Page 79 of The London Girls
She saw the look on her mother’s face the moment she walked into the room, because it was one she was familiar with: panic.
‘Ava, your father is home, you can’t be here,’ her mother whispered. ‘Oh my goodness, what happened to your face? To your hair?’
Ava stood still, wishing her mother would open her arms and hug her, tell her that she was welcome back and that she’d kick out her monstrous husband before letting him kick his daughter out of the house again. But of course she didn’t, because that would require standing up for herself.
She heard the heavy tread of her father’s footsteps before she saw him, but the difference today was that she wasn’t wondering what version of her father would appear. Today she knew which one she’d get, and surprisingly she wasn’t scared.
I’ve survived too much to be scared of him now.
‘Hello, Father,’ she said evenly.
‘I thought I was perfectly clear when—’
‘I’m here to collect some things, and to thank you for asking me to leave,’ she said.
His face turned red and her mother seemed to shrink before her, but Ava continued, needing to say what she’d practised in her mind on the way over.
‘Leaving here has shown me that I don’t need to live my life in fear of my father’s temper,’ she said. ‘It’s shown me how loving a home can be, and what I’ve missed out on all these years.’ It had also shown her that she’d always fallen for men just like him – men who wanted power over her, men who thought of her as their possession instead of their equal.
‘You ungrateful little cow,’ he muttered, striding towards her.
But she didn’t cower before him like she would have once done. ‘Do you see my face, Father?’ She turned her head and lifted her hair to show her ear. ‘These bruises weren’t given to me by a man. I was injured doing my job, a job that you tried to stop me from doing. I’ve found something I love, something I’m good at,something that makes me feel like I’m flying every single day. But if you want to add to these bruises then do your worst, because I’m not scared of you any more.’
Tears formed in her eyes then, but it wasn’t because of her father. It was because she believed in what she was saying. Motorcycle riding had given her a confidence in herself that had nothing to do with her looks or status; it had to do with her being good at something.
‘I’m going to be riding motorcycles until the day I die, and I wanted to come here one last time so you could see the woman I’ve become.’
‘Get out of my house!’ her father screamed.
But Ava didn’t leave. She walked to her old room and started to pack a bag, taking things that belonged to her, things she didn’t want to leave behind. But when her mother appeared, taking another bag down and helping her, that was when she started to cry.
‘Ava,’ her mother whispered.
She turned, surprised by the softness of her mother’s gaze and the way she opened her arms and hugged Ava.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I could be as brave.’
Ava hugged her back, and after she finally let go, she found a pen and scribbled down Florence’s address.
‘You can always come and find me,’ Ava said, before picking up the two bags.
Her mother nodded and Ava walked out of the house, hearing her father throw something that sounded like glass and wishing her mother had been brave enough to leave with her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
OLIVIA
‘Hi Petey.’
All morning Olivia had been waiting for her brother to look into her eyes, and when he did, she couldn’t stop grinning. He’d been asleep when she arrived at the hospital, and so she’d sat patiently, waiting for him to wake up.
‘Liv,’ he croaked, as she reached for his water and held it for him, cupping the back of his head to help him lean forward and sip from the straw. His eyes were bright, but she had to mask her surprise at how hollow his cheeks were. Even his neck seemed skinny compared to that of the man she’d waved goodbye to at the very beginning of the war.
‘I can’t believe you’re back,’ she said. ‘Look at you!’
‘Look at you,’ he replied, his entire face breaking out into a smile. ‘You look as fresh as a daisy compared to how I feel.’
‘Well, you could do with a shower, but other than that you look great to me,’ she said, taking his hand and shifting to sit on the bed beside him. She wasn’t lying either; he might be thin but he was still Pete, still her gorgeous brother, and she couldn’t have cared less how he looked so long as he was there. ‘I mean, Petey, you’re alive, so what else could possibly matter? It’s just so good to have you home, especially after we were told to expect the worst.’
