“Doing this
helps,” she said, her voice trembling a little.
She turned sideways on the bench and drew her knees up put her arms
round them. She didn’t want him to touch
her. Not yet. “My father …” Despite her will, she had to
swallow hard to keep talking. “He … used
… he used to ….” She said the last few
words in a rush, almost gabbling them. Get it out, get it out, don’t hide any more
ran through her head.
“I suppose he told
you he loved you?”
She nodded, unable
to speak.
He took her hand
and held it.
“Moi dad threw me
out. When he found out Oi was gay. I lived on the streyts for a whoile. That’s when Oi got it.” He looked down at his feet. The languid dreamy clarinet lead of Night and Day drifted out of the warm
night air. “They tell ya to wear a
condom, but Oi didn’t always have the money.
And some blaokes prefer, ya knaow, ta do it without. They insist.”
He turned to look at her.
“Everybody has scars. Jus’ … sometimes, they’re invisible.”
“He was supposed to love me, to cherish me, to
care for me. Instead he … ”
“Yeah.”
