Hear my voice

Hear My Voice

They’re rowing again. It never ends these days. If it’s not Brexit then it’s about his drinking. Mum stopped a few months ago, and ever since then, it’s been a constant source of arguments. He tends to get leery after a few drinks, touching and mauling her. Nothing violent but she shrugs him off, and that’s when the shouting starts.

“You’re off your face, again.”

“Don’t bloody start. You’re like a broken record. It was just a few drinks with Dave after his success in the local elections. He only beat the bloody Tories, you know.”

“It’s gone twelve, where have you been since the pubs closed?”

“Why don’t you put a bloody tag on my leg and be done with it? Jesus, you were never like this when we first met. What happened to the girl who used to dance on the tables and swig back bottles of Prosecco?” He slams the door and I hear the shower running.

She's worried he’s seeing someone else. They haven’t had sex for months and he doesn’t notice when she’s been to the hairdresser’s or had her nails done. They seem to have drifted apart. He hardly notices me either. The occasional kiss and if he’s not too drunk he’ll sing the latest song he’s heard on the radio to me, but he’s obsessed with these bloody elections.

She’s quite right. He has been out a lot. He tells her he’s at party meetings or helping Dave with his campaign, but we’re both worried now. If there is another woman, then it’s likely to be Helen with the big boobies. I’ve never met her but Mum’s body almost spasms when he mentions her. Mum thinks it’s Helen. I bet it’s Helen.

“Was Helen there tonight?” she shouts over the noise of the shower.

“What did you say?” The taps are turned off.

“Helen, was she there? At the pub I mean?”

“Oh God, not this again. Yes, of course, she was bloody there. She’s Dave’s campaign manager. Oh, and her boobs were plump and round - is that what you want me to say?”

“Don’t be disgusting! I was just asking.” He turns the water back on and it’s Mum’s turn to slam the door this time.

There’s so much I want to ask him. I don’t know where to begin. Does he still love her? Will it ever be like it was before? I can only remember the constant rows and arguments, but she tells Aunty Rosemary that it wasn’t always like this. They used to be real party animals and had loads of friends. Most of them have drifted away recently. The party invites have dried up and they don’t get asked out for a quick drink after work any more. Maybe it’s not just me who is sick of the arguing.

Aunty Rosemary comes around most Sundays. She recently moved to a small flat in the centre of town. After divorcing her husband, she swore that her days tied to a kitchen stove were over. Last Sunday she brought me a new cardigan and some books. Mum said she’d read them to me at bedtime, but that hasn’t happened yet. She says she’s too tired. I love it when she reads to me. It makes me feel all cosy and, well, sort of special. She sings too. You wouldn’t say she’d be a finalist on X-Factor but I adore it. I haven’t heard her sing for a few weeks. It’s not a good sign. I think she’s depressed.

Aunty Rosemary is worried about her too. After lunch she makes mum a cup of tea and has a word whilst dad is glued to the telly.

“You’re looking tired, love. Is everything all right?

“Yes, it’s just that he’s out most nights and …”

“What, love? What is it?” Mum sobs and Aunty Rosemary gives her a hug.

“He’s not seeing anyone, you idiot. He loves you more than you know. You just need to give him some space. He’s a blokey-sort-of-bloke. You knew that when you married him.”

“But she always seems to be there. Whenever he’s out.”

“Who love?”

“Bloody, buggery Helen.” They both smile at Mum’s uncharacteristic outburst.

“Now, is that the way to talk in front of little Bridget? You’ll have her speaking like a docker if you continue like that.” I squirm uncomfortably. I’m not even sure what a docker is.

After lunch, we all go for a walk and the mood has warmed up in the spring sunshine. Mum and Dad hold hands, and Aunty Rosemary tells me that when I’m prime minister I’ll sort out all this nonsense out.

“Just ban men from the Houses of Parliament,” Mum says and Dad nudges her in the side.

“Yes, a parliament full of Thatchers. That’s just what we need,” Aunty Rosemary groans.

I’m not sure what I want to be when I’m older. Everyone seems to have a plan but nobody asks me. Something that doesn’t involve shouting that’s for sure. So teaching and politics are out. I’m not keen on the outdoors. I see myself in a cosy little office. Maybe even a little bunker with an endless supply of food and the chance to nap whenever I like. Not sure these type of jobs exist but it would suit me just fine. I’d have no speaking at all after two p.m. and even then people would only be allowed to whisper.

Mum and I get on the swings and Dad pushes us gently.

“I love Priory Park,” he says to no-one in particular.

“I used to love sliding down the hill on a tea-tray in the winter and lazing around making daisy chains with my best friend Sue in the summer," says Mum.

“I had my first fag behind the Priory," says Aunty Rosemary, and they all laugh.

I don’t know what’s so funny about it. I hate smoking. I have no idea why anyone would suck poison into their body and pay for it. Mum hates it too and it’s another source of a row later that night.

“It’s nearly one am. Don’t tell me you’re still celebrating Dave changing the world.”

“Hi Honey. Lovely to see you too, my little dumpling.” He’s very drunk.

“You stink of cigarettes.”

“Sorry, light of my life. I’ll strip off naked in the taxi next time.”

“So where have you been this time?”

“Big orgy with Helen. Didn’t you get the memo? It was all over Facebook. You would have loved it.” She throws the books Aunty Rosemary bought me at him and pages go flying everywhere. “You’re a pig. I hate you.”

“Well, the truth is out,” he snarls. “Let’s have it then. Full barrels.” He sits just inches away from her.

“It’s okay for you. You’re not stuck here day in day out. You have no idea what it’s like waiting night after night wondering what time you’ll get in.”

“You’re just bloody impossible to deal with when you’re like this. Everything I say seems wrong. If I offer to help, I’m in the way. If I leave you alone, then I’m ignoring you. It’s just easier to get out of the house. I’m sorry but this is driving me crazy.”

“You’re yelling. You’ll wake Bridget. Stop it. Just stop it!”

I’m already awake. They have no idea how many of these rows I’ve had to put up with. They never last long but they are getting more vicious. Almost as if they’re trying to push each other’s buttons a little bit harder each time. Anyway, I’ve had enough. I’m going to say something. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like my parents are living in the dark ages, but in our house children should be seen and not heard. However, the time has come for me to speak out. I can’t cope with this endless bickering any more.

I have to confess. I’m feeling a bit nervous. I hope they don’t turn on me or throw me out. No, that would be stupid they wouldn’t do that. He might storm off but I’m fairly sure she’ll listen. They’ve always told me I can be anyone I want. Well, today I just want to be someone who has a voice. Someone who has an opinion that matters. We’re all in this together and it’s about time they realised this. No more screaming about late-night drinking, no more nonsense about Helen and her endearing charms, and definitely no more Brexit.

I’ll try to keep calm and hold back the tears. This is no time for histrionics. Just tell them what I think and take whatever they throw at me. Here goes then. Wish me luck.

“Wahhhhhh … wahhhhh …. WAHHHHHHHH.”

“She’s beautiful. You’ll be an amazing mum. I love you with all my heart.”

“She has your eyes and your mother’s nose. I love you too. I’ve been a bitch about Helen and everything. I’m sorry darling.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Look at our baby. She’s perfect. And what a set of lungs! I bet she’ll be a singer or an actor.”

“You can be anything you like my precious little Bridget. Anything that makes you happy. Maybe just steer clear of politics. Just saying. “

Well, that didn’t exactly go to plan and nobody warned me about these bright lights. Dad’s giving mum a rest and has me wrapped up so tight I can hardly breathe.

“I’ll just take Bridget for a breath of fresh air,” he says as he fumbles with one hand for his phone. He keys in a few digits and turns to the wall. “Helen, I can’t talk right now but I’ll call you in a few days. Miss you. Speak soon.”