was determined to get to the next girl first.
‘But thankfully it has now been over ten days since that attack, and while our community action patrols continue to search the City’s dark places, it seems the rest of us can sigh with relief. Our Friends in the South may make jokes about the Lancastrian Man’s famed tolerance for the cold but it seems for the time being our girls are safe. The weather is a touch too nippy even for the most prolific pest our city has ever seen.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Barbara – suddenly grumpy. She turned the television over. A Christmas Special Cluedo was playing on the other side, and I settled in to watch it.
‘I’ve no problem with that flasher staying at home in front of his Calor Gas,’ Donald said. His hand reached through the air, bumped my shoulder, and squeezed. ‘No one with a daughter would.’
‘He’ll be at it again, come the spring. You can guarantee it. Him having a Christmas holiday isn’t the same as him being caught and having his –’ Barbara stopped, looked at me, coughed, ‘people like that – they’ve not got a choice about it. There’s something wrong with them upstairs.’
She clattered the vacuum away into its cupboard and emerged without her apron, tying her hair back with an elastic band.
‘Come on. Let’s go out. We’ve been stuck in the house for days. I’ve sucked the flowers off the carpet, and we’ll be down to boards if I can’t get out for some fresh air soon.’
‘It’s freezing out there,’ I said. ‘Were you watching something different to us just then?’ I turned my face back to the television: Leslie Grantham as Colonel Mustard accusing Mrs White of something unspeakable, but it popped and the screen went blank. Barbara was holding the remote control, and she tucked it away in its holder by the side of Donald’s chair.
‘If it’s not frost, it’s flashers,’ she said. ‘We’re entitled to get out of the house. We’re going stir crazy. Look at your father.’ Donald was twitching the antimacassar on the back of my chair. ‘And anyway,’ she raised her eyebrows, looked at me meaningfully, although whatever it was she did mean was lost on me, ‘you’ve got a little errand to do, haven’t you, Laura ? Come on. Shoes and coats. Lola, you can wear your new one. Just don’t let me see you dragging your cuffs along the railings.’
She stood Donald in front of the hall mirror to go over him with the lint roller before she would open the front door and let us out.
Even though I should have been prepared for it, the cold outside shocked my lungs, bit the insides of my nose and made my teeth ache. We were two weeks past the longest night of the year, but winter was working backwards and spring felt like it was getting further and further away. The paths and the walls of the house were scratched with frost and without saying a word to each other Barbara and I stood on either side of Donald – not touching, but hovering as he navigated the slippery, glittering pavement. We walked all the way into town like that, up Fishergate Hill and past the train station where the girl had been flashed at, three abreast under the white, freezing sky. Barbara tutted and shook her head at people who didn’t want to let us by.
It was a bright, bright day. All the smooth surfaces – car bonnets, illuminated advertisements in bus shelters, the green and gold plastic litter bins – were coated with their own thickening layer of white, and Donald’s coat was a light beige sports jacket that was dated and gleaming and wasn’t right for the weather, but it was all he would wear.
This walk to the shops felt like a special occasion. I knew that we weren’t quite like other families: I had few memories of my parents outside our house. I knew they went out walking some afternoons when I was at school, and Barbara drove them both to the supermarket twice a month, but it was always during the day so I didn’t see it.
‘But thankfully it has now been over ten days since that attack, and while our community action patrols continue to search the City’s dark places, it seems the rest of us can sigh with relief. Our Friends in the South may make jokes about the Lancastrian Man’s famed tolerance for the cold but it seems for the time being our girls are safe. The weather is a touch too nippy even for the most prolific pest our city has ever seen.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Barbara – suddenly grumpy. She turned the television over. A Christmas Special Cluedo was playing on the other side, and I settled in to watch it.
‘I’ve no problem with that flasher staying at home in front of his Calor Gas,’ Donald said. His hand reached through the air, bumped my shoulder, and squeezed. ‘No one with a daughter would.’
‘He’ll be at it again, come the spring. You can guarantee it. Him having a Christmas holiday isn’t the same as him being caught and having his –’ Barbara stopped, looked at me, coughed, ‘people like that – they’ve not got a choice about it. There’s something wrong with them upstairs.’
She clattered the vacuum away into its cupboard and emerged without her apron, tying her hair back with an elastic band.
‘Come on. Let’s go out. We’ve been stuck in the house for days. I’ve sucked the flowers off the carpet, and we’ll be down to boards if I can’t get out for some fresh air soon.’
‘It’s freezing out there,’ I said. ‘Were you watching something different to us just then?’ I turned my face back to the television: Leslie Grantham as Colonel Mustard accusing Mrs White of something unspeakable, but it popped and the screen went blank. Barbara was holding the remote control, and she tucked it away in its holder by the side of Donald’s chair.
‘If it’s not frost, it’s flashers,’ she said. ‘We’re entitled to get out of the house. We’re going stir crazy. Look at your father.’ Donald was twitching the antimacassar on the back of my chair. ‘And anyway,’ she raised her eyebrows, looked at me meaningfully, although whatever it was she did mean was lost on me, ‘you’ve got a little errand to do, haven’t you, Laura ? Come on. Shoes and coats. Lola, you can wear your new one. Just don’t let me see you dragging your cuffs along the railings.’
She stood Donald in front of the hall mirror to go over him with the lint roller before she would open the front door and let us out.
Even though I should have been prepared for it, the cold outside shocked my lungs, bit the insides of my nose and made my teeth ache. We were two weeks past the longest night of the year, but winter was working backwards and spring felt like it was getting further and further away. The paths and the walls of the house were scratched with frost and without saying a word to each other Barbara and I stood on either side of Donald – not touching, but hovering as he navigated the slippery, glittering pavement. We walked all the way into town like that, up Fishergate Hill and past the train station where the girl had been flashed at, three abreast under the white, freezing sky. Barbara tutted and shook her head at people who didn’t want to let us by.
It was a bright, bright day. All the smooth surfaces – car bonnets, illuminated advertisements in bus shelters, the green and gold plastic litter bins – were coated with their own thickening layer of white, and Donald’s coat was a light beige sports jacket that was dated and gleaming and wasn’t right for the weather, but it was all he would wear.
This walk to the shops felt like a special occasion. I knew that we weren’t quite like other families: I had few memories of my parents outside our house. I knew they went out walking some afternoons when I was at school, and Barbara drove them both to the supermarket twice a month, but it was always during the day so I didn’t see it.
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