If My Father Loved Me

‘Sadie, this is Auntie Viv.’

I didn’t want any more aunts. I wanted my father at home, sitting with just me in the evenings to watch Hancock’s Half Hour or maybe even helping me with my French homework. I wanted my mother back as well, of course, but even I, with my talent for wishing for what I was never going to get, knew that there was no point in dwelling on this one.

‘Hello, love.’ Auntie Viv grinned up at me. She was wearing a tight skirt with a fan of creases over the thighs, and high heels that tilted her forward and made her bum stick out. I noticed her teased helmet of silvery blonde hair.

‘Hello,’ I muttered.

Auntie Viv made me sit beside her on the sofa. Ted brought out the gin bottle and the best glasses with diamonds and stars incised on them.

‘Give her a little one,’ Viv suggested and, to my amazement, Ted poured me a small glass of sweet Martini.

‘Cheers, love,’ Viv said, and took a gulp of her gin and tonic. She scissored her fingers – red varnished nails, lots of rings – in my hair. ‘Hasn’t she got lovely hair? Is it natural?’

I thought this was a stupid question. I was twelve. As if I would be able to choose to have my hair permed or dyed or even set. And if I had, as if I would have chosen my side-parted, no-nonsense short wavy cut that I wore with a pink plastic hairslide in the shape of a ribbon bow. ‘Yes,’ I said stiffly, but I couldn’t help yielding a little to Viv’s admiration. They made an unfamiliar pair of sensations for me, the being admired and the yielding.

‘Auntie Viv’s a ladies’ hairdresser,’ Ted explained. ‘We’re planning a little business venture together. A range of hair-care products, exclusive, of course, but affordable too.’

‘Shampoos, setting lotion, conditioner,’ Viv said dreamily. ‘Your dad’s going to create them for me. My own range.’

‘Really?’ I asked. ‘Will they be in Boots?’

Ted gave me one of his cold, quelling looks but Viv nodded. ‘Of course they will. And in all the salons. With my expertise in the field of hairstyling and your dad’s genius as a fragrance artist – he is, you know – we will be creating something every woman will want to buy and experience.’

I was impressed. Ted splashed some more gin into Viv’s glass. They settled down for a business talk, but Viv told me that I should listen in. The ideas of the younger market were always important, she said.

I listened eagerly for a while. Viv had a lot of ideas for names and the shapes of the bottles and packages. She drew sketches in a notebook, tore out the leaves and handed them to Ted and me for our approval. The bottles were waisted and curvy, like Viv herself, and the colours tended to the pink and gold. She wanted to call the shampoo Vivienne.

Ted was more interested in formulations and how to buy in ready-mixed solutions for the various products to which we could then add our own fragrance and superior packaging. ‘It’s the way we’ll make money, mark my words. Basic lines, but given an exclusive touch.’

They both drank a couple more large gins and I drained the sticky dregs of my Martini. ‘Thirsty work,’ Auntie Viv mouthed at me. The drink made me sleepy, and my arms and legs felt like plasticine when I shifted on the sofa. After a while Viv went into the kitchen, wobbling a little on her high heels, and made a plate of Cream Crackers with slices of cheese and a blob of pickle on top. Viv turned on the television. She chatted through the News, mostly gossip about her customers and questions about Ted’s work. She sat close up against him and let one of her shoes swing loose from her nyloned toes. After we had finished eating she leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Her hand stroked the nape of my father’s neck.

‘Hop off to bed, now, Sadie,’ Ted said.

I began to protest, made confident by Martini and inclusion, but he fixed me with his icy grey stare.

‘Goodnight, pet,’ Viv murmured. ‘See you soon.’

In the morning she was nowhere to be seen. While I made myself toast and a cup of tea before school I asked Ted, who was silently reading the newspaper, ‘Will Auntie Viv be coming again?’

He looked at me as if I was mad. ‘Yes, of course she will.’ Then he refolded the Daily Express and went on reading.

That was the beginning of quite a good time. Ted was still out of the house a lot, maybe even more than before Viv arrived, but I assumed that when he wasn’t at home with me he was with her. Viv was safe territory, I felt. She brought me her Woman and Woman’s Own every week when she had finished reading them. She played about with devising hairstyles for me and chatted about lipsticks and clothes. One evening she brought a glass bottle with a bulb spray out of her handbag. She sprayed the insides of my wrists and showed me how to rub them together to warm the skin.

‘What do you think?’ Her face was pink with excitement.

I thought the perfume was wonderful. It smelled of cloves and carnations, and it made me think of velvet dresses and candle-light reflected in tall mirrors. Ted stood watching us, one hand slipped into his jacket pocket, one eyebrow raised.