packet.
‘You all right?’
‘No, I’m definitely not all right, Raj. Do I look like someone who’s all right?’
‘No.’
‘See, Raj, I don’t want to be anywhere near Girl when she remembers.’
Chapter 4
Girl
Dad didn’t look like Dad. He came to the door and we didn’t know who he was. Dad used to be the best-looking prince in the kingdom. He had a new face. God must have zapped him. Stretched his arm through the sky and lightning bolts exploded from his fingertips onto Dad’s head.
His eyes were small. Dad had
big
eyes. This Dad had a face sewn on. Lips too near his nose. Slime dripping from his ears. This Dad had no hair. Smiling with his wrong lips. Staring with his wrong eyes. Staring but not looking. This Dad was shrunken. Shrunken but not small. His eyes kept poking at us. First Billy. Little jabs. Then me. Staring but not looking.
Billy said something about how we’ve come to the wrong house. This Dad shakes his wrong head. ‘No. You’ve come to the right house,’ he says. Dad’s voice. Deep. A prince’s voice.
It was the voice that got to me. The same as the answermachine voice. Dad’s looking at me from out of his ears. I told you his face is put on the wrong way. I say, ‘I don’t want to come in.’
He nods. ‘Didn’t think you would.’
Billy says, ‘Show us the car then.’
This Dad stinks of beer. This Dad’s voice is coming out of his fingers. He’s starting to walk. One two. One two. We’re following him. Dad in front, his kiddies behind. My father.
Takes half an hour opening a garage. Tries five different keys. Perhaps his fingers don’t work properly? When he got burnt he must have put his fingers over his face.
Staring but not seeing. Staring at his son’s tattoo with Mother on it. Beckons us inside. It’s dark in the garage. We don’t want to go in. Dad stands there calling us. He stinks of paraffin and beer. We’re not budging. Just standing while he calls us. Calling us with a different name each time. William. Louise. Bill. Lou. Billy. Girl.
‘Well, you come on your own then, lad.’
Lad? Billy is rooted to the fucking concrete. Lad? Dad might just as well have said Tin. Even without the ‘lad’ bit he’d never go near Dadness. Last time he got too near he wound up with a broken arm. As far as Billy is concerned LAD PIEQUALSPI BROKEN ARM . We all had to draw hearts with a biro on his plaster-of-Paris sling.
This Dad shrugs. Just calling out version of our names. ‘Bill, Lou-Lou, Will, Girl.’ Changes his mind and gets into the car himself. Starts the engine. Nothing happens. Tries again. Nothing happens.
Billy says something in my ear. Stupid stuff like we shouldn’t buy a car that doesn’t start. Oh, is that right? Billy should edit an automobile journal with inside knowledge like that. The car-owning public really need him. So I whisper the sad facts into my brother’s ear. ‘We got no choice. He’s blackmailing us.’ Just as Dad manages to start the car and backs it out onto the street. Don’t get too excited. Once upon a time it was a car. A Merc, 1959. Would make a lovely minicab.
Dadness is getting out of the Merc wreck like a car-crash survivor. I don’t know what he’s thinking because his face is probably somewhere else on his body. I might be looking at his arse for all I know. ‘Thought you mightlike this,’ he whimpers. But his voice is teasing us. Teasing and whimpering.
What does Billy do? He looks at this Dadness, trying to figure out where he begins or ends, and says, ‘Where’s Mom?’
A complete fucking pig-squealing silence. Dad is going to disintegrate and restructure himself in front of our eyes. He’s going to melt down and shape into something worse. This Dad says, ‘Mom had to disappear, didn’t she?’
What does Billy do? Boy detective? Deadpan voice. ‘What have you done with Mom?’ Jeezus. This Dad has probably eaten her. He’s going to burst out of his skin and splatter the Merc with
‘You all right?’
‘No, I’m definitely not all right, Raj. Do I look like someone who’s all right?’
‘No.’
‘See, Raj, I don’t want to be anywhere near Girl when she remembers.’
Chapter 4
Girl
Dad didn’t look like Dad. He came to the door and we didn’t know who he was. Dad used to be the best-looking prince in the kingdom. He had a new face. God must have zapped him. Stretched his arm through the sky and lightning bolts exploded from his fingertips onto Dad’s head.
His eyes were small. Dad had
big
eyes. This Dad had a face sewn on. Lips too near his nose. Slime dripping from his ears. This Dad had no hair. Smiling with his wrong lips. Staring with his wrong eyes. Staring but not looking. This Dad was shrunken. Shrunken but not small. His eyes kept poking at us. First Billy. Little jabs. Then me. Staring but not looking.
Billy said something about how we’ve come to the wrong house. This Dad shakes his wrong head. ‘No. You’ve come to the right house,’ he says. Dad’s voice. Deep. A prince’s voice.
It was the voice that got to me. The same as the answermachine voice. Dad’s looking at me from out of his ears. I told you his face is put on the wrong way. I say, ‘I don’t want to come in.’
He nods. ‘Didn’t think you would.’
Billy says, ‘Show us the car then.’
This Dad stinks of beer. This Dad’s voice is coming out of his fingers. He’s starting to walk. One two. One two. We’re following him. Dad in front, his kiddies behind. My father.
Takes half an hour opening a garage. Tries five different keys. Perhaps his fingers don’t work properly? When he got burnt he must have put his fingers over his face.
Staring but not seeing. Staring at his son’s tattoo with Mother on it. Beckons us inside. It’s dark in the garage. We don’t want to go in. Dad stands there calling us. He stinks of paraffin and beer. We’re not budging. Just standing while he calls us. Calling us with a different name each time. William. Louise. Bill. Lou. Billy. Girl.
‘Well, you come on your own then, lad.’
Lad? Billy is rooted to the fucking concrete. Lad? Dad might just as well have said Tin. Even without the ‘lad’ bit he’d never go near Dadness. Last time he got too near he wound up with a broken arm. As far as Billy is concerned LAD PIEQUALSPI BROKEN ARM . We all had to draw hearts with a biro on his plaster-of-Paris sling.
This Dad shrugs. Just calling out version of our names. ‘Bill, Lou-Lou, Will, Girl.’ Changes his mind and gets into the car himself. Starts the engine. Nothing happens. Tries again. Nothing happens.
Billy says something in my ear. Stupid stuff like we shouldn’t buy a car that doesn’t start. Oh, is that right? Billy should edit an automobile journal with inside knowledge like that. The car-owning public really need him. So I whisper the sad facts into my brother’s ear. ‘We got no choice. He’s blackmailing us.’ Just as Dad manages to start the car and backs it out onto the street. Don’t get too excited. Once upon a time it was a car. A Merc, 1959. Would make a lovely minicab.
Dadness is getting out of the Merc wreck like a car-crash survivor. I don’t know what he’s thinking because his face is probably somewhere else on his body. I might be looking at his arse for all I know. ‘Thought you mightlike this,’ he whimpers. But his voice is teasing us. Teasing and whimpering.
What does Billy do? He looks at this Dadness, trying to figure out where he begins or ends, and says, ‘Where’s Mom?’
A complete fucking pig-squealing silence. Dad is going to disintegrate and restructure himself in front of our eyes. He’s going to melt down and shape into something worse. This Dad says, ‘Mom had to disappear, didn’t she?’
What does Billy do? Boy detective? Deadpan voice. ‘What have you done with Mom?’ Jeezus. This Dad has probably eaten her. He’s going to burst out of his skin and splatter the Merc with
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