I've been travelling on the tube since I was a nipper. Once I did the entire journey from Liverpool Street to Upton Park with my eyes shut, and, to impress my sister, shouted out each stop exactly 30 seconds before we arrived. Of course, with my eyes shut my sister had taken the opportunity to piss off to another carriage. When I finally opened my eyes half a minute before we arrived at Upton Park I was met with a bunch of strangers staring at me like I was mad. My sister has never been forgiven.
This time my eyes are closed for a different reason and though the man currently living across the hall doubts me; I really do have a slight tinge of agoraphobia. I do the calming breathing I've been taught, expanding my diaphragm with every breath in and slowly exhaling. Typically I've never learned how to breathe properly - I don't think I've done anything properly.
The other trick I've been taught for having a panic attack is to touch objects, describe to myself what the sensation feels like, beneath my fingers the rough fabric of the seat grounds me and I have a moment of calm before my phone beeps. My sister -
"What train you on?"
"Dunno' didn't ask it's name?" I answer, grinning to myself.
"Hahahaha. That smirk will be right off your face, Dad's here 'n' he's even got you a present.."
"Is he actually there?" I sit upright, my body swaying in movement to the train rounding a bend. I haven't seen my Dad for months and I hate that at the age of 28 I have a childish sense of happiness he's come along. It's not even the thought of the present, because to be honest my Dad is a bit shit at getting me gifts. The last time he was involved was my 18th when he swore blind to Mum he could get the Tiffany bracelet I coveted for fifty quid down the market. She'd handed over her savings, only for him to squander 40 quid at the pub and leave me with a ten quid fake Tiffany bracelet that turned my skin green. For what seemed like ages all my siblings (and that's a lot) called me Grotbags. It wasn't my finest hour.. or week given how long it took my skin to go back to the right colour.
"Is he looking forward to seein' me?" I ask, a grin on my face. Standing up and holding onto the overhead bar to balance myself. One day my Dad is going to be proud of me, I'm not sure when or how because having an almost illustrious career in the Army hasn't made much difference, but it's almost like it's my goal in life to make him proud of me.
"Well…" Jade's voice has hesitation in it, so I know before she's even finished her sentence that I've got my hopes up and the smile gradually falls off my face. "He ain't said he's not pleased to see you."
"Tell them, I'll be there in 10 minutes 'n' I can get the next round in 'n' that'll put a smile on his face." Maybe opening a pub would be one way of impressing my Dad, though he'd probably drink all the profits and I'd end up bankrupt and then he'd be disappointed in me again 'cause somehow it would be my fault.
"I will." Says Jade before continuing. "And remember don't give a shit about our old man, me Mum and Nan are desperate to see you."
The smile is on my face again as I step off the tube.
When I leave Upton Park tube station, I keep my head down, there's no point looking around anyway, I know this area like the back of my hand. I'm also doing my breathing exercises. Strange how somewhere once home can now feel like enemy territory.
Walking up Green Street, I pass the nail bar I worked in when I first left school and to this day I can still recall the smell of acetate. Sometimes I pass time by recalling the smells of my life (yes my life really has come to that) - the smell of chip fat and dampness in the family home, to the acetate of the nail bar. In Afghanistan it was a combination of the acrid dust and goats which left a permanent mark on my senses and now it's sun lotion that will define this stage of my life.
My pace increases when I cut through the play park where I spent my youth smoking and drinking and where, if I hadn't decided to take my younger siblings to get them out of my Mum's hair for a while, my life would now be completely different. Strange how one thing can change everything and for some reason I find myself stopping, looking up for the first time at the flaky painted swings and wondering if I'd do it all differently, then I see 2 men walking towards me. They're chatting, a foreign language which isn't unusual around here but again my head goes down and with purpose I walk, a breath of relief when the men don't stop or show any interest in me.
Over the years of my childhood, I spent far too much time standing at the busy bar of the pub trying to negotiate with my Dad to come home for dinner, so much so I'm hit with a sense of nostalgia when I walk in. The darkness straining my eyes after the bright sunshine from outside. These days the pub is quieter, not as much business and the only voices I can hear belong to my family. For a few seconds I stand and observe them; my Mum smiling and laughing at something my Dad is saying, he's typically holding court, leaning against the leather booth, his arms outstretched to give him the most space, only my Mum choosing to sit next to him. The rest of the group; my Nan, my sister Jade and my two younger brothers are looking at a screen, giggling amongst themselves. One sister is missing, probably away to the shops with her mates. A pram sits on it's own, you'd almost think it was abandoned and a lump forms in my throat; my little brother who I've never even met. I've made my way over still without being noticed, looking into the pram and being met with a pair of blue eyes staring back at me, his legs kicking with excitement that someone is paying attention to him. I lift him out and have my first cuddle when I'm finally noticed.
"Here Molls. Sort an argument for us will you?" My Nan, the delightful trouble maker, shouts to me.
"Yeah?" I say softly. I'm in love already. I don't care his name is Martin, I just love the squishiness of his little fingers and the innocence - he's oozing innocence.
"Who do you think he looks like?"
"Well it's not Dad, I'm pleased to say." I laugh.
"Oi, what's that meant to mean?" My Dad asks, pretending to be hurt. We've had this conversation with every new arrival, and we've yet to have a Dawes who looks like my Dad. "He's got blue eyes. I've got blue eyes."
"They'll change to green. They always change to green. He's beautiful, Mum."
All of us Dawes look the same, my Mum's green eyes, high cheekbones and dark hair. I suppose if I have to admit, there's little bits of my Dad in some of us too but it's more subtle. The tip of a nose or the shape of an upper lip. I'm lucky. I'm 100% like my Mum; except I observe as she comes over with a grin on her face and her arms already stretched out to hug me; not as tired or defeated looking. Immediately my life gets better with the smell of a knocked off Chanel No 5. "He's definitely the last though Molls. I couldn't go through that again." She whispers in my ear. "Your Dad's gonna' have the snip, he's promised."
"He's promised the last twice too Mum."
"Isn't it weird. That Dave..." My Nan helpfully points to Dad, a spark in her eye and I know she's about to give her son-in-law a dig, the whole family knows she's about to rinse him and have stopped and are staring. "Has no good genes whatsoever, nothing to offer society, 'n' there ain't anything special about him but he can breed like a bleedin' rabbit." Her ensuing cackle soon has everyone but my Dad joining in. Politely, I laugh for a second and then go back to staring at the newest addition.
"I don't want to put him down."
Martin has a hold of my finger and doesn't seem to want to let go either.
"Oi Molls. You'll need to put him down. Jade said you've promised the next round."
Drinks cover the dark wooden table, the remnants of a typical pub lunch are left half eaten but to keep my end of the bargain, Martin and I head over to the bar, order before I go back and sit down.
My Dad passes a green leafed plant over to me, anything not to have to give me a hug. "Thought I should get you a housewarming."
"Aww thanks Dad." I say genuinely, staring at the shiny leaves like I've never been up close to a plant in my life. To be fair I've never owned a plant and I wonder if they take much looking after or if you can even bond with a plant. My evening is set out in front of me - googling plant life. "Where did you get it from?" I ask, using my free hand to check the bottom of the black plastic plant pot in the hope that there's a price ticket from Marks & Spencers or some shit like that.
"Mike across the hall, he knocked on our door the other night 'n' gave it to us." My Dad answers proudly.
"Were that where it came from?" My Nan plonks herself down beside us all and pushes a vodka and coke over towards me.
"They got raided didn't they?" My Mum throws in.
"Yeah shortly after he'd been to see us. Mike said someone gave the police a tip-off. They never found anythin' in the house so they think it was a revenge call for him givin' Pat from Walthamstow some dodgy West Ham tickets."
"It's all happenin' in Newham. Where's Panorama when you need it." I laugh.
As time goes past, my shoulders relax and drop at the normality of family conversation around me. God I've missed the laughter and the piss taking of my family, the vodka and coke I'm sipping tasting much nicer now I've got company. They don't even pry to much on about my current life, instead spending the time regaling me with everything that's happening in their lives - except for my Dad:
"Here Molls." He says, sidling over to me when my Mum has taken Martin and is occupied rocking my little brother to sleep in his pram. "When's all this rubbish gonna' be over?"
"I dunno' Dad, they keep tellin' me soon but-" I shrug my shoulders. "I ain't quite sure when soon is."
"It ain't fair. I don't like the thought of it." He says with genuine concern.
Tentatively I ask. "What, that I'm in danger?"
"Well that, 'n' havin' a daughter who's a grasser. There's some folk won't drink with me down the pub. Think we're all trouble 'cause you got yourself caught up with all that shit."
"I tried to save a girl Dad."
"Yeah, well she's not from round here is she?"
"What so I should just have left her with a Dad who beats her up, and has enou-" I stop abruptly.
"What?"
"Doesn't matter." And we go back to our drinks and, because he's lost interest in me, I don't speak to my Dad for the rest of the visit.
3 hours later and I'm pushing open the heavy wooden door of my apartment building, the plant tucked under my arm. The place is so posh they have a concierge, and today thankfully it's my mate Quaseem standing at the front desk, his dark eyes watching as I give him my usual friendly enthusiastic wave. Quaseem is one of the few friends I have these days. Sometimes he pops up to visit, bringing my shopping and once I've unpacked we sit out on the balcony and have a cup of tea together. We have a lot in common; well we've both been to Afghanistan. Well actually, he was born there, grew up there and came back here after being an interpreter for the British Army and his life being in danger if he stayed, I only spent 6 months there but he tells me of an Afghanistan I never got to see but because of my experience I can hear every sound and visualise the way the sun sets over the mountains.
Today his disappointed head shake doesn't fool me, I know there's a hint of awe that yet again I've managed to escape, I'm about to stop and have a chat when a dark skinned, mediterranian bloke walks out from behind the reception desk and I find my pace swiftly increasing in the hope I can get to the lift and away from him.
"Everythin' alright?" I ask, breezily when he inevitably catches up with me. A 5'3 person is never going to out pace a six foot odd annoying git.
"Think you 'n' I need a word." He says, I detect a hint of annoyance in his tone, which to be fair to him isn't usual.
Elvis as he likes to be called because I'm sure that is not his real name and if it is he needs to have a serious chat with his parents, takes my precious plant out of my arms, stares at it and then looks at me. I know what he's doing. He's trying to freak me out. Give me time to worry about what he's going to say. Obviously it doesn't work. All it's doing is giving me time to think of an excuse.
"How exactly did you get out? 'n' I don't want any bullshit."
He was quicker than I thought - I've still not thought of an excuse. My eyes dart to Quaseem to see if he's going to help me, traitorously he's far too busy doing a crossword or something.
"I will find out, so you're as well bein' honest."
I look up to dark, nearly black eyes, a frown on smooth features. Sometimes I wonder if he likes me. Not in a romantic way, but if he really would be sad if anything happened to me, if he ever gets emotionally involved. Then he starts chewing gum in a really annoying way and I don't care.
"Well, Einstein." I smirk. "That's for me to know and you to find out. So give me my bleedin' plant back and in future do your job better." I say with a hint of smugness and stretch my hands out to get my housewarming gift back.
Elvis releases the plant into the safety of my arms, placing his now free hands on his hips. "You do realise that's a Marijuana plant don't you."
"No it's not." I say with loyalty.
"Yes it is."
It shows how little I trust my Dad that I'm already wavering. "Is it?"
"Yes it is."
My eyes roll to the back of my head. How can I have been so stupid to think my Dad would have given a 'proper' present.
"And apparently, you were seen abseiling down the side of your building - please tell me I misheard that?"
"Kick me whilst I'm down, why don't you. I've just been given a gift from my Dad that ain't….. Who told you?"
"A little bird." It's now Elvis' turn to be smug. Personally I think he wears smugness well, like he was born with it.
Anyway, there's only one 'little bird' that could have told him that. And it wasn't Sadie.
"I fucking hate him." I spit out.
"Who?." Elvis asks.
"My neighbour. I bet you he phoned the bloody old bill? He did, didn't he? They tipped you off 'n'..."
Elvis looks shifty, even moving his weight from one foot to another. "You have to admit, you can't blame a bloke for being suspicious when his neighbour pisses off down the side of a building."
"I have no privacy. None. Do you know what that's like? It's-"
"Like bein' on deployment to a war zone- Oi don't flick me."
I flick him again for good measure. Take it as a skill I've learned from being the eldest child. An argument can easily be won with a 'flick', especially if you get the face, unfortunately with Elvis I'd only managed to get his very muscly upper arm and done more damage to my fingers than him. Still, he's looking suitably annoyed and rubbing his arm.
"It was a rhetorical question. You know nothing like what I'm feeling."
Elvis takes a big sigh and shakes his head. "I need to keep you safe."
He is being genuine. I know he has a difficult job, or he would have an easy job if I didn't get itchy feet every so often.
"Maybe I don't want to be safe." I say churlishly.
"Oh come on."
Out of nowhere, a wave of self pity crashes over me. "Maybe I don't. I've had enough of this."
"Well my job is to keep you safe, so apologies if that offends you." Snaps Elvis.
Tears start to prick the back of my eyes. If anything has got me upset it's been yet again my Dad has let me down. I think if I was to analysis my decision making on that shit Autumn day in March, it was that I'd seen a similarity in the Afghan girl in the swing park, she'd been an outsider, staying within a close distance to my brothers but too frightened to join us, I'd reached out to her and well, as they say the rest is history.
"Alright." Elvis says softly. "How 'bout I get clearance for you to pop down and see the old woman you like to visit?"
"Sadie, her name's Sadie. She ain't just an old woman." I wipe my tears with my free hand.
"Molly. You're our only chance of getting this guy." Elvis' words are quietly pleading, and I do a small hiccup of sadness at the predicament I've got myself in. "You know that. You have to be there to testify in Court. You're our only chance of bringing down this terrorist cell."
"Whatever. Are we finished?" I'm close to getting to the unattractive crying stage, and he's one man I don't want to look ugly in front of. Elvis I'm sure only surrounds himself with attractive people, the kind of person you'd see on a beach in Marbella with his beautiful mates shortly before they got on an expensive yacht and drank champagne. I'm the kinda person you'd see down the Clacton Pier drinking lukewarm wine because my sister Jade forgot the cool bag. HIm and I are different.
Elvis' mouth opens and closes with no sound coming out, he can't think what to say and I realise the row is over for now. No doubt tomorrow I'll have a couple of 'engineers' arrive at my apartment and put some extra CCTV outside because they'll now see it as a weak area.
When I turn to walk away, Quaseem has moved from his position to stand and hold the lift for me. Feeling too sorry for myself I don't even give him a smile, but he puts his hand out to stop me.
"Your father would have a reason for giving you the gift."
I love the optimism of Quaseem, even if it is misplaced.
"Yeah to get it out the bleedin' house before he got raided. He's a dickhead." And with that eloquent statement I let the lift doors silently close.
I get out on my floor feeling more trapped than ever, about to open my door when I look down at the plant, it sums up everything about the relationship I have with my dad and with life - disappointment. I turn and walk over to my neighbours door, place the plant on the floor and give the door a middle finger.