Let It Go

Chapter One.

We hadn't seen dad for nearly a week, and that was a long time, even for him.

Mum was going spare, ranting on about what she'd do to him when he finally came home. Poor dad, it could mean another black eye or a nose which wouldn’t stop bleeding for hours after mum lands one of her punches. This is pretty normal behaviour for my parents and had been going on for years. Considering my mother’s temper, you would think he would stop rolling home drunk and penniless, but he never did.

It was late Friday night when he finally came home. We knew it was him, even though it sounded as if something had been thrown at the front door. We listened to him fumbling with the key for ages; mum with arms folded, waiting for him to fall through it. How she controlled her temper and didn't rush at the door and tear it from its hinges, I will never know. I think I would have done; it would have been quicker.

I heard the lock turn and dad swung in like a gust of stormwind, holding on to the key that was stuck in the lock. His dark, shaggy hair hadn’t seen a comb in days and his clothes appeared to have been slept in. He stood there swaying, grinning at mum like an idiot.

She slapped his hand from the key, sending him flying across the hall, skidding on the mat that never seemed to want to stay in one place. I had a ringside seat at the top of the stairs and watched as she calmly removed the key and slammed the door.

Sally, my older sister by two years, came out of her room to see what was happening. At seventeen, she thought she'd been around the block and knew everything. As for the block, she'd been around it all right. There was no good way to describe my sister, other than to call her a tart. Right then, she looked the part too, with her smeared makeup and messy hair. Hanging over the bannister in her underwear, she told mum to kick his no good arse back out the door. Mum looked up at us with rage in her eyes and we both fled, creeping back when we felt it safe, even sliding down a few stairs to hear better.

They were in the kitchen now and something wasn't right. Mum's voice sounded cold, as though talking through ice-cubes. We heard her say she was leaving him, after twenty years of going nowhere she'd had enough. Then silence. Why weren't they speaking, shouting or smashing things like they normally did?

I sat there wishing I could see through walls. I wanted to go in and say something, remind her that dad wasn't a bad man. Stupid and unlucky maybe, but it wasn’t his fault all his schemes and dreams came to nothing.

The silence frightened me. Mum couldn't possibly leave him. She loved him, had stood by his crazy ideas all this time. Turning to Sally, I whispered, ‘We’ve got to do something. Put some clothes on, hurry, before Dad passes out and mum goes to sleep on the thoughts in her head.’

Sally stopped me from standing up, pulling me backwards, knocking the lower part of my back against the stairs. ‘We can’t, Mary. He’ll say something stupid in a minute, then she’ll go for him. You know what happened last time. You got mum’s elbow in your face, couldn’t see for a week.’

I looked at her, seeing her differently for a moment. Unable to stop the words from coming out of my mouth, I said, ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

‘Of course I care, you stupid cow. You’re my kid sister.’

Was that a hurt look I saw, or another of her acting games? I tried again to stand. Feeling her hand on my shoulder, I moved faster, not wanting to be pulled down again. My foot slipped forward on the edge of the carpet and gravity did the rest, pulling me headlong down the rest of the steps. I heard Sally yell, then a chair scrape against the kitchen floor. My head hurt. I tried to move, and then someone turned out the lights.

I woke up on our living room sofa with dad holding my hand. Mum was putting a cold flannel on my head. Trying to move shot a pain through the top of my head, much as I imagined dad must feel when mum slaps him with whatever comes to hand.

‘Lie still, Mary.’ Dad said. ‘Everything’s all right. Hard heads run in the family.’

From somewhere in the room I heard Sally scoff. I struggled to sit up and could see her leaning against the doorframe, picking at her nails.

Looking dad square in the face, I said, ‘It’s not all right. Didn’t you hear mum say she’s leaving you? Couldn’t you hear the difference in her voice?’

Dad put the palm of his hand on my cheek and smiled. The smile that made you believe in angels, and held mum to him all these years.

‘Not to worry, Mary. I have something here that will put the warmth back in her voice.’ Taking some legal papers and a bunch of keys from his pocket, he gave them to mum and said, ‘Read it, Margaret.’

Waiting for mum to say something, to let us in on what could only be another of dad’s get-rich-schemes, seemed like waiting for hell to freeze over.

She read them once, and knowing dad of old, read them again. ‘Cornwall,’ she said finally. ‘A broken down guesthouse.’ She waved the paper at dad. ‘How did you get this with no money?’

‘Playing cards.’ Dad said. ‘I won it from old Tom. That’s where I’ve been, Cornwall, to look at the place. Margaret, it’s beautiful. Overlooks the ocean - a lick of paint and it’ll be good as new.’

‘So, Michael Flanagan. How long has this place been closed, did you think to ask?’

‘A year or so.’

‘Right. So with eyes full of beer, you managed to figure out it’s a lick of paint we’ll be needing, nothing more?’ The temper still showed on her face and her words had thorns. It was no accident she had been born with red hair.

‘Don’t start, Margaret. Can’t you see that luck has finally found us? It’s what you’ve always wanted, to run our own place. And the money we get from this house will get us started. The girls can help out, even get paid for the work they do around the place.’

‘I don’t see myself as a chambermaid.’ Sally moaned, folding her arms across her chest like mum. She straightened her back, trying to look tough.

Dad spun on her. ‘Better than lying on your back with God knows who, whenever the mood takes you!’

Sally stormed off and I heard the bedroom door slam shut as dad went on about her going the same way as his sister, Aunt Vivian, known hereabouts as the local bike.

Mum said he should hold his tongue.

‘Can’t do it, woman. I won’t see one of my own daughters end up on the same road. I’ll be putting the house on the market first thing in the morning. We’ve talked about nothing else for the past ten years. Now, it’s been handed to us on a plate.’

From the look on mum’s face, I could tell she was beginning to think it might be a good idea. After all, we had nothing to lose. It had plenty of rooms and hadn’t cost dad a penny, and this house would give them the money to do it up. But what on earth did they know about running a guest house? I decided that now wasn’t a good time to ask.

‘Best for Sally,’ dad said. ‘A fresh start for all of us. I can’t say I’ll be sorry to leave Tooting behind.’

A part of me hoped dad was right, that Sally would stop dropping her knickers whenever she felt like it. But dad hadn’t thought about the people who would be coming and going, probably giving Sally a stable of studs to pick from. Best not put that thought his way either.

I rather liked the idea of moving to Cornwall, and I went back to bed hoping mum wouldn’t put a spoke in the wheel. I left my bedroom door open, knowing dad would be filling her head long into the night about how wonderful the new place would be. I hoped he didn’t have it in mind to call the place Flanagan’s, as I would rather we didn’t get asked if we were Irish all the time. Dad has never been to Ireland but says he will go one day to see where his father grew up. That was another of his pipe dreams.

Granddad used to have his own vegetable and flower stall in Tooting market and was liked and respected by everyone. Dad’s family are no longer with us; they are buried in the cemetery on London road. I go there sometimes, trying to put pictures to the stories dad tells of them. From the sound of grandma, it was true what they say about boys marrying their mothers. She was strong like mum, except when it came to Vivian. Dad said she never saw the truth, let her run wild.

Mum does the same with Sally, makes excuses, says she’s young and will grow out of it, that she was only feeling her wings. This made me want to laugh and cry all at the same time. It was no good trying to tell mum it was a bit more than that. Men, boys, married or single didn’t seem to matter, so long as she got whatever she wanted at the time. Sally says I’ll be feeling the same way soon enough. Perish the thought.

I closed my door when the sound of bedsprings took over from their voices. He had done it again, won mum over. This sex thing must be pretty potent stuff. I fell asleep, thinking I would stick to my jeans and shirts a bit longer, rather than the dresses mum liked me to wear. I was in no hurry to grow up, as I liked my life the way it was.

I wished there was some kind of pill we could give Sally to slow her down a bit. Young as I was, I knew she was heading for trouble if she kept on the way she did. Dad has had more than a few fights over the snide remarks in the pub; we could do without that when we got to Cornwall.

I decided to go the library tomorrow and find out about the place, this Port Isaac.

Chapter Two

When I awoke on Saturday morning, part of last night’s overheard conversation was still in my head. Mum was worried about Tom’s family.

‘What’s to stop them from trying to get the guest house back? Are you sure you won it fair and square?’

‘Of course I did woman, do you think I drew those papers up myself? It was all done at the solicitors before I left for Cornwall.’

‘No, I don’t, Michael. But did you cheat Tom out of them?’

‘Go to sleep woman. The papers are real, the keys too. I’ve seen the place, it’s mine. As far as I know, Tom didn’t have any family. Even if he did, what can anyone do now? Doesn’t it say in his own writing I won it fair and square?’

No more was said about it, but I knew mum still worried. She didn’t like loose ends. Then we found out that Tom didn’t make it home the night dad left him, much the worse for wear, and headed off to Cornwall. Tom had fallen under the late night bus and never made it to the hospital.

Dad didn’t seem surprised or upset by the news, which I thought odd. He said the likelihood of any of Tom’s family, if he had any, knowing about the arrangement was about a thousand to one, and he figured it to be good enough odds.

‘I have his signature on the deeds and that brings the odds in my favour.’

Dad put our house on the market first thing Monday, and that’s when I remembered Nan. She lived two doors away. No one had said what they were planning to do with her. She needed us close; her hips were too bad for her to walk far. How could mum forget her own mother in all this?

When I brought it up at the breakfast table, mum said, ‘Jesus, Michael! I didn’t think about her!’

I for one would not be leaving her behind. I loved her more than mum most days. Loved the stories she told about her life when mum was young. ‘Sweet as buttermilk as a child, she was.’

‘Not anymore, Nan.’ I’d say, and she would pretend to scold me for thinking ill of mum. That’s not to say I wouldn’t walk through fire for her because I would. At least when I’m in one of my heroic moods.

Dad had been thinking, desperate to solve this new problem.

‘No problem, there’s a caravan at the bottom of the garden. She can stay there.’ He went on to explain how we needed to rent as many rooms as possible, which meant I would be sharing with Sally.

Mum looked at me, seeing the first obstacle to future peace and a new life. No way would I share a room with Sally and she knew it. That’s when I believed my father would have been better off shooting himself in the head. He wouldn’t even feel it, what with the loss of a brain. Wasn’t he the one who cleared out the box room, turning it into a bedroom for me, so I wouldn’t have to bury myself under the covers, cotton wool in my ears whenever Sally had her music too loud or sneaked the boys in.

Didn’t he himself catch one, almost skinning him alive before throwing him out of the house? What was he thinking? That the air in Cornwall would work some kind of miracle on Sally? She would suddenly become a nun when we got there?

I volunteered to stay in the caravan with Nan. Mum shrugged but said nothing, which meant there would be no problem. We decided to go around to Nan’s later to tell her all about it. I didn’t mention the ginger tom cat I knew she wouldn’t leave behind.

The estate agent said we would get a good price for the house, as good as winning the pools to people like us. What with dad never keeping a job too long, the money, when he did bring it home, seemed less than other people's and didn’t last as long. I’m not saying we were poor, mum made sure we had everything we needed, with her school dinner lady job and bingo caller three nights a week. It would be great for mum to be the lady of the manor, so to speak. But for the life of me, I couldn’t understand dad’s hurry.

He said we didn’t need to wait until the house was sold. ‘The estate agent can take care of everything. The money will go straight into a new bank account.’

Mum put her hands on her hips and I thought she was going to drop a bomb like we’re not going. ‘Not without my name on it, you don’t.’

‘Anything you like.’ Dad said.

I knew that with so much money at stake, mum wanted to make sure she got her hands on some of it.

I couldn’t help feeling dad was running away from something. He never did anything in this much of a hurry. He rushed out of the back door, saying he would be back later with a lorry and boxes. ‘Danny’s going to let me use one of his. He hasn’t much on at the moment, with house prices the way they are, people are staying put.’

We went around to Nan’s and told her about dad’s good luck. She didn’t look pleased. Mum had been born in that house and Nan didn’t want to leave it. Said William wouldn’t know where she was when her time comes.

I knew how she felt because I didn’t want to marry a man like my father. If I married at all, he would have to be like William, my grandfather, who knew how to look after his family. He struggled, worked hard all his life, yet gentle with those he loved. He was the reason we had our house in the first place. He brought it for mum, saying a family needs a roof over their head, but mum made sure dad’s name went on the papers too.

Granddad said it was a mistake, that dad would probably lose it in a card game eventually. Well, so far he had been wrong.

I told mum she had better go and find Sally. ‘You know how she is about anyone touching her things. She won’t thank you for doing her packing for her. I’ll stay here and talk to Nan.’

Mum hesitated. I knew she was feeling guilty for almost forgetting about Nan. ‘Go, we’ll be fine. When dad gets back, tell him to stop off with some boxes for Nan’s stuff. I’ll pack them for her.’

Mum knew how Nan felt about me. The sun didn’t only shine out of my backside as far as Nan was concerned, it lit up the whole street. I could do no wrong. If I said we should go to Cornwall, then Nan would agree. When I mentioned we would be living together at the bottom of the garden like a couple of gnomes, she laughed so hard she wet herself.

Her bladder wasn’t so good anymore, probably gone the same way as her hips. So far, her mind was still sharp and I didn’t like to think of it ending up like her bones, all dry and dusty. She chuckled all the way to the bathroom, looking like a small, hunched up, demented pixie. Losing whatever her bladder couldn’t hold along the way. I sometimes wondered how long it would be before she aquaplaned her way out of my life altogether.

The problem of holding her water had got much worse over the last few months, and mum had made the mistake of mentioning nappies or special pads. Nan’s green eyes had flashed a warning, like new grass caught in a fierce wind and mum knew better than to insist.

Holding out her hand with the palm facing Nan, she said, ‘Fine, you go right ahead and piss yourself!’

How could she embarrass Nan like that? It’s not as if she had to clean up after her. Nan still did her own washing and ironing, with the help of the stool dad made for her to sit at the ironing board.

I could still hear her chuckling, as she called to me from the bathroom. ‘What’s the oil-fired hurry anyway? Who lit a match under your father’s bum?’

‘I don’t know, Nan.’ There was a strange stillness that comes whenever two people are moving their thoughts around, before speaking again.

Nan came out of the bathroom, tucking stray wisps of silver hair back into the bun on the top of her head. Her chuckles were all washed away to be replaced with mumbling. I watched as she went into the bedroom and sat waiting for her at the kitchen table. I had made tea the way she liked it, strong and dark. The difference between tea and piss water, she always said; adding it was a good way to tell the difference between people too. Weak or strong, depending on how they liked to drink their tea.

Mum drank hers like Nan, but dad preferred coffee. Nan had a saying for that too. ‘Coffee drinkers think they are higher up the ladder than the rest of us.’

Did this mean the people of Turkey and places that preferred coffee, believe tea drinkers were beneath them on the bottom rung of some invisible ladder? Somehow, I didn’t think so.

If she didn’t come out of the bedroom soon, her tea would be stone cold. What was keeping her? I could hear her mumbling, talking to William no doubt. He died when I was a baby, but she talked to him every day and wouldn’t do anything without consulting him first.

Finally, she joined me at the table, saying, ‘William thinks it’s a good idea. Best for you, Mary. A new start. Maybe Sally will find a boy and settle down. William says he will know where to find me.’

I watched Nan’s eyes darken, weighed down by the thought of leaving her home, leaving William. Before either of us could speak again, Sally came bursting in the back door, dropping flattened cardboard boxes and rolls of tape everywhere. ‘Mum says she’ll be round later.’ Then she left, leaving me to chase the still moving rolls of tape. This, Nan found hilarious, watching me snatching at thin air as the rolls swept by my feet. She stopped two by putting out her good leg.

The smile on her face soon disappeared, as I caught her watching Sally passing by the kitchen window, her long dark hair flying behind her. She sighed and said, rather sadly, ‘That girl will be swept away by a storm of her own making; I hope I’m not around to see the day.’

I felt a chill raise the hairs on my arms. ‘What are you talking about, Nan?’

‘Nothing for you to worry your head about, Mary. You have your own path to tread.’

I hated it when Nan spoke in riddles, reminded me of the religious education classes at school. I started to set up the boxes in the living room, taping up the bottoms securely, so they would be ready for the packing in the morning.

When I had finished, Nan wanted me to stay, but I said I had too much to do. That was a lie. I didn’t want to hurt her, tell her there were times when she got on my nerves. But I needed to take a walk; shake