So for now, that big old house you live in gives you girls some stability and a roof over your head. Do you see what I mean, love?’
When Rosina countered with another idea, saying they should ring the police, her gran once again spelt it out. ‘Making the call in a moment of desperation or fear is a solution, however, it only solves the problem short term, gives you a few nights of peace. The thing is Rosie, lots of women worry about what comes after, making statements, going to court and folks finding out, gossipy people, like neighbours and at school and work.’
This imagery brought Rosina up short. She got it, and knew her mum would hate being talked about and so would she and Vi because some of the girls at school were total bitches. ‘Okay, Gran, I get it. But we can’t just do nothing, can we?’
When she answered, Rosina imagined her gran doing that smile, the one she did when she was pleased with you, chuffed with a present you’d made or taken her a mug of tea with two big sugars. ‘Good girl. I’m glad you understand and I’m so sorry that you’ve got all this to deal with but you have me to share it now. So, I’m going to pack a bag and I’ll be there tomorrow, a surprise visit from the mother-in-law from hell should clip his wings for a day or two. And I’ll try and talk some sense into your mum while I’m at it. And from now on, you and I can keep our eye on things. Is that a plan?’
Rosina’s body sagged with such immense relief and she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, her voice croaky when she replied. ‘Yes, Gran, it’s a plan.’
True to her promise, Sylvia had turned up out of the blue that Friday afternoon looking exhausted from her six-two shift and a three-bus ride to Appleton. After depositing her various carrier bags of treats and supplies in the kitchen she gave her daughter a hug, watched closely by her eldest grandchild. Rosina saw her mum’s body fold into her gran’s arms and inside she rejoiced. For a couple of days, they could relax, they were safe. Saint Sylvia had arrived.
That night as she lay in bed, enjoying the reprieve from forcing her eyes to stay open while her ears strained for the sounds of trouble, she went over the events of the past few days.
The hardest thing to get her head around, out of all her gran’s erudite advice was that her mum’s ultimate goal was making her children happy and this meant patching things up and somehow getting her dad to change. Rosina didn’t hold out much hope for either and was still convinced they would all be better off without him.
And then another thought. If her mum did make things work, in the long run it meant sacrificing her chances of being happy by settling for second best, doing anything for a quiet life just so that your kids would have a dad and the family not be torn apart.
Of all the things that her gran explained Rosina thought that was the most sad and she realised that being married, or deciding not to be, wasn’t as easy as she’d thought. As her eyes drooped, she made a vow to herself never to settle for second best. She’d look out for someone who was the complete opposite of her father, a good man who she would love for all the right reasons, and someone who truly loved her back.
