Moth Girls Page 9

  Zofia had first appeared just after Easter. She came to the flat a couple of times, then one morning she emerged from her dad’s bedroom wearing his shirt and looking sleepy. Petra followed her instructions and made her a cup of tea just the way she liked it: black, two sugars, the tea bag left in for a long time. Her dad came out of the bedroom in his jeans and nothing on his top. He was smiling and Petra felt embarrassed looking at him. His skin was white and she could see the lines of his ribs. Zofia said something in Polish that Petra couldn’t make out. Her dad laughed but looked at Petra and did a Huh? gesture with his hands.

  At first Petra only saw Zofia to say hello and goodbye to. Then she went out with them a few times: to Thorpe Park, Southend and London Zoo. They would finish up at McDonald’s and it was fun, but Petra always felt a little ill at ease, as if she was play-acting in some way, trying to be a good daughter. When Zofia asked her dad if Petra and she could go shopping together he shrugged and said, ‘Fine by me.’ That was when she began getting to know Zofia.

  They went to lots of shopping centres: Nag’s Head, Angel, Camden, Spitalfields and Walthamstow Market. Zofia liked to scavenge in charity shops but she always bought Petra something new: a top or leggings or skirt. Petra linked her arm as they strolled along, looking in the shops. They weren’t really searching for anything in particular but it gave them time to chat at length. Zofia talked about her life in Poland and her family whom she didn’t get on with. She also talked about her friends, the jobs she’d had, her two cats that she’d left with a friend before she came to England. She talked about her sister, Klara, who, she said, she missed every single day. While running her fingers across some china or picking up glassware Zofia unspun her life story for Petra.

  When Petra got home from these outings she would tell her dad something. ‘Did you know that Zofia went to a school where the only teachers were nuns?’ And her dad would mumble some reply but she knew he wasn’t really listening.

  Zofia was equally interested in Petra’s life. Petra told her everything there was to know about Tina and also about the years when her gran had been alive. Then it was the summer holidays and she was getting ready to go to secondary school. Tina was away with her mum a lot so Petra had of time to kill. She spent time at the nail shop tidying up the equipment and sweeping the floor. In return she had her nails done for free several times while Marya interrogated her about her dad and then said things in Polish to Zofia.

  She’d stayed at Zofia’s house a few times, sleeping in her bed while Zofia slept on a fold-out bed alongside. She’d met different people, mostly from Poland, who came and stayed in the house-share with Zofia and then moved on. Zofia was the only one who was there long term. She’d been to Marya’s flat and seen her boyfriend who was also from Poland and worked on a building site. Sometimes, when she was at home and saw her dad getting ready to go out with Sophie, she quite forgot that it was the same person, as if her Zofia were someone different. She thought of Zofia as her friend and nothing much to do with her dad.

  She could hear the television being switched off and moments later saw her dad come into the kitchen. The bathroom door shut then and Petra guessed that Zofia had gone to the toilet.

  ‘I’m going to take Soph home now, Petra. You’ll be OK, won’t you?’ he said.

  ‘Course,’ Petra said.

  Her dad was looking smart again. He had some suit trousers on and a clean shirt and tie.

  ‘I’m driving Mr Constantine tonight. The man I picked up from the airport? Just one ride then I’ll be home. I couldn’t turn it down because the money’s so good. I won’t be out all night. I’ll have my mobile but you’ll be all right on your own, won’t you? Don’t open the door to anyone.’

  ‘I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I won’t tell Soph that you’ll be on your own because she worries. You’re a big girl now. She doesn’t get that. Don’t be ringing her or anything. She fusses too much. Any problems call my mobile.’

  The bathroom door opened and Petra could hear Zofia humming a tune. She came into the kitchen, walking past Petra’s dad.

  ‘You have good birthday?’ Zofia said, giving her a goodbye hug.

  ‘Come on, I haven’t got all day,’ her dad said, opening the front door.

  Zofia said something in Polish under her breath. Then she picked up her coat from the back of the chair and gave a little wave. As she reached the front door Petra could hear her dad’s voice, sharp like a pin bursting a bubble, ‘Leave her alone, Soph, you’re all over her, for God’s sake.’ Then the front door shut.

  Petra sighed. It had been like this for a while now. Her dad was like a dog with a sore tooth snapping at Zofia. Zofia didn’t get riled by him, she just smiled sweetly and seemed to put up with his moods. How much longer would it last? Petra wondered. She’d seen him get fed up with other girlfriends.

  She tidied the kitchen and took the rubbish outside and placed it in the chute. When she closed the flat door she saw that it was seven forty. She had the whole evening to get through. She could ring Tina and see what she was doing, but she had homework that she should probably have a go at. After that she drew some designs for The Red Roses outfits and wrote out some lyric sheets of songs they could learn.

  Just after ten she began to get ready for bed. Her books had been packed and she’d ironed her skirt for school the next day. In her pad she had several designs for outfits that she and Tina could wear for The Red Roses. She’d drawn the figures like matchstick girls and felt a little guilty looking at them. At the same time at least it would be clear to Mandy that she could never wear these kinds of clothes so it was a really solid reason why she could never join the group. Just in case she asked.

  She lay back down on top of her duvet.

  She wondered what Mandy’s mother and father were like. She pictured her mother as a bit overweight and perhaps someone who didn’t have a job. She probably worried all day long because Mandy was always saying, ‘My mum says this, my mum wants me home early, my mum is worried about …’ She knew that her father worked in a building society and Petra had once seen him coming out of the doctor’s and waving at Mandy when they were walking home from school. Tina’s mum had probably been behind the counter, saying in that polite receptionist voice of hers, ‘Hello, Mr Crystal. Do you have an appointment?’

  Petra thought about her own mother. She’d died when Petra was two years old. She pumped her pillow up then lay back down and chewed at the side of her lip. She had no memory of her as a person, just a pile of photographs that her gran had given her. Her name had been Megan and she’d gone up to Oxford Street to buy some clothes for a friend’s wedding and got hit by a car. When Petra was ten years old her gran had taken her on the Tube and showed her the very place where it’d happened. It was an obelisk in the middle of the road near the Marks & Spencer’s at Marble Arch. It was a tiny spot where pedestrians paused and waited to see if traffic was coming in the opposite direction. On that day, when her mum was shopping, it had been packed. She’d been standing on the very edge of a knot of people waiting to cross when a car had raced through the lights and lost control, hitting her with a glancing blow. A glancing blow. Petra had had no idea what that was at first. Her mum had been propelled across the road and had fallen on the place where the road met the pavement. Her head had hit the kerb with a crack. If she’d landed anywhere else she would have lived, her gran said.

  Petra had stood beside her gran just in front of the obelisk while her gran wept loudly. Petra, who had been holding her arm, felt her whole body shivering. She held on to her tightly and avoided making eye contact with the pedestrians walking around them looking puzzled. Petra didn’t cry that day, but a year later, when her gran had died, she’d sobbed until her eyes were swollen and her face was scarlet.

  She heard a noise and sat up straight. It was coming from outside the front door of the flat. Was it her dad back? So early? She stepped out into the hallway and looked at the glass, lit up by the balcony lights. There
was a shape and it stayed there for what seemed like a while. Then there was an exclamation, the sound of a man’s voice swearing, and the bell rang.

  She walked along the hall then ducked into the kitchen. There was no light on so she pulled the blind to the side. A man was standing out on the balcony. Petra had never seen him before. He was tall with long hair and was wearing a checked shirt but no coat as if he’d just jumped out of a car for a few moments. He leant close to the door and began to call out.

  ‘Jason! Jase! You in there? I need a chat. Jason!’

  Then he stopped and stepped back and leant on the balcony wall with his arms behind him. Petra wondered if he would stay there for a while, maybe wait for her dad to return. He looked like he was going to do that when he suddenly stood as if to attention, gave the front door a last knock with his fist and walked off.

  She waited at the kitchen window for ages in case he came back. She thought about ringing her dad but decided not to. She wrote a note.

  A man came knocking for you. He seemed quite upset. I didn’t open the front door.

  Then she went to bed.

  Thirteen

  It was Friday. It was pouring outside and they were in the dinner hall. The table they were sitting at was sticky and there was the lingering smell of food in the air. The hall was half full of students keeping out of the rain. From behind the kitchen doors came the sound of pots banging together and chatter from the dinner ladies.

  ‘I would come but I’m going shopping with my dad’s girlfriend tonight,’ Petra said.

  ‘Oh,’ Tina replied.

  Her face was red from where she’d been crying. Mandy had produced tissues from her bag. Petra looked at the small cellophane packet. It was brand new, unused. Mandy opened the flap and pulled a pristine tissue from inside. She shook it out and handed it to Tina who blew her nose.

  ‘Dad wants me to stay over tonight but Mum won’t let me. She says I’m not allowed to go to his flat. She doesn’t want me to meet Janice.’

  Tina’s dad’s beautician was called Janice.

  ‘She says, as a treat, I can have someone to stay.’

  ‘I would come over but I’ve promised …’ Petra said.

  It wasn’t the new clothes that were uppermost in Petra’s mind. She was looking forward to spending time with Zofia.

  ‘I’ll come,’ Mandy said.

  ‘Are you allowed?’ Tina said, patting her nose with the tissue.

  ‘My mum can speak to your mum on the phone and then I could come round.’

  Mandy looked at Petra. Her expression was calm but her eyes appeared to sparkle.

  ‘That’s if it’s all right with you, Petra.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be all right with me? Tina can do what she wants.’

  ‘I know that. I just thought you might feel left out.’

  The bell went for registration. Petra got up.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to be late.’

  She walked ahead of Tina and Mandy all the way to the classroom.

  Zofia was outside Angel tube station when she got there. They edged across the busy road and went into the shopping centre. It didn’t take long to buy two pairs of jeans, a jumper and a shirt. Petra was thrilled and stopped thinking about Mandy going round to Tina’s house where Tina’s mum would probably be making them some food and allowing them to watch whatever they liked on Tina’s huge television.

  They walked back to Zofia’s and picked up a pizza on the way. By the time they got to her house the pizza was beginning to cool, so Zofia put it in the oven for five minutes and made Petra wash her hands and sit down at the table. She got a tub of coleslaw out and Petra grimaced. She didn’t like coleslaw. There was something unpleasant in its texture and this coleslaw had Polish writing on the outside. Zofia scooped spoonfuls of it onto her plate.

  Zofia loved eating. She was always talking about food she liked and how she missed the food she had in Poland. ‘Not enough meat in this country,’ she said. ‘No beetroot soup.’ Her fridge was full of Polish products: strange-looking sausages and half-full jars of sauerkraut. It made Petra shiver to look at it.

  After washing up they went into Zofia’s pink bedroom. This was Petra’s favourite part of her visit. The walls were painted light pink and the curtains were a deeper shade. The duvet had scarlet flowers all over it and there were scatter cushions at the top with sequins sewn on them. It was really a child’s bedroom but Zofia didn’t care. ‘I love these colours,’ she’d said. ‘Why shouldn’t I have pretty bedroom?’

  ‘Can I try my stuff on?’ Petra said.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Zofia said. ‘Maybe I can do your nails? No school tomorrow?’

  Zofia’s mobile rang. She pulled it out of her jeans pocket. She mouthed, ‘Marya.’

  Once Petra had got one of her new pairs of jeans and the shirt on she sat on the bed and waited for Zofia to finish her phone call. She was speaking in Polish so Petra couldn’t understand what she was saying but her tone was light with a few exclamations so she guessed that she and Marya were gossiping. She looked at the wall beside Zofia’s bed. There were six small framed photographs. Each one of them was of her sister, Klara. Two were baby pictures but the others had been taken when she was older. Klara had short dark hair and a very serious expression. Petra peered at the picture of a small girl in what looked like a wedding dress. It was her first communion dress, Zofia had explained, because they were Catholics and it was an important ceremony for every girl. Just above Zofia’s bed, attached to the wall, was a crucifix.

  There were other things of her sister’s too. In the past Zofia had brought out a small wooden box containing a variety of items that’d belonged to or were associated with Klara. Zofia had insisted that Petra have a look through. There was a lock of hair in a tiny plastic bag. There was a gold chain with a cross on it and two small rings. There was a passport with Klara’s photo in it. When Petra opened it some photographs fell out. They showed Zofia and her sister in Paris, next to the Eiffel Tower. A couple of birthday cards were in among the things too and Petra read them, taking in the lines of kisses that started big and bold and got smaller as they marched across the page. Petra had replaced these things tidily because she knew they were important to Zofia.

  ‘Now we are ready!’ Zofia said, tossing her mobile on the bed.

  Petra sat with her hand rested on the underside of a sparkly cushion. Zofia produced a bottle of deep red nail varnish.

  ‘This one I think. For your girl band. You can take bottle and do Tina’s nails. Maybe do new girl, too. So she doesn’t feel left out.’

  Petra frowned. Zofia raised her eyebrows.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Not nice to feel left out.’

  Zofia took each finger and held it in the air while she painted the nail. She was humming a tune and mouthing some words, her face tight with concentration. When she’d finished she studied the nails over.

  ‘Is good.’

  Petra started to wave her hands back and forth. Zofia looked thoughtful. Petra could tell that she was going to say something about her dad.

  ‘Jason is a bit depressed at the moment? No?’

  ‘He’s a bit stressed,’ Petra said. ‘He worries about money. Being a cab driver doesn’t pay a lot.’

  Zofia nodded as though she’d thought as much. Then Petra noticed a dark mark at the edge of Zofia’s T-shirt. Like a dirty finger mark. Zofia noticed her looking and pulled at the sleeve as if to make it longer. Petra averted her eyes, a tiny question mark flashing in her head.

  ‘And,’ Petra said, hurrying on, ‘we’re due a visit from the social worker in the next couple of weeks and he always gets worried when they come. They’re so nosey. They want to know absolutely everything. He’s afraid they might not think he can look after me. Since my gran died they come round regularly.’

  ‘Is usual? For social worker to visit?’