hair and freckles splattering her face, she didn’t look anything like a Lombard, and Henry wondered if he had a cuckoo in his nest.
Jenny kept her head down and avoided eye contact with her father. Experience had taught her that if she looked at him, he’d take it as defiance and beat her twice as badly. She held her breath in a futile bid to stop her body from shaking. He seemed to find her fear repulsive and would use it as another excuse to hit her harder. She felt she couldn’t win.
‘Look at me,’ her father sneered.
Jenny slowly lifted her head to find herself staring into her father’s dark eyes. Her heart sank. They were cold, hard, and his mouth was twisted in anger. When he was in this mood she knew that no amount of crying or pleading would touch him. It was as if he was a man possessed, and she silently cursed her mother for turning him demonic again.
‘I suppose you want your mother too?’
Her father’s voice was filled with hatred, and she tried not to recoil as his saliva splattered her face, smelling of stale alcohol. ‘No,’ Jenny answered in a whisper, almost paralysed with terror at what was coming.
‘You’re a liar – just like her!’
Jenny saw her father’s arm pull back, and his clenched fist coming towards her. She closed her eyes as he punched her on the side of her head. Pain seared through her skull, and the force of the blow knocked her sideways. Instinctively, she curled into a foetal position and waited for her father to put the boot in. Her head throbbed, and though her eyes were shut tightly, she knew the room was spinning.
‘Your mother’s a whore! Nothing but a dirty scumbag whore!’
She felt the kick between her shoulder blades. It hurt, but it could have been worse. At least he didn’t have his work boots on, but her relief was short-lived as the next couple of kicks jarred her body. She laid motionless and waited, praying he’d had his fill and would leave her alone. At least the kids are upstairs out of harm’s way, she thought through a haze of pain. Then, to her relief, she heard her father walking away. She kept her eyes closed, aware of sounds, and realised he must have put his boots on when she heard his heels coming down hard on the hallway floor, followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut.
Gloria, who was sixteen, had been huddled on the bed that she shared with thirteen-year-old Pamela. She hated top-and-tailing with her sister as Pamela would often wet the bed, especially after their dad had one of his rages. Gloria rolled her eyes, knowing she would wake up later tonight in the warmth of Pamela’s urine.
Peter had thrown himself at Pamela when he’d come running upstairs, while Timmy, at nine the older of the two boys, ran to Gloria. When the front door slammed she peeled Timmy from her and put a finger to her lips to shush them. Then they all tiptoed to the top of the stairs.
Gloria whispered to the others to stay where they were as she began to creep downstairs. If he was still in the house, the last thing she wanted was to attract her father’s attention, and she stepped over the fourth stair down, knowing it creaked. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to see her brothers and sister waiting nervously at the top for her to give them the all-clear.
Almost halfway down, Gloria could see over the banisters and into the open living room door. She gasped, though she wasn’t shocked to see Jenny looking dazed and picking herself up from the floor. Once again, her sister had taken a hiding from their dad. Thankfully, there was no sign of him now and though Gloria detested seeing her sister being hurt, she was relieved it wasn’t her.
‘He’s gone,’ Gloria called back to her siblings as she ran down the rest of the stairs and into the lounge. ‘Oh, Jenny, are you OK?’ she asked, concerned, as she scanned her sister for cuts and bruises.
‘Yes, I think so,’ Jenny answered, though she appeared wobbly on her feet.
‘I hate him!’ Gloria spat as she helped Jenny towards the sofa. Then she noticed the small slivers of broken glass and instead led her sister to the table and four chairs in the bay window. ‘It ain’t fair that he always takes it out on us.’
‘I know, love, but try and be a little charitable. He’s doing his best,’ Jenny said and winced as she rubbed the side of her head.
‘Charitable! He’s just knocked you about again and you’re suggesting I should be charitable! You’re too blinkin’ nice, you are. Ain’t you angry about it?’ Gloria asked, shocked at Jenny’s response. She’d never understand her elder sister. Jenny was so quiet, and whenever she did say anything, it was never horrid. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when Jenny had lost her rag, or even raised her voice.
‘Yes, Gloria, of course I’m angry, but I’ve got to control it. If I don’t I’ll be as bad as him. Where’s Timmy and Peter? Are you all right, boys?’
Timmy spoke first. He was a confident lad, the joker of the family, and though it was probably a brave front, he never seemed to be too badly affected by his father’s violent outbursts, except at night when the bad dreams would come. ‘Yeah, I’m all right, Sis. Did our dad whack you again?’
Gloria answered for Jenny. ‘Yes, he did, the ’orrible so and so. Pam, go and make Jenny a cup of tea. You two, your sister needs a bit of peace and quiet so get back up to your room, there’s good boys.’
‘Come on, Peter, I’ve got a new spider and I’ve made him a house. I’ll show you,’ Timmy said, before running from the room with his younger brother closely following.
Gloria pulled out a chair from the teak table and sat opposite Jenny. ‘I think we should have a word with Mum, you know, tell her not to keep coming round here like she does. If she wants to see us, we can go to her.’
Jenny drew in a long breath before she spoke. ‘The trouble is, you know what Mum’s like. If you tell her not to do something, she’ll be all the more determined to do it. And as for us going to see her, it’s a nice idea, Gloria, but she’s always on the move. I don’t know where she is from one month to the next, or what sort of bloke she might be living with.’
‘Well, the next time she shows her face, I’m going to say something to her. It ain’t right that one of us, mainly you, gets it in the neck every flippin’ time she comes around. I dread it. Don’t get me wrong, she’s our mum and I love her, but I’d rather not see her again than go through this each time.’
Pamela came into the room carrying a tray of tea. Both sisters looked at her as the china cups rattled in the saucers. Though she’d tried to hide it, they could see she’d been crying again.
‘Don’t upset yourself,’ Jenny said softly, ‘Mum ain’t likely to show her face again for a few weeks and Dad will have calmed down by the time he gets home.’
‘More like had a bloody skinful,’ Gloria said as she shook her head.
Pamela placed the tray on the table and jumped when she heard a car door slam. ‘I’ll get the broom,’ she said quietly, looking at the glass covering the sofa.
Gloria watched her sister scuttle off. Pamela was so thin and lived on her jangled nerves. Maybe she should be nicer to her and stop having a go about her bedwetting. It might make a difference, she thought. When Pamela returned, Gloria said, ‘I was just saying to Jenny that it would be better if Mum didn’t come here to see us.’
Pamela nodded, but didn’t seem to be really listening. She was peering out of the
