Mummy Knew by Lisa James

had suggested something too ridiculous for words. ‘No, not her! She’s only ten years old.’
    I knew they were talking about Dad and although I didn’t understand the word lecherous I had a pretty fair idea of what ‘touching up’ meant.
    I’d seen him doing it to Mum a lot, shoving his hand up her skirt and down her top to feel her chest, and I wondered if he had gone that far with Cheryl. The idea made me feel sick. Maybe Uncle Bob could give him another black eye. Dad hadn’t been as rude with me since then. In fact, he hadn’t shaken his ding-a-ling in my face or tried to get me to stroke it for quite a while. He still liked to play horsey, wrestling and dress-up games though, and sometimes his hands would touch me in my private places by accident.
    But that wasn’t the same thing as touching up , was it?
    A few days later, another big row started. I crouched down on the floor in my bedroom, holding my knees against my chest as I rocked to and fro. Then I heard the front door slam, and the front gate bounce off the wall. I jumped up to look out of the window and saw Cheryl running over the road in her high platform sandals, her coat flying behind her. I watched her sadly, wondering when I would see her again. Everybody kept disappearing from my life.
    I never saw Nanny and Jenny any more since we had moved. I had been to visit Diane and her boyfriend in their flat once or twice, but when I got back Dad would always call me a ‘betraying bastard’ and be especially nasty to me, so it was clear I had to choose which camp I was in. Since I had to live with Dad day in, day out, it was almost a relief when Diane stopped visiting, but at night, as I said my ‘God bless’ prayers in the dark, I always kept her on the list of people I wanted him to bless.
    Now Cheryl had gone as well, and I assumed she would stay at Diane’s but I had no way of knowing. We didn’t have a phone in the house–Dad wouldn’t let us get one–but even if we did, I knew she wouldn’t call in case he answered. She knew that if he found out we were in touch, he would make my life hell.
    My brother Davie, who was nearly seventeen, was the last of the older ones left at home. He wasn’t allowed to use the front room at all, and could only go into the kitchen when Dad wasn’t using it. Consequently, he spent hardly any time at home. He often stayed with friends, and he went to Nanny and Jenny’s back in Peckham once or twice a week.
    One night I woke up to lots of shouting. Davie and Dad were having a row on the landing outside my bedroom door. This in itself was very unusual because since moving to the new house, Dad had gone out of his way never to utter a word to Davie, and Davie, like everyone else, was generally too petrified to do or say anything that might antagonise Dad.
    Suddenly I heard Davie shouting, ‘I’m going, and I’m taking Lisa with me.’
    I jumped out of bed and opened my bedroom door to find Dad pushing him up against the landing wall.
    Davie turned to face me and said, ‘Who do you want to be with–them or me?’
    I felt sick. How could I make that choice? Davie was too young to look after me and what would he do for money? But if I didn’t go with him, I realised I was going to lose my brother just as surely as I had lost Nanny, Jenny, Freda, Diane and Cheryl.
    Without giving me a chance to answer Dad shoved Davie into his room where he fell backwards onto his bed. ‘If you ever take that kid out of this fucking house, I’ll kill you, you cunt.’
    Predictably, it wasn’t long before Davie left for good. Where to, I had no idea.
    I hadn’t been allowed to mention Nanny’s or Jenny’s names for years now, and Dad added my brother’s and sisters’ names to the list. All the photographs of them he could find were ripped to shreds and I was told that if anyone asked me, I was to say I only had one sister, Katrina.
    Life went on. Now it was just the four of us left and Dad had managed to isolate me from