Teach Me Dirty

“It doesn’t make any sense.” She stared at me. “You’ve got plans, haven’t you? Plans for tomorrow night. And you’ve been talking to him, love, surely? Did you not have any idea?”

“He’s a fucking prick!” Dad spat. “A real fucking prick.” He reached for his phone. “Let me call fucking Mick, find out what the fuck that kid thinks he’s playing at.”

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I didn’t have time to think it through, didn’t have time to form a better strategy, didn’t have time to do anything other than get Dad off that phone.

“I knew,” I said. “About the girl.”

Their faces were a picture.

Dad’s eyebrows shot up. “You what?”

I tried to calm my breathing. “It’s over, me and Harry. Mutual decision. You know how it goes…”

There was one long moment of silence before the questions started.

“No, Helen, I don’t fucking know how it goes. Mutual decision?! Since fucking when? It’s only bloody Friday, you were with him for two weeks solid last week.”

“And tomorrow night,” Mum butted in. “You only said about that this afternoon.”

“Don’t try and defend him, Helen. I’ll have none of that!”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m really not.” My story was fucked, but I didn’t have a better get out. “I, um… just hadn’t got round to telling you. It happened today… lunch… I just didn’t want to worry you…”

Mum looked thoroughly confused. “But you were both so happy… You’ve been so happy…”

“So, he was still seeing that bit of stuff behind your back, was he?” Dad demanded. “Because I’m telling you now, Helen, there’s no way that shit he pulled tonight was hot off the press. They were pretty fucking familiar. So he did pull a fast one, didn’t he? Mutual decision or bastard not.”

“But you must be devastated,” Mum said. “You liked him so much!” Tears pricked at her eyes and she pulled me into a hug, and I felt so bad, so very bad. “Don’t you worry, love, we’ll make it alright. We’ll still have a nice night tomorrow, you’ll see. We’ll make up for it at home, girls’ night, hey?”

I felt so bad lapping up Mum’s sympathy, especially when my brain was whizzing through a whole host of excuses to get out of her concern.

“I’ll be ok,” I said. “I’m ok.”

And that’s when Dad looked strange. His eyes suspicious and beady.

“You don’t seem that upset, Helen. Not considering you only split up today.”

“Mutual decision,” I maintained. “Like I said.”

“Mutual decision my fucking arse. You were well into him. He seemed well into you as well. Croissants, and potato bloody waffles.” He scowled. “Something doesn’t make bloody sense about all this.”

Mum waved her arm at him, jabbed a finger. “Don’t you start up with the conspiracy theories, George. Not now!”

“But it doesn’t,” he insisted. “Something’s fucking off.”

“It just is what it is,” I snapped, and I shouldn’t have. I definitely shouldn’t have.

Dad stared so hard I had to look away. “What does Mick Sawbridge look like, Helen? What car does he drive?”

I wanted to die, right there in my seat. Shrivel to nothing.

Mum sighed. “George, stop it! Seriously!”

“No, Angela, I won’t stop it. Helen can answer the question, it’s a simple bloody question.”

I could hardly breathe. “He’s… old… just, normal… haven’t seen him that much…”

“You’ve been in his house for two fucking weeks and you don’t know what he looks like?”

“Brown hair…”

And Dad lost it, he slammed his fist on the table and walked away, over to the sink and back again. “Mick’s blonde. He’s a throwback from the pissing eighties, Helen. He drives a fucking truck. A big fucking truck. Tattoos all over his arms.”

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

“Yeah, that’s it…”

It was a dumb answer. Even Mum drew breath.

Dad jabbed a finger. “So, where have you really been going?”

“With Harry!” I lied. “Just not at his house. We just hung out!”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Helen Palmer. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Leave it, George,” Mum hissed. “Not now.”

“Not fucking now?!” He was seething, absolutely seething. He pointed to the doorway. “Get to bed, before I really lose my fucking temper.”

“But Dad…”

“GET TO BED!”

And I did. I did go to bed.

It was a long time before the shouting stopped downstairs.

I keyed in message after message to Mark, but I couldn’t face it, couldn’t face sending them.

Everything was about to fall apart, everything in my soul was screaming. Screaming danger.

And I couldn’t stop crying.

***

Helen

“You’re not going out. End of story.”

Dad was serious. He had his don’t push me face on. Not even Mum could argue with that face, but I had a go anyway. I had to have a go anyway.

“I’ve got plans… Dad, please!”

“Plans with Harry bastard Sawbridge?! Not bloody likely, Helen. Do you think I was born fucking yesterday or something?”

“Not Harry!” I used the only other card in my hand. “Lizzie’s. I’m going to Lizzie’s.”

“Lizzie can come here,” he said. “Unless you want to tell me where you’re really bloody going. Where were you over Christmas, Helen?”