They held their breaths, turned, synchronised

like clockwork toys, chimed, ‘Good evening, Daddy,’

in tinkling voices. Taiwo’s boots descended the stairs.

Lara tried to breathe evenly but spluttered, coughed.

Her stomach was a ripe watermelon now waiting

for a machete to swoop from above and split it.

Taiwo’s voice vibrated up through the kitchen ceiling,

he always sounded angry, even when not.

His voice rumbled, was raised, went silent.

LARA

HE CALLED me downstairs, potatoes were boiling,

sausages popped in a pan, the radio was nattering.

‘Go and empty the rubbish.’ I duly obeyed.

I was a good girl really, would I be let off, this time?

The brown leather belt which hung by the window

was missing, this was serious, belt not spoon.

‘Get over here.’ I scurried over, face neutral,

the distinction between fear and pain dissolved.

‘Have I told you not to play in the street?

Discipline,’ he growled, ‘Disss-i-ppaaa-lin.’

Buckle wrapped around knuckles, arm raised,

the first lash left my palm numb and smarting,

the second burned as if rubbed with stinging nettles,

the third felt like a cheese grater had shaved my skin,

by the tenth raw lacerations were dipped in vinegar.

I ground my teeth, tried to look intensely sorry,

my red pulsating hand puffed up like a boxing glove.

Tears were either a blessing or a curse with my father.

I unblocked a few drops, miraculously he stopped.

My feet made sure the stairs did not creak,

I immersed myself in my eiderdown with muted tears.

Fear was preferable to pain, until the next time.

I WANT Mummy Cake! I want Daddy Cake!

the triblings squealed when Ellen lay coveted treats,

chocolate and lemon Swiss rolls, on the kitchen table.

Tea time was usually one lettuce leaf per child, half

a tom, beetroot, cress and Mother’s Pride sliced.

Ellen studied nutrition so the tribe thrived on pennies,

worked it out down to the last vitamin and mineral.

Fridays were fish and chips, Saturdays fried liver,

Sundays – traditional roast or Daddy’s special dinner,

beef pepper stew and rice with optional gooey okra.

Once old enough the children were doing the dishes,

helping with the shopping, cleaning the house Saturdays.

Summertime Taiwo sent them into the jungle

with shears to level grass taller than themselves

while Ellen served squash at hot and sticky intervals.

Taiwo thought his little army was shaping up nicely.

Peggy spent winters crotcheting multi-coloured blankets,

knitting scarves, jumpers, making summer dresses.

She scoured department stores for bargain furniture

and put by weekly to buy them shoes from Clarks.

She never made forays to No 173 Eglinton Road

but every Sunday two of her grandchildren traipsed

with Ellen to tea at their grandmothers, leaving

a sixpence, boiled sweets and several cakes richer.

BY THE SLOPING woods daffodils bloom in the spring sun,

Lara’s birthday, toffee child in yellow dress, ruched,

gathered, bowed, dances at the garden’s edge, where

the woods begin, her magic wand – a branch – pirouettes