Lola Rose Read online

‘OK. I wasn’t very thrilled about the idea myself. Oh Jayni, what the hell are we doing here? Maybe I went a little bit nuts. Your dad wouldn’t really start on you. He thinks the world of you, darling.’

  ‘He thinks the world of you too, Mum, but he hits you. Why does he?’

  ‘Search me. I just seem to set him off. I’m pretty useless really. Not much cop as a wife – or a mum.’ She started to cry.

  ‘You’re a lovely mum,’ I said. I put my arms round her. ‘You’re not useless at all. You’re lucky. You’re the only person who’s ever won the lottery round our way.’

  ‘Lady Luck,’ Mum sniffed. ‘That’s what I signed in the register downstairs. L. Luck. Just in case your dad came snooping. Maybe it’s not such a good idea to be so close to the station. This could be the first place he’ll look if he comes after us. We’ll leave right after breakfast, OK?’

  ‘Is that going to be your new name then, Mum? Lady Luck?’

  ‘Well, “Lady” sounds a bit daft, doesn’t it? I could be Nikki Luck now, though. Or maybe I’ll change my first name too. I’ll be . . . Victoria. I always liked Posh best of all the Spice Girls. Victoria Luck. Yeah, sounds great, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Shall we change our names too, Kenny and me?’

  ‘Yes, I think you’d better. Who do you want to be then, darling?’

  I thought of all the women in my scrapbook, Britney and Charlotte and Kate and Kylie, but that didn’t work because I wasn’t remotely like any of them. I’d edged each picture with lots of cut-out presents for each woman – flowers and glasses of champagne and boxes of chocolates and bottles of perfume. One of the pictures had the model’s name, Lola Rose.

  I tried the name out inside my head. I liked it.

  ‘I’ll be Lola Rose.’ I stood up straight, tossed my hair, smoothed my nightie. Lola Rose sounded a seriously cool girl. She had long, thick, curly hair (my fine, straight hair seemed thicker and curlier already). Lola Rose had a perfect model figure. I sucked in my tummy and stuck out my chest. Lola Rose wasn’t scared of anyone. Not even her dad.

  I breathed out slowly, a little smile on my face.

  ‘Lola Rose Luck,’ said Mum. ‘OK New name, new start.’ She rubbed her watery eyes, smearing her mascara. ‘Oh Gawd, look at me. Bum, I didn’t pack my cleansing cream – or my make-up!’

  ‘We can go shopping, get you heaps more. And I could have some too,’ I said hopefully.

  ‘OK, Lola Rose,’ said Mum, going to the sink to wash her face. She scooped up some water – and then shrieked. ‘My God!’

  I’d filled the basin with cold water for Bubble. Mum had fished him out by mistake. He wriggled free and plopped back into the water while Mum and I giggled hysterically.

  ‘Shut up in there, I’m trying to sleep,’ someone called, banging on our wall.

  Mum and I spluttered some more, hands over our mouths. Kenny woke up too.

  ‘Where am I?’ he said, starting to cry. ‘Mum? Jayni?’

  ‘Shh, Kenny, we’re here,’ I said, going to him.

  ‘And you can shut that kid up too!’ the voice shouted from the other side of the wall.

  ‘You’re the one making all the noise, matie,’ Mum yelled. ‘You shut up.’

  ‘Mum! Don’t! Please don’t start a row,’ I hissed. I had my arms round Kenny, trying to stop him wailing.

  The voice yelled back something very rude, so rude that Mum and I got the giggles again. Mum got back into bed beside us.

  ‘We’re out of here first thing, kids,’ she whispered. ‘We’re dossing down amongst some right nutters.’

  ‘You’re squashing me, Jayni!’ Kenny complained.

  ‘Sorry, sorry. But don’t call me Jayni. I’m Lola Rose now.’

  ‘And I’m Victoria,’ said Mum.

  ‘Is this a game?’ Kenny said uncertainly. ‘I don’t like it. I want to go home.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ I said quickly. ‘This is much more fun. We’re going shopping later on. We’ll buy you all sorts, Kenny. But we’re being new people now, so we’ve got new names. I’m Lola Rose Luck. Cool name, isn’t it! And Mum’s Victoria Luck. So what name are you going to choose?’

  ‘I’m Kenny,’ said Kenny.

  ‘Yeah, but now you can be anybody. Shall I help you? What about . . . Jamie? Robbie? David?’

  ‘Which? I won’t remember,’ Kenny said, looking worried.

  ‘Yes, you will. How about something like your own name, so it doesn’t sound too different. Lenny? Benny?’

  ‘Could I be Kendall?’ said Kenny.

  ‘Kendal mint cake!’ Mum spluttered.

  I felt Kenny stiffen, humiliated.

  ‘I think Kendall’s a cool name,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, right, it’s totally cool. Victoria Luck has two cool kids, Kendall and Lola Rose,’ said Mum, snuggling down between us. ‘Shall we all try and have a little kip now?’

  She cuddled us close. Kenny – Kendall – was quiet. I thought he’d gone to sleep. But then he piped up again. ‘What’s Dad going to be called?’

  I waited for Mum to answer. She didn’t. Maybe she was asleep.

  ‘Dad isn’t part of our family now, Kendall,’ I whispered.

  ‘Why not?’ Kendall sounded astonished.

  I couldn’t see how he could be so thick. ‘You know why!’ I hissed. ‘Because Dad’s horrible and keeps hitting Mum. He hit me too. It still hurts whenever I move my jaw.’

  ‘He doesn’t hit me,’ said Kendall.

  ‘Don’t you feel sorry he hits Mum?’

  ‘But she deserves it,’ said Kendall.

  I took hold of his bony little shoulders through his T-shirt and shook him hard. ‘How dare you say such a wicked, stupid thing!’

  ‘But she does deserve it. Dad says so,’ Kendall said, starting to whimper. ‘Don’t, Jayni, you’re hurting.’

  ‘I’m not Jayni any more, I’m Lola, Lola Rose. And you’re not to say another word about Dad or I’ll get really cross. We hate Dad.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Kendall mumbled. ‘We love him.’

  I turned my back on him. I elbowed him away when he tried to cuddle up. I hated him – even though he was right.

  I hated Dad. He scared me silly. But I still loved him.

  I thought of him wandering round our flat all by himself, calling our names, looking in every room, pulling down bedcovers, peering in wardrobes. He’d get mad later. Fighting mad. But he’d be so hurt too. He’d cry. Our dad was the toughest man on the estate but I’d often seen him cry. He always cried after he’d hit Mum. He’d hold her hands and tell her he was sorry, tears trickling down his cheeks. He’d kiss all her bruises. He’d go down on his knees and beg her to forgive him. And she did.

  It wasn’t just Mum. Dad has a way of getting round anyone. When Kenny had a temper tantrum, flat on his back, drumming his heels and yelling fit to burst, Dad would pick him up, laughing. ‘Let’s switch off this silly noise,’ he’d say, pressing Kenny’s nose like a button. Kenny would stop mid-scream and laugh like it had been a joke all along.

  Dad could get round me too. He’d come and sit beside me and pick up my hand and play with my fingers, calling them funny names. Once he painted each of my little bitten nails the seven colours of the rainbow and my thumbs and one pinky finger gold, silver and sparkly white. He bought me this little pack of rainbow beads and threaded them onto my plaits while he fed me rainbow-dotted chocolate buttons.

  On my last birthday he gave me a great silver box tied with rainbow ribbon. There were layers of tissue inside so I knew it was a dress. I guessed it would be a rainbow dress and I felt anxious because I’m too big for that kind of party frock. It was beautiful, with smocking on the front and rainbow stripes, little puff sleeves and a big flouncy skirt. It was the sort of dress I’d have died for when I was about five. It looked awful on me now. It was much too tight, too bright, too babyish. But I had to smile and hold out my skirts and prance around as if I was thrilled to bits.

  I had to wear it to the schoo