Daddy Let Me Help You Ch. 01

Chapter One - The Second Stringers

Mandy Moore didn't care that she was two years behind and therefore two years older than most of the other girls studying for their General Certificate of Secondary Education at the Upper Thomas Street School for girls.

Mandy Moore didn't mind that although she had the body of an adult and was sharp-witted, her lived human experience was that of a younger teenager rather than the young woman she had become.

Mandy Moore didn't mind that her friends were considered the school losers, or that other students sniggered at her behind her back and called her names or that she had or wear a school uniform whilst other girls her age were in already in college or working and spending evenings in the pub and weekends down at the club.

Mandy Moore didn't care about all these things because she loved her dad.

Steven Moore had been driving the number 42 bus along the route from Piccadilly Garden to Stockport Heaton Lane bus station in Manchester when the bomb went off. Because it had exploded whilst the bus was approaching the bus station there were only three passengers on the bus, all of whom were sitting on the top deck and had escaped with cuts and bruises.

Steven however had sustained life threatening injuries and was in intensive care for a considerable amount of time before he was released into the recovery ward and finally allowed to undertake rehabilitation at home.

The Manchester Police family liaison officer ceased her duties when the men who had planted the bomb were captured. The media reported they were outright amateurs with no ties to any established terrorist organisations. Transport for Greater Manchester had paid for a full-time nurse until Steven was semi-ambulatory and then the care reverted to weekly visits and finally to none. The public body had assigned Steven a liaison officer whose main job, at least in Mandy's opinion, was to convince Steven not to sue the Transport for Greater Manchester for compensation.

Steven's union representative behaved similarly, at first seeing him every day, then every few days, then on and off and finally never.

"You'll be ok Steve. No need for the union to get involved. You've got a handsome payout coming your way you lucky bugger!" the union rep had said enthusiastically to the man who could only take a few steps supported by a cane in each in hand or a walker before he had to fall into a chair.

That was the problem. Everybody thought that Steven Moore was going to get a huge compensation payout and he likely was, but the lawyers were fighting over who would actually pay it. Transport for Greater Manchester believed that because it was an act of terrorism Her Majesty's Government should pay and the Crown believed that the Transport corporation should pay.

While all this was going on Steven Moore was convalescing in his council house, trying to get his life together. The National Health Services sent a doctor to see him once a week who told Steven that only time would heal his wounds.

Just as well his loving wife Jacky was there to support him.

But she wasn't. She had been a secretary for a commercial enterprise based in Dubai with offices in London and Manchester. A very pretty tall leggy blonde with big tits she had drawn the attention of most of the upper echelon at her company but had waited until a young high-flyer whose annual income would solve starvation in a small country had taken a fancy to her and ditched her bus driver husband and moved to Paris with him.

She did send Steven a get well card with the decree nisi.

"Daddy let me help you," Mandy crept silently into the bedroom where Steven lay sobbing on the bed.

Steven sat up and wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Don't be silly pet. You've got school and your friends and all that," Steven pulled his daughter into his arms and hugged her affectionately despite the pain it caused.

"Bollocks to all that dad! You can hardly walk. We're getting very little support from anyone and while I'm at school you're home alone and suffering," Mandy sniffled into his shoulder.

"There, there, pet. We'll get by," Steven kissed the top of her head, her silky blonde hair tickling his cheek.

"How daddy? The lawyers are fighting over compensation, the unions are done with you, the National Health are doing all they can which isn't much and we have no other family."

"Mom is swanning around Europe with that horrible man. We're on our own dad!" Mandy cried.

"I know. I know," Steven tried not to start crying again.

"At least I've got my pension," Steven patted her back.

"Just enough to get by on until you get your compo. That's what the lawyers said. If they raise the pension it jeopardises your compensation payout," Mandy sobbed.

"But I promised you that you would get a good education. I promised myself and I promised your mother," Steven countered.

"What about mom? Why can't she pay for a carer?" Mandy asked.

"She says it will stuff up the divorce. If she's paying for my care she says that I can claim we are reconciled and have the decree nisi rescinded," Steven explained.

"Sounds like a load of old bollocks to me," Mandy said, snuggling into her father's shoulder.

"You're not leaving school Mandy and that's that!" Steven said bitterly and broke the embrace.

Mandy went up to her room and didn't come down again except to give her father his dinner. She woke up the next morning refreshed and padded into her father's bedroom wearing her flannel bunny pyjamas in which she would just die if any of her friends saw her wearing them.

"What if I delay my GCSE?" Mandy jumped on the bed and kissed her father on the cheek.

"What do you mean?" Steven asked, still groggy from a fitful night's sleep.

"You're going to need looking after for a little while yet so I'll be your nurse until you get better, at least until you can look after yourself properly. I'll keep up my studies as best I can part time, but most of my time will devoted to you daddy. When you're fully capable of looking after yourself I'll go back to school and finish my education. I promise you that I'll get my A levels and go on to university," Mandy beamed at her father.

"I'll think about it. Now get my walker and help me out of bed so I can go to take a leak," Steven mussed up Mandy's hair and she pushed his hand away.

She secretly liked it when her father mussed up her hair but she pretended that she didn't. They both knew it and it was one of the many little secrets they had between them.

"Stop mussing you daughter's hair; she looks like a fucking scarecrow!" Jacky would admonish him and Steven would wink at Mandy and stop.

Neither Mandy nor Steven realised the commitment that Mandy was taking on. Looking after Steven was a full-time job and required all of Mandy's time. As well as being his nurse, she looked after the house, shopped for groceries, paid the bills, took on all the household duties and she accompanied him to all of his specialist appointments and legal reviews.

She had obtained a provision driver's licence and used her father's Mini Cooper as the family car. Getting her father in and out of the car was a chore but they couldn't afford anything bigger. Her father would sit outside in the front garden in his old 'click-click' chair with a blanket wrapped around him and supervise Mandy as she gave the Mini its routine service.

Mandy became his nurse, his carer, his driver, his housemaid, his gardener and his confidant. Already close, they became even closer.

It broke Steven's heart that his daughter had given up her schooling and her social life to care for him. Her friends stopped coming around and she never went out socially. He watched his beautiful daughter turn into a dowdy young woman and as much as he adored her, he hated himself for robbing her of her adolescence.

Just after Mandy turned eighteen they agreed that Steven was well enough to look after himself. He could just about walk to the corner shop and back with the aid of a walking stick and he even started going back down the pub on Saturday nights to watch the football with the friends who had seldom visited him when he was convalescing. Mandy would drop him off and pick him up in the Mini.

The truth was Steven was barely ambulatory and still in a lot pain but Steven insisted that Mandy go back to school. He could look after himself while she was at school.

Mandy approached the Upper Thomas Street School for girls and the headmistress agreed to allow her to enrol in year 11 to undertake her GCSE at the Advanced level. She was two years behind the other girls who were mainly sixteen with some fifteen-year-olds and she had to abide by the school rules.

She really didn't mind having to do so because even though Mandy had matured, her social skills and emotional intelligence was that of a younger girl. For two years she had been virtually secreted from the world and had very little interaction with anyone other than her father.

Mandy read the school joining instructions for new students carefully. Upper Thomas Street considered itself a progressive school which allowed students some latitude. Students could wear makeup and colour their hair but there was a strict uniform policy. It made sense. Wearing a uniform was supposed to give the students a sense of belonging and prevent social competitiveness and brand shaming. She re-read the instructions again:

Fifth form girls should wear a smart suit in dark colours -- Navy, Black or Charcoal Grey. They may wear a skirt no shorter than 20cm above the knee or a tailored dress. A plain blouse or smart office top should be worn. A jumper or cardigan may be worn over the blouse and under the jacket. Tights (plain or black) should be worn with a skirt. Sensible, smart, black shoes should be worn and heels should be flat or 5cm or under. Boots or trainers are not permitted.

Fifth Formers are expected to recognise the importance of taking pride in a smart appearance and of setting an example to younger pupils. Nail polish is allowed, but not artificial nails or nail extensions. If worn, makeup should not be too prominent. One earring is permitted in each ear. Dangly earrings should be discreet, and ear cuffs are not permitted. Hair dye of natural colours is permitted.

Mandy read the final paragraph and sighed:

The Second Hand School Uniform Shop is a thriving shop with a huge stock of really good quality items of uniform all sold at half the new price. We have often provided girls will all the things that they need to have a complete school uniform.

Mandy knew that this was where the 'povo' girls bought their school uniforms. There was no doubt that she was now a povo girl and that was where she went to buy her uniforms: two skirts, two blouses, a blazer, sports skirt and sports top and a cardigan.

Mandy raided her moneybox and went to the local Debenhams to purchase the rest. She bought five pairs of white lycra-nylon full-cut knickers and two matching brassieres, five packets of fifteen denier nude pantyhose (Mandy preferred to use the word 'pantyhose' to describe sheer hosiery rather than 'tights' which she used to describe opaque hosiery) and then went looking for shoes.

She found a pair of classic black Mary Jane's with a 5cm wedge heel that would be suitable for school and a pair of cheap trainers for PE. The purchases cleaned out her meagre savings but she was happy that she had what she needed.

For the last two years she hadn't cared about her appearance. Cleaning the house, tending to her father, cooking, washing and ironing took up most of her time and she'd dressed mostly in dowdy second-hand tracksuits or ill-fitting jeans and jumpers. She hadn't bothered with makeup at all.

Mandy took her purchases home and laid them out on her bed and then she had a brainwave and went up into the attic and found where her dad had put Jacky's things when she left him. When Jacky had walked out on Steve she simply failed to return home from work one day having taken her personal papers and her passport. She'd texted Steven the fact she was leaving him from the airport.

In fit of pique Steven had packed up everything Jacky owned and put it up in the attic.

Mandy rummaged around in the dusty attic fighting off daddy long-leg spiders until she found her mother's cosmetics cases.

Jacky had been a clotheshorse and an amateur cosmetologist and hairstylist. She had shown Mandy how to use makeup and style her hair as soon as she entered her teens and Mandy now had access to all of Jacky's cosmetics. She carried them down the rickety ladder to her room where she rummaged through the extensive collection and laid out what she needed on her little vanity table, a gift for her fourteenth birthday, the rest went under the bed.

Mandy put on her bathrobe and padded down to the only bathroom in the house. She passed her father's bedroom and she could hear the football on the TV set that she had set up for him at the foot of his bed. The bathroom was tiny with a bath/shower combo and a small sink with a mirror-cabinet over it. Mandy hadn't shaved her legs for two years and although she was not hirsute, she went through half a dozen disposable razors until her legs were smooth. She clipped her toenails, bushed her teeth and took a shower.

Mandy was going to try on her school uniform and surprise her father. She knew that he was happy that she was going back to school and would be delighted to see her dressed in her Upper Thomas Street School uniform.

Jacky had instructed Mandy when she first started wearing pantyhose that she should put them on first and put on her knickers over. It was opposite to what most women did but Jacky had said the aesthetic is more important than comfort. Why buy pretty knickers and then cover them with pantyhose? She'd also explained that when wearing short skirts (and Jacky always wore short skirts) the odd panty-flash was inevitable, so if you're going to show off your knickers, do it so they can properly be seen.

Mandy had cringed when her mother said that men preferred it that way too.

"They find it easier to get their hands inside your knickers and stroke you through your tights," Jacky had explained to her blushing daughter.

Anyway that's what Mandy did. She unwrapped a pair of Pretty Polly - Day to Night fifteen denier nude tights. They came in a two-pack for only £6.50 which was a bargain. She opened the cellophane of one of the packs and carefully extracted them. They felt so sleek and sensuous to her touch. Mandy hadn't worn anything so delicate for such a long time.

She sat on the edge of the bed and put them on one leg at time, standing up to pull up the gusset and smooth it around her buttocks. She looked at her thatch of pubic hair through the diaphanous nylon. She knew that her mother kept her pubic hair trimmed and now Mandy wished she taken the time to trim her own. She could do it later; it didn't matter now.

Next she opened a packet of the white lycra-nylon full-cut knickers and stepped into them. They slipped up her legs, gliding along the nylon-lycra blend of her stockings easily, causing little tingles of delight as they slid along her legs and when she pulled them tight around her waist.

Mandy had gotten used to the feel of threadbare cotton knickers, denim, and rough cotton fabrics against her hairy legs and body for so long that she was overjoyed by the feel of the decadent garments against her sensitive flesh. She had to tell herself to settle down. It wasn't as if she was going to wearing a Dior evening gown; she was just trying on her school uniform.

She put on the brassiere and once again wished taken after her mother when it came to breast-size. Jacky had big tits that had been surgically enhanced at a considerable cost and she liked to show them off by wearing low-cut tops or dresses with plunging necklines. Mandy had a very nice set of B-cups that were perky and proportional to her frame. Jacky had told Mandy that she was all legs, elbows and bum when she was growing up. Her father had teased her calling her daddy-longlegs. The truth was that Mandy was tall and lithe and could probably have modelled given the opportunity.

She checked herself out in the old spotted mirror, the splotches caused by moisture that oxidized the silver nitrate on the back of the glass. The full-length mirror was framed in teak and had been given to Mandy by her grandmother. Jacky had told her to sell it to an antique shop but Mandy's sentiment overrode Jacky's greed. Steven had had to step in when an argument broke out between mother and daughter when Mandy found out that Jacky had asked to have it appraised for sale.

Mandy had won out and for Steve it was another strike against him as far as his wife was concerned.

Mandy sat at the vanity and began to do her makeup. Jacky had not been a particularly affectionate or caring mother but she had taught Mandy some womanly arts, one of which was how to apply her makeup. Mandy painted her face the way Jacky had shown her, more Essex girl than Sloane Ranger, heavy on the eyeliner and mascara and red lipstick.

Mandy had shampooed and dried her long blonde hair and it now hung listlessly around her face. She wished that she had the money to get it cut and styled but for now she had just brushed it and tried her best to straighten the fringe.

She smiled at herself in the mirror. Things weren't that bad! Her dad was getting better and she was going back to school!

Mandy put on the plain white cotton blouse and buttoned it. It seemed tighter than when she had tried it on in the shop but it fitted, although the top buttons were under a little stress. She stepped into the navy-blue pleated skirt and pulled it up. She was sure that when she'd tried it on in the secondhand shop that it had fitted better. She tucked the tails of the blouse into the skirt and zipped the skirt closed. It was tight around her waist and she reckoned that the hem might be a little short. She picked up the ruler and measured. It was 22cm above her knee. But whereabouts on her knee was she supposed to measure?

She wondered if the snooty lady with the resting bitch face at the Second Hand School Uniform Shop had changed the sizes on her, deliberately giving Mandy a size smaller than what she had tried on. Mandy knew that the rich kids called the second-hand shop the 'charity shop' or the povo shop. The upper-class women who worked in such places always seemed to look down their noses at the clientele. The shop had a 'no returns' policy on clothing so she was stuck with the clothing she had purchased.

There being nothing she could do about it she slipped on her new classic black pumps with the 5cm wedge heel. The lift provided by the low heel elongated her legs and pushed out her bottom. She smoothed out the pleats in her skirt, put on her blazer and looked at herself critically.

She used to watch old movies with her dad and one of their favourites was a movie called St Trinian's about an anarchic school for uncontrollable girls run by an eccentric headmistress. In the film the girl's school uniforms were stylised throwbacks to the days of boarding schools but were highly sexualised, skirts being short, stocking-tops being shown, heels being high and makeup being slutty.

Mandy and her father would watch the series of St Tinian movies as a guilty pleasure while Jacky was out.

Mandy didn't quite look sluttish in her school uniform but it certainly might be considered a little provocative by some. But the more Mandy preened in front of the mirror the more she convinced herself that the uniform looked fine. It looked more than fine, she looked great in it.

Her mother had left behind her collection of perfume and colognes and Mandy had brought down a bottle of Dior Poison and she gave herself a good spray before she left the room.