The bloke Chrissy had right before we finally left the flats had been the worst in a while. I was twelve when he turned up. He only lasted a couple of months, but in that time, everything shifted. He had this way of looking at Chrissy like she wasn’t even human, like she was meat, or prey that he could hunt. When he spoke to her his words came out on a knife edge. Get me a drink, or give me a cig, or get that little shit out from under my feet. The worst part was that Chrissy did as she was told. I don’t know if it was fear or thrill or just that she was too stupid or weak to do anything else, but she’d always say the same thing in the end.
Go play, love. I’ll come find yer in a bit.
I knew what was going to happen as soon as he’d arrived that day, all jerky and frantic, his eyes scattered, his pupils too dark. Chrissy put herself between the two of us, shielding me as he paced up and down like a caged animal in our tiny front room. I hadn’t wanted to leave, tried my best to make excuses to stay, but Chrissy wouldn’t have it. Go play, love, she’d said, but I stood rooted to the spot. Jen, go play. I’ll come find yer in a bit.
In the end she took me by the hand and led me out into the hallway. I kept twisting my head to catch her eye but she wouldn’t look at me, pulled herself loose from my grip and closed the door behind me. When I tried the handle, it was locked.
It didn’t take long for it to start. The pounding of fists, the splitting of skin. The sound of my mam screaming. I ran to the next flat, banged on the door, but no one came, so I tried the next one, and the one after that. I knew they were home, the cowards, the fucking cowards.
I was at the end of the footbridge when I saw him leave. He was calmer now, his movements controlled and smooth, like kicking the living daylights out of Chrissy had left him soothed. At the last doorway he passed me, glanced at me like he’d never seen me before, and I caught a glimpse of his swollen hand, the dark, sticky stain on his upper lip.
We added another bolt to the door once Chrissy got out of hospital. She rang the council from the phone box at the bottom of the car park to ask them to change the locks, but they put her on hold for so long she ran out of coins. The lad in the hardware shop must have felt sorry for us because he sold us the biggest one he had for half the price on the ticket. Either that or he fancied Chrissy, except I doubted it, looking at the state of her.
She told me after that that she was sworn off men for good, and for once I believed her. I didn’t see her with another fella for a good two months. But then there was Barry.
I don’t know where she met him, maybe some bar or club in town, although I couldn’t imagine him knocking around anywhere like that. Chrissy brought him to the flats after a couple of weeks. I’d been sitting on the floor writing in my notebook when they came in. I hadn’t understood why he was there at first, thought maybe he was from the council coming to check on us, they did that sometimes. She offered to make him a cup of tea and as she walked past, Barry patted her backside. It made me sit up straight, him doing that. I didn’t like men touching Chrissy. She hadn’t seemed to mind, though. She never did. I’d heard one of the other mams say that was half her problem. There were always men round at the flat by then, always laying their hands on her, talking to her like she belonged to them. But they never looked like Barry, with his bulging belly and basset-hound face and hardly a hair left on his head.
I didn’t take my eyes off him the whole time he was there that afternoon. It must have made him uncomfortable; but it didn’t stop him making an effort, trying to make conversation, calling me “the famous Jennifer.” Chrissy kept telling him not to mind me, that I was funny with strangers, that I’d come round soon, talking about me like I was a difficult puppy instead of her kid, even though she knew why I was the way I was. After he left she tried to avoid me, but I cornered her that night when she was in the bath.
You said you didn’t want another fella. Not after last time.
She’d laughed, told me to mind my own, that she was big enough and ugly enough to make her own decisions. And besides, I didn’t know how hard it was, bringing up a kid on her own. It was about time she had some adult company. I’d rolled my eyes but bitten my tongue. There was nothing else to say, I never liked to row with her.
Early one morning a couple of weeks later I was in our bed, not quite asleep but not awake, either, the way I always was when Chrissy hadn’t come home from her night out. I heard the keys in the lock but the door stuck fast, she must have forgotten about the bolt. She swore, dropped her bag so that its insides spilled and clattered. I rolled over, hoping she’d go round her mate’s. I hated talking to her when she was off her head. But she didn’t give up, started tapping at the window, then banging harder with the flat of her palm, her silhouette distorted behind the makeshift curtain she’d made by pinning up an old sarong to the frame. Jen, she said in a hoarse whisper. Let me in. I’ve got summat to tell yer.
She crawled into bed with me after that, still fully dressed, tucking the cover around us so that our bodies were pressed together tight. I buried my face into her neck, our hair tangling so that you couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.
We’re movin to the country, Jen, she whispered into the top of my head. Barry’s asked us to move in with him.