“Correct, Thomas, you won’t know anything about this. Why? Because the note is addressed to Mr and Mrs Taylor.” Oh God, this could only be from the school! What has she done?! She told me she wouldn’t say anything to my parents for now! He carries on, “Well, don’t you want to know what it says?” With that he slams the note at my chest, winding me and knocking me backwards, my arms flailing. I hear mother gasp inwardly. “Read it then, stupid.”
My throat is dry, and it takes me a few seconds to gather myself before I can feasibly formulate the words. “Dear Mr and Mrs Taylor, I just wanted to notify you that I’ve had a chat with Thomas today. I told him that I wouldn’t be involving you at this stage but after due consideration I feel that it’s only fair that you’re kept involved so we’re all aware of the situation. With your co-operation and input, hopefully things can improve. Thomas has always been a capable student but over these past few months his grades have been slipping and it’s giving us cause for concern. Also, he has become very withdrawn, choosing to spend more and more time by himself. I hope the chat I had with him helped and perhaps you could possibly provide some input? I look forward to hearing from you. Yours sincerely, Miss Davies.”
“Well then, what have you got to say for yourself? Speak up boy!”
I don’t know what to say, I don’t want to aggravate the situation any further, so I simply say, “Sorry Sir.”
“‘Sorry Sir; sorry Sir’,” he mimics. “Well, it’s too bloody late for sorry. That meddling teacher of yours is poking her nose in where it’s not wanted and either one of you or both of you need punished for it. I mean, on the face of it, it would make sense that you, Thomas, should receive the punishment because after all it involves you. But, if we stop and think about it, Mary, you’re the useless bitch who gave birth to this pathetic excuse for a human being and you raised him, so hmmm … this really is tricky! What am I to do? Let me think.”
A loaded silence fills the room and every part of me wants to turn and flee but another part tells me it’ll be far worse if I don’t surrender to his mercy, so my feet stand firm. “Ah ha, I have it,” he says. “Mary, have you prepared dinner yet?”
A little voice pipes up, “Yes.”
“Wonderful,” he says. “In that case, follow me, you two.” We shuffle behind him, both too terrified to even attempt eye contact with one another. He leads us to the kitchen then has mother plate his food up. “First things first,” he says, “you two sit down; arms around the backs of the chairs.” We oblige, fearful of what is coming next. “Why the long faces?” he says, clearly delighting in seeing our suffering. “Let me just get something. He is back in a flourish with four lengths of rope. He proceeds to bind each of us to our chairs by our hands at the back and around our ankles. The rope is so tight it is chaffing at my ankles and wrists and it feels as though the blood supply is being cut off.
“There we go, you’re all strapped in nicely the pair of you and here you shall remain until tomorrow morning. If you mess yourselves, you needn’t think I’m coming to clean the stinking mess up! You can sit in your own piss and shit for all I care!” With that he sat down to his dinner and set about wolfing it down. The noises emanating from him whilst he ate were truly abhorrent. When he’d finished it, he flung his plate in the general direction of the sink, let out a very loud belch, and then he was off out the door, leaving mother and I strapped to our chairs, two lost souls.
We sat like that for Lord only knows how long, lost in our own thoughts, trying to comprehend the grim situation we now found ourselves in. Perhaps it was a combination of shock and fear, but we were rendered mute for quite some time. Eventually I gathered myself and asked mother if she was OK. “Yes, love, don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. It could’ve been worse.” I find myself nodding in agreement with her but that’s really to quell her unease. ‘It could’ve been worse’ is not exactly my sentiments right now sat here bound to a stiff chair for an indiscriminate period of time with (as father kindly informed us) no toilet breaks. Clearly no food or drink to be had either but, even though I’m starving, it’s probably not a bad thing in the light of the toilet situation.
I realise my senses are heightened with nothing to do other than listen out for noises or take in objects around the room. I can hear the chatter of my siblings from the adjacent room, and it is getting louder and more animated. Then the noise shifts in direction and grows in volume as they make their way towards the kitchen, obviously looking for food.
Leading the pack is James and he is his usual exuberant self. He fails to hide the look of shock when he sees us and shouts, “Mum; Thomas; no, what has he done?!” I shake my head violently and tell him to hush quickly. In a quieter voice he carries on, “No I can release you both. Come on you two, help me!” I stop him in his tracks.
“No James, please just leave us. If you release us, he’ll go mad, and we’ll be in way more trouble. Please just go back to your rooms, all of you.”
Juliet is just staring, wide eyed, not sure what to say and she simply comes over and plants a kiss on my cheek and mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Juliet, that was lovely. I bet you’re all hungry? There’s some bread and butter over there if you want to fix yourselves some.”
James is still unfazed. “I’m not bothered about fixing myself food, I want to get you both out of here! How long is he leaving you here for?”
“Overnight,” I respond. “Don’t worry, it’s not so bad and I’ll look after mother.”
“That’s not on,” he says and with lightning speed he is around the back of my chair trying to loosen off the bindings. I’m panicked now but try to keep my voice low so as not to alert him. “Get off, James, now I mean it! You’re only going to make things worse for us.” I feel his hands loosening their grip and at the same time I exhale a sigh of relief.
I address all three of them; “We both really appreciate you trying to help us but if you really want to help us the best thing you can do is grab yourselves a quick bite to eat and get out of here as soon as possible. If he catches any of you in here, you might find yourselves in the same position as mother and I.”
Mother seconds this, “Yes just go, all three of you, be gone now!”
James and Juliet seem to be pacified with this, but I sense there’s something to come from Caroline.
“Are you in pain?” she asks, and I can’t tell whether this question is borne out of concern or a morbid fascination, you were never too sure with Caroline. I assume the former.
“No, we’re OK, thanks, Caroline, we’re not in pain, just a little bit uncomfortable.” There is more to come.
“Did you know that you can lose fingers and toes if the blood supply is cut off for long enough?” This was worrying. I am starting to think the things she’s seen in the croft are having a really bad impact on her. This needs nipped in the bud.
“I’m sure we’re not going to lose any fingers and toes, Caroline, so don’t worry.” With that last sentence I hear a sharp intake of breath from mother. I have to call time on this because it’s clearly distressing her even more. “Just be quick the three of you, please, that’s all I ask in case he comes back and you get into trouble or get us into further trouble.” It looked as though finally my words had penetrated as they set about making a quick snack for themselves before reluctantly leaving us to it.
I had no idea what time it was as there was no clock in the kitchen and being June there wouldn’t be a sunset until after 10 o’clock. I stare across at mother. She had what could only be described as a weary acceptance scrawled across her face. I wasn’t old but I was old enough to realise that she was a broken woman. This was mental torment what he was putting us through, and I couldn’t help feeling guilty. Mother was being punished for something I’d done. I broke the silence; “I’m so sorry, mother, for all this, it’s all my fault. If it weren’t for that note, you wouldn’t have got into trouble.”
She beams across at me, “That’s OK, son, but what note? What are you talkin
g about?” What are you talking about? What am I talking about?? What was she talking about?! How could she not remember about the note?
“The note, mother, from my teacher. That’s why we’re both tied up!”
“Sorry, son, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
This place is literally driving me insane! Why couldn’t she remember what happened earlier this evening that led to us being tied up to the chairs? I’m too young to understand the workings of the mind and ponder whether she’s becoming forgetful (although I think she’s too young for this) or is she suffering somehow with trauma over what he’s put her through over the years? Perhaps she is adapting and evolving to her circumstances and has found a way to blot it all out? I decided there is no point in forcing the issue as I don’t want her to have to relive the experience all over again. Anyway, I have a more burning issue to attend to. What I feared would happen has come to fruition – I have a full bladder and I can’t hold out much longer.
I distract myself by looking out of the window and notice that sundown is approaching. The sky is vibrant, one of those summer skies where you get flashes of red, pink, and blue etched across the horizon and you know it’s going to be a hot day the following day. This provides only a momentary distraction as my bladder snaps my mind back to the fore. Instead of just a niggling sensation, it has developed into something far more insistent. It feels as though every square inch of my groin and stomach are fit to burst. I cannot go in front of mother, I just can’t. I wonder if she is enduring a similar torture and I glace over, surprised to see her head lolling gently back and forth resembling a nodding dog as the first signs of sleep begin to envelop her.
I can hold it no longer and just let go. I feel the hot liquid gushing down my leg, the tell-tail stain spreading its way across my jeans. I watch in fascination as I see the liquid pouring forth out of my jeans, some choosing to saturate my socks and stay put in my trainers; the rest pouring out across the wooden floor, spreading out in all directions. I’m sure this is what father was hoping for and only gives him ammunition to further berate me. I take a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. The pungent smell of ammonia hits my nostrils from the puddle at my feet and makes me gag.
One thing I can be thankful for is the bindings around my wrists and ankles have loosened off somewhat. I can only assume mother’s bindings weren’t as tight as mine as she’s managed to drift off, bless her. I have no idea how long I stayed conscious for but eventually I managed to find some rest.
It was very much a fitful night’s sleep. I woke several times throughout the night and even in the gloom I noticed a similar puddle to mine under mother’s chair. When I heard the rooster call, I was more grateful than ever before. Surely my impending release was coming.
Life on the croft started early so I was confident that father would be through shortly to untie us but there was no sign of him. Mother woke after me and she was as confused as I was as to his whereabouts. He had to be here soon, I have school this morning and the bus to catch! My siblings had already paid us a visit earlier this morning.
Eventually we hear the loud footsteps along the hallway. His towering presence fills the length and breadth of the doorway when he reaches the kitchen. He bends over, gagging and retching. When he stands upright again, he addresses us. “You pair are a couple of stinking dogs. I knew you’d piss in your pants.” There is no response from either of us, better to just let him get it all off his chest. “I imagine you’ll be wanting set free like two little birds?” He then recites the nursery rhyme ‘Two Little Dicky Birds’ in a sing-song voice as he roughly sets about loosening the ropes (the sound of that nursery rhyme being sung by him is truly sickening).
However, the feeling of having my limbs back into their normal place of alignment is incredible. I am still very sore, yes but oh, what a relief! “Not so fast, boy! Don’t either of you move a muscle. You’re not going anywhere until this lot has been cleaned and polished up. I’m off to feed the hens. When I get back this had better be sparkling.”
We set about making the best job we possibly could of cleaning the place up. In no time at all however he was back in the room inspecting my work. “OK, now off to school, you better run or you’re gonna miss the bus. No time for breakfast or to get changed.” What?! He’s expecting me to go to school in my urine saturated clothes?! I try to reason with him, “But—”
“Don’t you dare try to answer me back. Out that door now or so help me God I’ll strap you back in.”
I walk out the front door gripped in a state of panic. What should I do? If I get on the bus everyone will smell me and my life won’t be worth living any longer at high school. It’s bad enough at the moment with only another couple of the outcasts choosing to associate with me. If I go into school in this state, I’ll be targeted and bullied mercilessly. And what about Miss Davies? What is she going to say or any of my other teachers? They are bound to start asking more questions. Will they contact the social work department? I shudder at the thought. What punishment would father dish out next if this went any further?
My brain feels as though it’s going to explode with all the thoughts churning over and over and I have to reach a conclusion soon as the bus will be here any minute. I notice my heart is pumping at an alarming rate and my throat is constricted. I am struggling to draw a breath and I barely notice Caroline is at my side.
“Looks like you’re having a panic attack,” she says. “Are you struggling to breath?” Unable to speak I simply nod. “I read about this, all you have to do is take deep breaths and extend the exhale.” I take her advice and after a few rounds of deep breathing I feel the edges of the panic beginning to subside.
“Thank you,” I manage.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“I don’t know but there’s no way I can go to school like this! I need to think of something, the bus is going to be here soon.”
A voice pipes up from behind me, “You’re not going to school with those clothes on, I’ve got a plan.” James, you’ve got to love him, James to the rescue! “Make your way down the glen to the outskirts of town. There’s an old payphone there. Use it to phone the school pretending to be father to say you’re sick and unable to make it in.”
It was a plan but how feasible? “I can’t do that; I don’t know how to speak like father!”
“Oh yes, you do,” he says. “You’re always mimicking his voice. ‘Thomas, come here now, Thomas do this, do that.’”
“I guess so but even if I get away with it what am I going to do all day?”
“What are you going to do all day?! You’re going to taste freedom that’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to lose yourself for the day and love every minute of it!”
Well, this puts a new spin on things. Something positive coming out of this nightmare situation. Where would I go with my newfound freedom? I catch myself. I have to get through the first stage and pray this call to the school works. No time to waste, the bus is rounding the corner so off I dash.
It takes me a good half an hour or so to get to the phone box and I step inside. I can’t help but laugh inwardly as I imagine the look on father’s face if he could see me right now! The steam would be coming out of his ears! En route to the phone box I passed a couple of people going about their business but I felt sure they knew there was something amiss, such is the way of it when you know you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing.
I pick up the receiver with my left hand and hold it to my ear. With my other hand I reach for some loose change. Everything was going well, and my right hand was tracking its way towards the coin slot but then I lost my nerve and quickly replaced the receiver. OK, deep breaths (taking Caroline’s advice) and I also remembered the chat I’d had with James. ‘I can do this!’ I say to myself. Before lifting the receiver again in my head, I create a mental image of a recent conversation I’d had with father, playing it out as a movie scene taking note of the pitch and tone
of his voice and any nuances. I didn’t want to overthink this either but decided it was probably best to have a practice run first. I have a quick look around outside to ensure there is no one there (as this would surely look odd, me having a conversation to myself!), then I begin; “May I speak with Mr Hedley please? … Ahh, Mr Hedley, this is Bert Taylor here. It was just to let you know that unfortunately Thomas won’t make it into school today, he’s feeling unwell.” I laugh involuntarily as I realise I’m quite good at this. Yes, full marks, Thomas, managing to lower the pitch and tone of my voice to emanate father’s deep gravelly tone.
I’m ready. Without hesitation this time I once again lift the receiver and this time the money makes its way into the slot and I punch the numbers in. I take a few deep breaths as I wait to be connected and even if I do say so myself it all goes swimmingly well. Mr Hedley (our headteacher) is ‘very sorry to hear Thomas is feeling unwell’ and wishes him a speedy recovery. Bingo! Job done; I now have free time to myself but what to do? Of course – spend the day at Dunvegan Castle.
I hadn’t been to Dunvegan Castle since I was just a small boy, and it held a place in my heart. It was the stuff of myth and legend. There was no need to go into the castle itself (and I reminded myself I was still smelling ghastly and should avoid crowds!) but just to be in the grounds of the castle taking everything in would be enough. I could lose myself and pretend to be someone else for the day and that’s exactly what I did. The time flew by as I savoured the sights and sounds en route to the castle, the sense of freedom intoxicating.
Then I eventually came upon it, the castle rising sheer from the perpendicular edges of the rock, its massive battlements ‘holding fast’ against a spectacular backdrop of sky, mountains, and sea. It is awe-inspiring and takes my breath away. Father is unable to penetrate this magical scene before me and this newfound freedom as I say a silent prayer for time to stand still so I can stay locked in this happy state for as long as possible.
IT’S TIME: COULD YOU RISK YOUR SANITY TO SAVE YOURSELF? Page 6