Closer (8 page)

I need time to think about everything. Hannah for a start. How can you live with someone all your life and not know them? I only read one page in her journal and it's changed everything. And those marks on her arm. Deb Thornley at school does that, cuts herself. Once I saw her bleeding all over the classroom floor and Mrs Sharman came and took her out to the rest room. She held onto Deb's arm like she was something she'd found in the rubbish bin. 

I go into the bathroom and brush my teeth. I look at myself in the mirror like I'm somebody else, someone I don't know. I splash my face with water and dry it. I go in my room, switch on the light, pull the curtains closed, put on my bedside light, and switch off the main light. I take off my clothes and leave them on the chair for tomorrow. I find my pyjamas under the pillow and pull them on. I get into bed, and it's okay. I'm lying here, curled up. I try to think, but the thoughts are sliding away into some place out of reach. It's warm, that sleepy warm, and the duvet's pulled all round me, right up to my ears. I get the drifty feeling and I want to feel like this always, safe. 

And there's somebody on the landing and I'm stiff, awake, working out who it is. Hannah, George, Mum? The footsteps stop outside my door and I don't breathe. 

“You all right, hon?” Dad. He taps on the door. As if he'd bother waiting to be asked in. 

“Fine, g'night,” I mumble. My voice comes out funny. 

The door handle moves. I can see it from where I'm lying, under the window. As the door opens I shut my eyes so I'll look asleep, and concentrate on breathing. 

I hear him close the door, careful, quiet. I hear him come across to my bed, and I'm frozen. I hear him breathing, loud. I can't move, I can't think. He's standing in front of me, I can smell him: lager, chips, man smell. I used to love that smell. 

“You're not asleep, are you sweetheart?” His voice is thick, creamy. I have to find a way of saying something, anything. 

“Nearly, I'm tired.” Will that do it? Will he get the message and go away? 

But he sits down on the bed. It's a small bed, and his weight rolls me towards him. I pull back.

“It's all right, I just want to say hello, that's all.” 

“Not now Dad, I'm going to sleep.” I roll over and turn my back to him, and the duvet slips down below my shoulders with him sitting on it. I'm cold and I want to be covered up but I lie here like I'm going back to sleep. 

“Come on, sweetheart, it's your old dad. Won't you give me a cuddle?” 

Inside I'm falling apart. I'm losing it. I want to scream out but my voice is slammed shut inside me. 

“So what's it about?” He's not giving up. 

I move so I'm lying on my back with my face towards the window, half turned away now, eyes still shut, like that means nothing's happening. Like when you're little and you play hide and seek, and you hide behind a really thin tree and all your arms and legs show, but you think nobody can see you because you can't see them. 

“Nothing's up, Dad. I just want to go to sleep.” 

“I mean, what's up between you and me? We used to be good mates, have a laugh and a cuddle. I miss that. Too grown up now are you? Too grown up to give your old dad a cuddle? My little girl?” 

It's what he used to say, and I used to love it. His huge arms round me, holding me tight, squeezing the breath out of me, lifting me up and swinging me round until I was dizzy with laughing. I'm remembering how that was and I have to work hard not to cry. He reaches out to me and his hand is on my shoulder. I can feel it, hot, and I realise I'm freezing. 

“Things are so hard for your old dad right now, you know? Your granma dying, your sister going away, your mum's always mad at me. Do you know, I think I'm depressed.” 

I can't bear to hear him so sad. His face crumples like he's trying not to cry and I can't stand it. 

“I think I'm depressed, and I need my little girl to love me.” 

He puts his right hand to my face, and it's on my cheek, rough, big, hot. He's pushing my face so I'll look at him. But I don't. 

“Come on, don't be so mardy,” His voice is changing now. He's sounding cross, like he does when he's not getting his own way. 

“Just a cuddle, it won't hurt, will it?” 

He's pressing at my face, closing his hand around my mouth. His other hand is pulling down the duvet and he's touching my chest. I can't believe it but it's true. 

I don't know what to do. Loads flashes through my mind. Scream. My voice won't work. Fight. He's stronger than me, there's no point. I can't move. And all the while there's loving him, feeling sad for him, guilty not to do what he wants. There's like a huge row going on inside me in a tenth of a second. And then it all goes away. I'm drifting off into the good place. I'm numb and not feeling anything, it's all far away, like this is happening to someone else. 

Then something grabs me back, something inside me that wakes up and knows I can't let this go on. Something angry and disgusted and determined and strong. 

My mouth is against his hand, against the soft part between his thumb and his fingers. And before I know what I'm doing, I open my mouth and I'm biting his hand, hard. 

He lets out a yell but I'm not stopping the biting. I clamp my jaws round his hand and I push his other hand away. He's stronger than me, but I'm hurting him. I can tell, because there's a salty taste that's blood in my mouth. His blood, from his hand. I'm scared of what I've done, scared of what he'll do next. 

And the door whams open. 

“Get off her!” 

Hannah is in the room. I open my eyes at last and I can see her standing there in her pyjamas, and I can see her shaking. I let go of Dad's hand and he holds it to his mouth, sucking at the blood. He's still bending over me. 

“What?” 

“Get off her, Dad. Get off her now.” 

Her voice is shaking too, but it's loud and clear. 

He sits up and turns round to her. His voice is cold and angry. “You get back to bed, Hannah. Do you hear me? This is nothing to do with you.” 

“This is loads to do with me.” Hannah is holding onto the door frame to stop her from shaking. “Don't think you're going to start on her now I'm going away. I won't let you.” 

“What do you mean?” He's blustering, looking at me, trying to smile, but I'm looking at Hannah, willing her to be strong. I can't do this on my own. 

“You know what you've done to me. She knows too. I've told her. We've talked. Did you think you could make us hate each other for ever, so we'd never talk? Did you?” 

He's shrinking in front of my eyes. He's shrinking from being the dad I thought I knew, the dad I loved so much, who loved me. He's folding in on himself. He's slumping, his head in his hands, and Hannah's still there, her hair back, holding the doorframe, shaking, but like I've never seen her before. 

She lets go of the doorframe and walks right into my room, like she's having to remember how to go about putting one foot in front of the other, but she's straight and tall and I can see her face. She shuts the door and sits on my chair, then stands up again, leans against the wall to steady herself. She's shaking, and so am I. 

“It's got to stop, Dad.” 

There's a muffled sound, and he's crying. Soft, with no tears I can see. My dad, crying. I've never seen him cry. His shoulders jerk up and down, and he's rubbing his face with his hands, the hand with the teeth marks, bleeding. I feel bad for hurting him and I want to cry but I don't. 

“It's got to stop. Look what you're doing to us. Look at yourself.” Hannah's voice is raised now, and she's stopped shaking. 

He gets up off my bed and his hands are over his face and he sits in my chair, still hiding, shoulders jerking. I can breathe now, I sit up and I'm looking at Hannah and she comes over to the bed and she's holding me. She's holding me tight and stroking my hair and I'm crying. 

And she's crying too.

I'm awake like I've never been asleep, and my clock says six am. Must be wrong. I've only been asleep since two, after everything. In the end they were all in my room. Mum was so shocked she went dead white and she had to sit down on the bed with me and Hannah. She held us both tight and asked us more and more questions, and Dad sat there in my chair with his head in his hands. She didn't look at him once, or speak to him, none of us did. I've never seen him so quiet. At first Hannah and I didn't want to talk about it all, but Mum was really kind, like she had time for us, plenty of time. We said some of it, but Hannah mostly said about me and I knew she was holding lots back about herself. 

It was one o'clock when George came in, rubbing his eyes. 

“What's all this row?” he grumbled. “You having a party? Can I join in?” 

Mum decided it was time we all went to bed. She looked once at Dad and told him he was sleeping in the back room downstairs. He didn't say a word, he got up and went. Mum tucked me in like I was four or something, and kissed me on the cheek Dad had touched. Somehow that made me feel better, like she'd wiped away some of what had happened. She said none of us would go to school or to work tomorrow, except George, who had an important match on. 

Then she went off with Hannah to her room, holding her hand, gently, like Hannah was ill. And Hannah did look ill. All her strength had gone, and she looked like a train had run over her. She looked lost, like everything was different and very strange. Even though I knew I hadn't gone through what happened to Hannah, I knew how she felt. The world was different. 

And as it all comes back this morning the world is still different. I can't think about what comes next. All I can think of is Hannah. How brave she was, how much she's been through, how much she's done to protect me, when I thought she didn't care, didn't know I was on the planet. It shows how wrong you can be about people. 

The sun's shining through my window. It's warm on my shoulders. There's a knock on my door, and this time I know it's all right, Dad won't hurt me now, not like that. Hannah comes in. She hasn't slept, that's obvious. 

“Can I come in with you?” 

Her voice is low now, like it was before. Her head's down and her hair's hanging round her face like she's ashamed to be seen. I turn back the duvet and she lies next to me. I put my arms round her. 

“It isn't your fault, Han. It isn't.” 

“But I feel like it is. Why didn't I stop him? Why didn't I tell somebody?” 

I feel like the big sister now. 

“You were doing your best, for everyone. You were so brave last night, I'll never forget it, not for my whole life.” 

“I'm so tired.” She lets herself rest against me. After a while she goes to sleep and I lie there holding her, knowing that she saved me, and I've got a real sister now, who I'll be close to forever, after last night. Something's gone, and something else has come in its place.

I wake up and now the sun's high, my arm's aching where Hannah's lying on it, and I've got to move. I need to pee. I slowly ease my arm out from under Hannah, and climb over her. She turns and drifts back into sleep. 

I head for the bathroom and find Mum cleaning out the airing cupboard. She's folding up the towels and the pillowcases and putting them in neat piles. She looks like she's been up for hours. She only does that kind of thing when she's working something out. It's embarrassing meeting her after last night. I don't know what to say to her, and we both stand there until she realises I need to pee and she goes out and closes the door. When I look in the mirror I see somebody real, and thin. Too thin. 

I turn on the shower and stand under it for ages, washing everything off me, shampooing my hair and scrubbing my skin. I grab a clean towel from the cupboard and wrap it round me, sitting on the edge of the bath drying myself. I rub cream onto my skin, good-smelling cream. I creep into my room and pull on my clothes. I leave Hannah to sleep, and go downstairs, watching out for Dad. I don't know how to face him this morning. Now Mum's crashing round in the kitchen with the pots and pans. 

“Mum,” I say, careful. 

“Yes, love?” 

“What's for breakfast? I'm starving.”

When Mum gets over the shock she makes me scrambled eggs and thick toast and butter and I sit at the table and eat most of it, with a mug of tea. Mum makes herself coffee and sits at the table with me. We're not talking much, just being quiet and easy. It seems like a normal family again. It seems like everything last night was a bad dream that's washed the troubles away so we can forget about it all. 

Then Dad comes in, half awake and running his hand over his hair like he does. He's slept in his clothes. I see the teeth marks on his hand, the blood dried up, and I can't breathe. He's behaving like normal and Mum and I are staring at him. I can't believe he's wandering over and filling the kettle and pouring a bowl of cornflakes and going to the fridge for the milk and sitting down at the table next to Mum. 

I push back my chair and stand up. I'm frightened and my heart's pumping. “I'm not sitting here with you,” I say. “How can you eat breakfast like nothing's happened?” Then I realise I've just eaten breakfast myself, but that's something I never do, so it fits this day which is different from all the other days. 

“Take it in the other room, Steve. Get out of here.” Mum's voice is calm and cold. 

“What d'you mean? Can't a man have breakfast in his own house?”