Teach Me Dirty(111)

Everything felt so far away. “With another girl?”

“Yeah, with another girl. I’m so sorry, Helen. I’m really bloody sorry.”

Mum’s hand was on my shoulder, squeezing me, expecting the tears. “Are you sure, George? You’re absolutely positive?”

He stood up and slammed his hand down again. “Of course I’m bloody sure! If the bus had been empty I’d have pulled over and demanded to know what the f*ck he was playing at!”

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

Oh f*ck. Fuck. Fuck, f*ck, f*ck.

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 f*cking know how it goes. Mutual decision?! Since f*cking 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 f*cked, 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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 f*cking truck. A big f*cking 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 f*cking lie to me, Helen Palmer. Don’t you f*cking dare.”

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

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