But why should I have? I didn’t ever want to see him again. Hadn’t seen him for months. I stopped going to visit him in prison. It scared me. I was always so afraid they’d slam the door shut and not let me out just because I was his daughter. Mum didn’t object to me not going. I know she hated taking us there. Not that Jonny minded. He thought it was an adventure. But as I’ve said before, Jonny’s soft in the head.
He thought it was an adventure that Christmas too. Every time there was a knock on the door, or the phone rang he would yell, ‘Is that Daddy now? Is he here yet?’
And he’d made a poster just to welcome him. He had it hung in the hallway of our poky little semi-detached and he had painted it with Mum’s help, all different colours. WELCOME HOME DAD.
It made me puke every time I looked at it.
Even Margo toddled around, nose running, dragging her favourite blanket and sucking her thumb and giggling.
I spent most of my time in my room out of everyone’s way. Determined not to get excited at the prospect of J.B. back in the house. Sitting in his favourite armchair. (Mum had always kept it.) Filling the bathroom with all his shaving gear. (He was always so untidy.) Or finding him and Mum holding each other whenever I walked into the kitchen, or the living room, or any room in the house. They were always holding each other. And I never wanted to see that again.
I wandered round the house after they left to go and pick him up. No amount of pleading would make me change my mind and go with them. This was to be my last few hours without J.B. here and I wanted to savour every second of them. We didn’t need him here. Why couldn’t he have stayed at one of those hostels especially for criminals who had just come out of jail? Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to be with us? Mum had bought the food in this house, with no help from him. She paid the rent. She even put up with the neighbours’ whispered, sneering comments. He would only make things worse. He had no right to come back. As I sat in his armchair, and waited for their return, I grew angrier and angrier. I didn’t want him back here at all.
And there right in front of me was Jonny’s WELCOME HOME DAD poster. Taunting me, making a fool of me. Everyone else wanted him. The house wanted him. I was, as usual, the odd one out. Well, I’d show him. I’d show them all. I’d show just how unwelcome he really was.
I was lying on my bed when I heard the car pull up outside the house. I recognised the engine. It never sounded healthy. It was an old car, a cheap car. But all that Mum could afford. I heard Margo’s giggling scream as she was lifted high in the air. Even Mum was laughing. I bet every neighbour was peeking out of their net curtains and having a good laugh too. A laugh at us.
Then I heard J.B.’s voice. The first time I’d heard it in such a long time.
‘OK, Jonny boy, what’s the surprise you’ve got for me?’ Footsteps hurrying up the path. Jonny’s excited cries. ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.’ The front door opened. ‘Look what I made for you.’
I heard J.B.’s gasp and Jonny’s excitement turned to tears. ‘My poster, Daddy. My poster.’
‘Who did that!’ Mum screamed, but she knew already. Her feet were pounding upstairs and she was shouting, ‘Lissa!’
I lay on my bed and I didn’t care. Didn’t care that Jonny’s hard work was all spoiled. Didn’t care that his poster was hanging in shreds along the wall, where I had ripped it and torn it and destroyed it. I was glad.
I heard J.B.’s plea. ‘Leave it, Liz.’
But Mum wouldn’t. When she threw open the door her eyes were wild with anger. ‘How could you, Lissa? You know how much that meant to Jonny. How hard he worked on it.’
I jumped off the bed to face her. I wasn’t ashamed of what I’d done.
‘I won’t have a welcome banner anywhere in this house. Not for him. He’s not welcome here – ever!’
Chapter Three
December 25th
This has been the worst Christmas ever. Worse than when J.B. first went into prison and Mum spent the whole day crying, dragging us off to see him in that awful place. I can still remember the thud of the doors as they slammed shut behind us. I never would go back after that. No matter how Mum pleaded. And I tore up the letters he sent me without even reading them after that.
I thought that Christmas Day would be my worst ever, but I was wrong. This one was worse. It was worse having him here, with Mum laughing and sitting on his knee – how could she do that? And Jonny lying on the floor with him, playing with his big red fire engine. I saw a tear in Mum’s eye as she watched a sleeping Margo draped across his lap in front of the television, while he too slept after Christmas dinner.