by Sara Gethin
I have remembered something. I’m pulling my hand. It’s slipping out from Danni’s hand. I am running back to Miss. ‘I remember,’ I say. ‘I remember.’ I’m saying it to Miss. I’m saying it loud. ‘About Dat.’ Miss is looking at me. Her mouth is opening but she isn’t saying anything. ‘It’s right,’ I say. ‘It’s right. He did hurt me. He did!’
Miss’s mouth is like a little circle now. Her face is very white. There are big purple splodges under her eyes. ‘He did?’ she says. Her words are tiny. ‘Dat hurt you?’
‘Yes, Mammy was right, he did.’ I’m jumping up and down. I’m happy. I’m very very happy. I am very very happy that I’ve remembered. ‘We were in the garden and we were making the patio look nice for Nanno, and Dat moved a big flowerpot and he didn’t know my finger was under it – this one…’ I’m holding up my pointing finger ‘… and it got squashed and the nail came off it the next week and Dat said he was very, very sorry.’ I’m running out of breath. ‘So he did. He did hurt me.’ I’m clapping my hands. ‘Can I see him again now? Can I see him? Can I go to Dat’s tonight? Can I? Can I?’
Miss is putting her hands on my shoulders. Her face isn’t white anymore. It’s pink. She’s letting out a big breath. ‘Not tonight.’ She’s smiling. She’s kissing the top of my head. ‘Not tonight.’
‘But soon,’ I say. ‘I can see him soon.’
Miss is still smiling at me. She’s kissing my head again. ‘I hope so. I really do.’
Danni has come back for me. She’s holding out her hand again with her sparkly blue and green and yellow nails. I’m holding her hand. We’re going back to the swingy doors.
I’m looking over my shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Miss,’ I say. I am waving and waving to her. ‘Goodbye.’
* * *
Danni’s car smells like oranges. It smells like the oranges in Nanno’s fruit bowl. I don’t like oranges. I’m remembering the one the lady next door gave me.
‘You could put your head back and go to sleep,’ Danni says. She’s looking at me in her mirror. It has a smiley face hanging on it.
‘I’m not sleepy.’ I’m driving my truck on the seat.
‘It’s very late,’ Danni says. ‘Or early.’
I say, ‘Your car smells like oranges.’
She’s pointing to the smiley face. The one on the mirror. ‘Air freshener.’ She’s putting on the radio. There’s someone talking on it. ‘It’s a long drive. You might as well close your eyes.’
The orangey smell is making me remember Dat. Sometimes Dat peels an orange. He holds a bit out to me and he says, ‘Go on, try it.’ And I try a little bit. But I don’t like oranges. ‘One day you will,’ Dat says.
‘Are we going to Dat’s house?’
Danni’s looking at me in the mirror. She’s looking at the road and she’s looking at me again. There’s music on the radio now. ‘Not tonight.’
‘Sometime soon?’
‘Maybe.’
There’s a funny sound. It’s like the music on the radio but it isn’t the music on the radio. Danni says, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi, Danni,’ I say.
Danni’s turning off the radio. A voice says, ‘It’s Sharon.’
‘Hello, Sharon,’ I say.
Danni says, ‘Hi. We’re in the car. Can’t talk for long, I’m on hands-free.’
Sharon’s voice says, ‘Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.’
Danni says, ‘It’s okay. We’re sorted now.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘We’re sorted now.’
Danni says, ‘I’ve got Tomos with me. As you can tell, he’s wide awake.’ She’s winking at me in the mirror. The smiley face is twisting round and round. I’m trying to wink back at her. I’m trying to close one eye. But my other eye wants to close too.
‘Sounds like you’ve had a busy night,’ Sharon’s voice says.
‘We have,’ I say.
‘Four over in West Hill,’ Danni says. ‘Mum’s gone to Malaga.’
Sharon’s voice says, ‘Known to us?’
Danni says, ‘Nope. Neighbour phoned it in.’
‘Did you find anywhere for them?’
‘It was difficult. No room at Brynmawr. Ameena took them in the end.’
‘All four?’
‘All four. God love her.’
‘God love her,’ I say.
‘So where’s Tomos going?’
‘Cardiff. To emergency,’ Danni says. ‘Jane’s.’
I’m sitting up. I am sitting up straight in my seat. ‘Will there be fire engines?’ I say.
Sharon’s voice says, ‘She’s a trooper, too.’
‘Thank God,’ Danni says.
I’m bending forward. ‘Will there be tanks?’
Sharon’s voice says, ‘I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, then.’
‘Okay,’ Danni says. ‘See you.’
‘See you.’
‘And ambulances?’ I say.
Danni is turning the radio on again. ‘Sorry, Tomos. Did you say something?’
‘At Emergency Jane’s?’
‘We’ll be there in a little while. We’ve just joined the motorway,’ Danni says. ‘Try to sleep.’
‘I’m not sleepy,’ I say. Danni’s driving her car quite fast now. I’m watching the smiley face on Danni’s mirror. It is twisting round and round. ‘I’d like to go to Emergency Jane’s,’ I say. ‘I like troopers. I’d like to see the fire engines and the ambulances.’ I’m parking my truck next to my leg. Danni’s singing the song on the radio. She’s singing it in a small voice. My voice is quiet too. ‘I’d like to see the tanks at Emergency Jane’s.’ It’s very dark outside now. There are no lights. ‘I like tanks,’ I say. ‘I’d like to go to Emergency Jane’s.’ There are no cars outside. There are no houses outside. Just lots and lots of black road.
My eyes are very tired. They’re tired of looking. They’re tired of looking at all the black outside. My head is very heavy. I’m putting it on the back of the seat. ‘But most of all.’ My voice is very quiet now. It’s hard for me to hear it. ‘Most of all,’ I say. ‘I’d like to go to Dat’s.’
* * *
My head has jumped up. My eyes have bounced open. It’s still dark outside. We are still on the black road. We are still going very fast. ‘Nine-nine-nine,’ I say. ‘Nine-nine-nine-emergency.’ I can see the back of Danni’s head. I can see her eyes in the mirror.
Her eyes are smiling at me. ‘What’s wrong, Tomos?’ She’s yawning. Her yawn is making her words funny. ‘Were you dreaming?’
‘Nine-nine-nine-emergency.’ I’m sitting up straight. ‘Quick,’ I say. ‘Quick.’ Danni’s eyes are looking at me. They’re watching me in the mirror. ‘Quick.’ I’m bouncing. I’m bouncing on my seat. ‘Nine-nine-nine-emergency.’ I’m very loud.
‘Shhh, shhh,’ she says. ‘It’s hard for me to drive when you’re shouting.’
‘Quick,’ I say. ‘Quick.’ I am still very loud. I’m trying to find the click on my seat belt.
‘Whoah!’ Danni is loud now too. ‘Stop that, Tomos. Don’t get out of your—’ the click has clicked. The seat belt is slipping off. I’m jumping up. I’m jumping onto my feet. I’m jumping and jumping and my truck has fallen onto the floor. ‘Sit down,’ Danni says. She is very loud. ‘Sit down!’
‘Nine-nine-nine-emergency,’ I say. I am loud too. ‘We need to phone it. Nine-nine-nine-emergency.’
‘Sit down!’ Danni is very very loud. I can see her eyes in the mirror. They are very very cross. I’m sitting down again. The car’s not going fast now. It’s going slower and slower. It has stopped. Danni is turning round and she’s looking at me. ‘Right, tell me, Tomos,’ she says. She is quiet again but her eyes are still a bit cross. ‘Why do we need to call nine-nine-nine?’
I am taking a big breath. ‘Because of Brick.’ I’m remembering Brick. I’m remembering something about him. I don’t want to remember it. I am closing my eyes. I’m closing them tight. But I can still see it. ‘Because of the red.’
‘What was red?’ Danni’s holding my arm. I can feel her fingers. ‘Look at me, Tomos.’ She’s squeezing my arm. ‘Look at me.’ I’m opening my eyes. I am opening them a tiny bit. ‘What red?’ Danni eyes are very big. They are looking right at my eyes. They don’t look cross anymore.
‘The red on Brick,’ I say. ‘On Brick’s tee shirt.’
‘On Brick’s tee shirt?’ She’s making her face crinkly. ‘I don’t understand, Tomos. Is Brick a person?’ I don’t know what Danni means. I’m lifting up my shoulders. ‘Is he a boy?’ she says.
‘He’s a man.’
‘Where is he? Stay still, Tomos. Where is he?’
I am trying to stay still. ‘In Mammy’s bedroom.’
Danni says, ‘Is Brick your mammy’s boyfriend?’ I’m nodding. ‘He had red on his tee shirt,’ she says, ‘and he was in your mammy’s bedroom?’
I’m trying not to close my eyes. I’m trying not to think about what I saw. ‘He’s on the floor,’ I say. My eyes are closing again. I’m squeezing them tight. I’m remembering seeing him. I’m remembering seeing him through the gap in the door. The door of Mammy’s bedroom. ‘Brick’s on the floor,’ I say. ‘And his tee shirt’s all red.’
I am jumping again. I can’t stay still. I’m jumping and jumping and jumping and jumping. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to remember it. I don’t want to think about Brick. I am pulling my arm away from Danni. I’m squashing my hands over my eyes. I’m squashing and squashing them. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember the red. ‘And there was a big cut.’ I’m squashing my hands over my eyes. I am jumping and jumping and jumping and jumping.
‘A big cut where, Tomos?’
She’s getting my hands. She’s pulling them away from my eyes. She’s holding my arms now. I can’t jump when she’s holding my arms. ‘Where’s the cut, Tomos?’ She’s giving my arms a squeeze.
I’m opening my eyes. Danni is looking at me. She’s looking and looking at me. A car is zooming past us. It’s making Danni’s car shake. There are lights on Danni’s face. And in her eyes. They have gone now. It’s very dark again. I’m looking at her eyes. They are very very black. ‘Where’s the cut, Tomos?’ Her voice is quiet now. ‘Where’s the cut?’
My voice is tiny too. Tiny tiny. ‘On Brick’s neck,’ I say.
Miss Again
I am waiting outside the staffroom door because I have come to see Miss. Mrs Wilson told me to come here. She said I could leave after-school choir early and I am waiting outside the staffroom door because Miss has come to see me.
The door is open and I have knocked it, but Miss hasn’t heard me. She’s right down the other end of the staffroom and she’s talking to my new teacher. Her name is Mrs Clarke and she’s nice. She has swingy hair. Sometimes Mrs Clarke gets my name wrong like my old social worker used to. But I don’t mind too much. Mrs Clarke tries her best to remember that my name is Tomos, not Thomas. And I have a new social worker now. His name is Gavin.
Miss and Mrs Clarke are over by the cups and the kettle and I’m standing in the gap where the door should be and I’m knocking again. And I’m waiting for Miss to see me.
‘I heard they went to Scotland,’ Mrs Clarke says, ‘and left him alone for the whole of the Easter holidays. Getting drugs for some friend of theirs.’
‘Well, he was alone for the first week,’ Miss says, ‘and that was terrible enough.’ It’s quite hard to hear them talking because the kettle is very noisy. ‘The police had been watching the men they were meeting in Glasgow. They’d been under surveillance for weeks.’
The kettle has clicked off. Their voices are much louder now. ‘And that’s when she was arrested?’ Mrs Clarke says. She’s pouring water from the kettle into two mugs. ‘After she attacked the policeman?’
Miss is nodding. ‘Mmm.’
‘Pulled a knife.’ Mrs Clarke is shaking her head.
I have knocked the door again, but they still haven’t seen me. I can see their backs. It’s hard to knock the door when it’s open, but I’m trying to make my knocks loud.
‘Thankfully she only caught his arm,’ Miss says.
Mrs Clarke is stirring the mugs. ‘But still, it’ll be a long sentence when you add assault to it.’ She’s holding out a mug and Miss is taking it. I’m wondering what kind of long sentences you add salt to. I think they must be sentences about fish and chips, like I eat fish and chips with vinegar and salt, but that isn’t a very long sentence really. I’m trying to make it a longer sentence. I’m adding ketchup to it and I’m trying to knock on the door too.
‘And I heard she wouldn’t say a word when she was arrested,’ Mrs Clarke says. ‘So they didn’t know her name, or where she was from. Or that she had a five-year-old alone back home.’ I’m knocking the door again and again, but it keeps moving away from my hand and Miss and Mrs Clarke are not turning round. ‘I expect it was handy for her to keep quiet. But the poor boy, all alone in the house. How could she do that to him?’
‘They said she went into a kind of shock,’ Miss says. ‘I remember she barely spoke when she first came to our foster parents. She’d found her mother dead a few days before. Heroin overdose.’
‘She doesn’t have any other family then?’ Mrs Clarke is putting the soggy tea bags into the bin. ‘No one looking out for the child while she was in Scotland?’
‘Her foster dad and I are the nearest thing to family she’s got – apart from her son,’ Miss says. ‘She was eight when her mother died. The things she saw as a child…’ Miss is shaking her head now. ‘She can’t help the way she is. She just lashes out if she feels trapped.’
‘But stabbing a policeman…’
‘I know.’ Miss is lifting her shoulders. ‘Anyway, when we finally found out where she was, we went to visit her in prison. She was putting on an act, being tough. But you could see the scared child in her eyes. It broke our hearts. I asked her to think again about her false accusation. You know…the physical abuse claim against our foster father? She looked right through me.’ Mrs Clarke is holding up a carton of milk and she’s shaking it a bit. Miss says, ‘Just a drop, thanks.’
Mrs Clarke is pouring milk into the mugs. ‘You’re certain she was making it up then.’
‘Absolutely positive,’ Miss says. ‘She was angry with our foster mum for being ill. And frightened of losing someone again, someone she loved.’
‘Strange way to show it,’ Mrs Clarke says, ‘taking it out on your foster father.’
‘Well, yes.’ Miss is nodding her head. She’s shaking it now. ‘It’s been very hard on him. He feels people are treating him differently, suspiciously. He’s moved from Carmarthen, and he spent all his life there.’ Miss is shaking and shaking her head. ‘It’s very sad.’
I am trying to knock again, but it’s hard to knock when the door is open because it keeps moving away from my hand.
‘But then last week she rang her old social worker,’ Miss says, ‘and told her she’d made a mistake.’
‘Well, that’s something,’ Mrs Clarke says.
‘She’s getting counselling, and help to come off the drugs.’ Miss is blowing into her mug. ‘If Dafydd and I can support her when she comes out she might be able to manage…’
Dafydd. I know that name.
‘That won’t be for a while yet, though.’
‘No.’ Miss is taking a sip of her tea. ‘She’s got visiting rights as a mother, but she’s refused to see him. I think she feels he’s better off without her.’
‘He’s such a lovely child,’ Mrs Clarke says.
‘Yes,’ Miss says, ‘he is, isn’t he? I hope she’ll change her mind soon. I don’t want him to forget her. She doesn’t deserve that.’
‘And the night she was arrested,’ Mrs Clarke says, ‘her boyfriend got away and drove back home?’
‘Mmm.’
Mrs Clarke is shaking her head. ‘Practically decapitated they said in the papers. It’s too horrible to think about. Have they arrested the person that
did it yet?’
‘No. The police believe Rhiannon could help, but she’s too frightened. She thinks someone might get to her, even in prison. And anyway, Nick Brickland had plenty of enemies.’
I’ve stopped knocking. I’m listening hard now. I can hear Miss saying names I know. Dafydd. Rhiannon. Brick’s real name.
‘And the police think that child was probably in the house when it happened.’ Mrs Clarke is shaking her head again. ‘Terrible. They say children block out difficult memories, don’t they?’
‘Mmm.’
‘And he’d had a blow to his head, hadn’t he?’
‘A fall. He had a cut.’ Miss is touching the back of her hair. ‘It didn’t seem much at the time. But I wish I’d remembered my first aid training and told them about it at the hospital.’ Miss is rubbing her tummy. ‘My hormones were all over the place.’
‘Well, he seems fine. He’s certainly a bright little thing,’ Mrs Clarke says. ‘He seems so happy most of the time. Chatty. He’s always smiling.’ She’s sipping her tea.
‘I’m glad to hear that.’
‘What about the neighbours? Did they see anything?’
‘No. No one saw a thing.’
‘I heard the two main suspects, two local men, have disappeared.’
‘Brick’s suppliers,’ Miss says. ‘They’ve got convictions for violence going way back. Brick had fallen out with them apparently.’
I don’t like hearing Brick’s name. It makes my tummy feel funny.
Mrs Clarke is nodding. She’s sipping her tea again. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t repeat this.’ She’s scratching her chin. ‘But a friend from Carmarthen told me that one of the suspects is Thomas’s father.’
I’m listening. I’m listening hard.
Miss is letting out a big breath. ‘Oh, that old rumour. People say it’s the drug dealer. The man with a web tattoo on his face.’
I don’t like remembering the man with the web tattoo. But I’m listening. I’m listening and listening.