Dishonour

by Jacqui Rose

  The line-up room was dark and six-year-old Bronwin wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. The woman who kept insisting on holding her hand smelt funny. A bit like the cupboard in the kitchen at her nanny’s house. She didn’t like the smell and she didn’t like the woman. She wanted to go home. Where was her mum anyway? She hoped she’d come and get her soon.

  ‘All we want you to do is tell us if you remember any of the men’s faces. We want you to have a good look and if you remember any of them, tell us.’

  ‘Can I have a word, Detective?’ A man stepped out of the shadows, making Bronwin retreat behind the social worker. She didn’t like her, but she liked the man with the booming voice even less. She listened to him, not understanding what he was saying; only understanding he was cross, like everybody seemed to be.

  ‘Detective, my clients feel it’s unfair they’re not only being forced to be in the line-up, but also the pick-out is going to be on the word of a child. We all know what children are like Detective. They choose things on a whim. Something as simple as the colour of a person’s jumper. I want a stop to this.’

  The officer in charge rubbed his top teeth with his tongue before answering. His mouth was dry and the thought of a strong cup of coffee was becoming distracting. He’d been here since yesterday night and he wasn’t even sure how he was managing to stand up, let alone have a coherent conversation.

  ‘You and I both know it’s going to go ahead. And you know the saying; if they’ve nothing to hide, they’ve got nothing to fear.’

  The man grinned nastily at the detective, his eyes reflecting the coldness in his smile. Bronwin took a sharp intake of breath. She didn’t like this at all. Why wasn’t anybody taking her home to bed? She was tired and wanted to snuggle up with Mr Hinkles, the teddy bear her sister had got her. Where was her sister anyway? She’d heard people talking about her and they’d asked her a lot of questions, but she hadn’t seen her; well, she didn’t think she had.

  The last time she saw her was in the woods. But she didn’t want to think about the woods, thinking about them gave her a funny feeling in her tummy. But she did want to see her sister.

  Big tears began to spill down Bronwin’s cheeks. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she watched them fall on to the floor, right next to the foot of the man with the booming voice. Cautiously, Bronwin looked at him from underneath her shaggy fringe. He was smart. Smart and clean. He also smelled nice. The only other person who Bronwin knew smelled nice like that was a man who had come to visit her mum before her mum had got angry and shouted at him. After that he hadn’t come back and even though Bronwin couldn’t remember his face clearly she could remember the clean, fresh smell.

  Quickly, Bronwin dropped her gaze as she saw the man looking at her. Her eyes wandered to his shoes. They were black shoes. Shiny black shoes apart from the bottom part of them which were dirty with mud. She looked up again, edging back as the man bent down to meet her stare.

  ‘Would you like a hanky?’

  Bronwin shook her head but the man insisted.

  ‘Here, take it.’ Pushing the crisp white handkerchief into Bronwin’s hand she noticed some letters embroidered on to it, but she wasn’t good with letters, especially fancy ones which swirled and curled like those did.

  She could feel her knees trembling. And the funny feeling in her tummy was beginning to come back. Taking hold of the smelly lady’s hand, Bronwin buried her face in the woman’s skirt, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and hoping that when she opened them again she would be back in her flat with her mum and sister.

  ‘Now is everybody ready? We need to get on with this.’ The detective’s voice had a tone of weariness. He was tired and didn’t expect much from this line-up, although in his gut he felt he had the right men, but he knew only too well with slick, high-powered lawyers like the one standing opposite him, even if the suspects had been caught with the blood-stained knife in their pocket and the word guilty written on their forehead, there was still a possibility of them walking free. Sometimes the law stank. Strong and rancid like the crimes themselves.

  ‘Are you ready Bronwin?’ The social worker pulled Bronwin away from her skirt as the lights on the other side of the mirrored line-up room went on.

  Bronwin nodded, not because she wanted to, but she understood that if she did she’d be able to get out of there and hopefully then she’d see her sister.

  ‘All you have to do is pick out the men who you think you saw in the woods. Do you think you can do that Bronwin?’

  Again Bronwin nodded, not wanting to think about the dark horrible woods. She stood on a chair and in front of her a procession of men began to walk in through the door on the other side of the glass.

  As Bronwin stood watching, the social worker whispered in Bronwin’s ear which made it tickle. ‘Don’t worry Bronwin, they can’t see you or hear you.’

  The men stood with their backs against the wall, staring ahead, holding up the boards they were given. The detective adjusted the microphone as he spoke in it.

  ‘Can you step forward number one and then turn to the left and to the right slowly.’ The tall man with dark hair stepped forward nervously, turning as instructed in both directions before stepping back to the wall.

  ‘Number two, can you step forward and then turn to the left and to the right slowly.’ Without taking his eyes off Bronwin’s reaction to the men, the detective stood up slightly as he realised he was too near the mike.

  ‘Number three, can …’

  Bronwin’s mind wandered off. Her legs were getting tired having to stand up and she thought it was funny the way all the men were staring ahead. The smelly lady had said they couldn’t see her, but she didn’t know how that was possible if she could see them. Bronwin bet she was telling lies. She knew grown-ups told lies as well as children, sometimes more. Even her mum told lies, saying she’d come home and then she wouldn’t and it would be left down to her sister to put her to bed.

  ‘Bronwin? Bronwin?’ The detective was talking to her. She didn’t know how long he had been but she could tell he was cross; his cheeks were red like her mum’s cheeks went red when she was angry with her.

  ‘Do you recognise any of them? Were any of them there in the woods?’ The detective’s voice was urgent as he stared at Bronwin who was busy chewing on her top lip.

  ‘Detective, let me handle it.’ The social worker cut her eye at the detective. ‘Bronwin, do you recognise any of them? Were any of them there in the woods?’

  Bronwin looked first at the detective and then at the smelly lady. She didn’t know why they were asking her the same question and arguing about it.

  The social worker sighed, looking at her cheap Timex brown leather strapped watch. ‘Bronwin, this is very important. If you can remember anything, you need to tell us. Can you remember who it was?’

  Bronwin nodded her head.

  ‘Show us then. Can you point them out?’

  Bronwin nodded again, she raised her hand and pointed, speaking in a small voice. ‘It was him.’

  The officer sprang into action. ‘Number eight.’

  ‘Yes. And him.’ She pointed again at the line-up.

  ‘Number two.’

  ‘Yes.’

  The detective’s face didn’t give anything away. In a matter-of-fact manner, he spoke. ‘Well done Bronwin. You’ve done really well.’

  Bronwin looked at him, her elf-like face turned to the side. She swivelled around, turning her back on the line-up and staring towards the door where the man with the booming voice stood. ‘And him. I saw him in the woods as well.’

  ‘Bronwin do you understand what happens to children who keep telling lies?’

  ‘I ain’t lying. It was him, it was that bloke. Why won’t you believe me?’

  The psychiatrist tapped his pen on his leg absentmindedly. ‘We’ve gone over this before and we both know why I won’t believe you, don’t we?’ The psychiatrist paused dramatically, then said, ‘Because it’s simply not
true. How do you think a person feels to be accused of bad things, Bronwin? Heinous things. How would you feel if I accused you of doing something bad?’

  ‘But you are. You’re saying I’m lying.’

  ‘That’s not the same Bronwin because you are.’

  Bronwin’s eyes were wide with fear as she cuddled Mr Hinkles, her teddy bear. ‘Please let me go home. I think I should go home now; me mum will be missing me.’

  Not being put-off but seemingly more determined by Bronwin’s tired plea, the psychiatrist continued angrily.

  ‘Bronwin, children who tell lies, especially dangerous ones which cause other people harm, sometimes can’t go home. How would you like to never go home?’

  Bronwin didn’t say anything but curled up tighter in her sadness as she listened to the doctor continue to talk. ‘And you know what’s happened now don’t you?’

  Bronwin shook her head.

  ‘Now everybody thinks you’re a liar. The police, the courts, even your mum does.’

  Hearing the psychiatrist mention her mother, Bronwin sat up, her tiny face scrunched up in a mixture of hurt and anger.

  ‘No she don’t! She never said that!’

  ‘Bronwin, I don’t tell lies because I know it’s wrong.’

  Rubbing away a tear with the back of her sleeve, Bronwin yelled, ‘You’re a big fat liar.’

  Taking his glasses off to wipe them with the corner of his starched white doctor’s coat, the psychiatrist didn’t bother to look at Bronwin as he spoke. ‘That’s why she hasn’t been to see you Bronwin, because she doesn’t like liars. No one is ever going to believe a word you say. No one trusts you Bronwin which means no one’s ever going to believe you when you tell them what happened in the woods.’

  At the word woods, Bronwin covered her ears.

  ‘It’s no good doing that Bronwin. The only way to change this is by telling the truth and stop these silly lies.’

  ‘But I keep telling you, it ain’t a lie. I want to go home. I want to see me mum and me sister.’

  The psychiatrist nodded to the white-gowned nurse in the corner of the room who stepped forward.

  ‘Bronwin, I’ve told you this before. Your sister is dead and because you told lies the people who really were responsible for her murder are free to go and hurt somebody else.’

  Two blinks was all it took for Bronwin to begin to scream. Her wail was fearful and high-pitched; an adult’s cry within a child’s body. The scream resonated through her and began to take possession of her body as she began to shake, convulsing into a fit.

  The nurse who was already next to Bronwin quickly and expertly administered the powerful drug. Almost immediately, Bronwin’s eyes began to roll back. Her shoulders began to slump and her mouth gently opened to one side as she lay on the bed in the tiny white-washed room.

  After a couple of minutes, Bronwin’s eyes slowly regained focus, she sat staring ahead at nothing but the blank wall. Today was her seventh birthday.

  In the next room, Bronwin’s mother sat nervously pulling down the grey nylon skirt she’d bought from Roman Road market the day before. She’d wanted to look presentable and it was only now she was deciding it might be too short. Perhaps she should’ve got the other one, the longer one, but it’d been a fiver more and she’d needed the fiver for the electricity key. Taking off her jacket, she placed it over her knees.

  She was nervous. Her hands were sweating and she could feel a prickly heat rash beginning to develop on her chest. She knew what these people were like. Knew how they judged. Christ, she’d been dealing with them since she was a kid herself and now they had their hands on her daughter.

  Week after week she’d called up to see Bronwin but they’d told her she couldn’t. Not even a phone call. She’d even turned up a few times hoping someone would show a bit of compassion, but she’d been turned away, not even being allowed to set foot in the children’s facility. Today was the first time she was able to see the doctor in charge, and as her Nan used to say, she was shitting bricks.

  Gazing around the room made her feel even more nervous. There were paintings of men in gilded frames on the wall looking superior and almost mocking in their pride. It surprised her to see the doctor’s office void of any medical books but instead filled with trinkets and thank you cards. Biting her thumb nail down to the quick and then having to suck it to stop it from bleeding, she jumped as the glass door opened.

  ‘Hello, I’m Dr Berry. Thank you for coming.’

  Not taking the outstretched hand, Bronwin’s mum thought the doctor looked like he should’ve retired years ago. His white hair and stooped shoulders made her feel as if she was paying a visit to her granddad rather than a child shrink.

  She spoke. Her hostility, caused by her nervousness, cut through her words. ‘I’ve been trying to come for a while now but then you’d already know that don’t you? What I want to know is when can I take Bronwin home?’

  ‘Well there might be a problem.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear about bleedin’ problems mate. I just want to take her home where she belongs. She’s my daughter, not yours.’

  Dr Berry went round to the other side of his desk. He pulled out his chair slowly, staring moodily over his rimless glasses. ‘How do you feel about your daughter’s death?’

  ‘I ain’t here to talk about me other daughter. In fact, I ain’t here to answer any questions at all. Just give me Bronwin so we can get out of here.’

  As was his habit and his arrogance, the doctor ignored the interjection and continued to talk. ‘Do you feel responsible for your daughter’s death?’

  Filled with painful, angry tears, Bronwin’s mother stared ahead. She was pleased to hear her voice was steady as she made a concerted effort to stay calm. Her words punctuated the air. ‘I am not responsible for her death. It wasn’t me who killed her. It was them animals, whoever they are.’

  ‘But you were the one who let your daughters out. Surely you must hold some sort of guilt.’

  Bronwin’s mother blinked away the tears as she felt them burning. She bent forward, holding her stomach, and whispered almost inaudibly as her gaze found the window. ‘Of course I do. Of course I do.’

  ‘Then let us help you. You do want some help don’t you?’

  Bronwin’s mum nodded, trance-like.

  ‘You know Bronwin is still very confused about what happened and who was there. She’s a very troubled little girl. She insists on telling these lies.’

  ‘Bronwin ain’t a liar. That’s one thing she’s never done is lie. If she’s telling you something then it must be true.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but she’s a child and all children lie.’

  ‘She don’t.’

  Dr Berry sighed. ‘Do you want us to help her and at the same time help you?’

  ‘Of course. Anything.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to the social workers and they’re in agreement with me it’s probably best Bronwin stayed here with us.’

  Bronwin’s mother stood up. She wiped away the tears, feeling angry resentment. ‘Oh no you don’t. You ain’t going to mess my little girl up.’

  ‘We won’t be doing that, what we’ll be doing is untangling the mess which has already been put there in her short life.’

  ‘That ain’t going to happen. You ain’t going to take my daughter.’

  ‘Of course not. That’s why I’m asking you to sign these papers.’

  ‘I’m not signing nothing. I want my daughter and I want her now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. We’ve had an extension of the interim care which means you can’t take her.’

  The shock and hurt on Bronwin’s mum’s face was so deep it almost penetrated Dr Berry’s supercilious gaze. He turned away quickly. Standing up and walking across to the window as Bronwin’s mother began to shout.

  ‘You bastards. You fucking bastards.’

  ‘We’re not doing this to upset you, we’re doing this for Bronwin’s benefit and of course
yours. You’ll be able to get on with your life knowing Bronwin is getting the help she needs. She’ll thank you in the end. I just know she will. You can give her what you didn’t have yourself. You can give her a chance. A start in life.’

  ‘But I’m her mother. She should be with me.’

  ‘Yes, but only if it’s right for her and at the moment it isn’t right.’

  Bronwin’s mother headed for the door, catching Dr Berry raising his eyebrows at her skirt. She pulled it down quickly.

  ‘Well I’m sorry, but no way. I would never hand my child over to the likes of you. I might not be what you think a good mother should be and I’m not saying I haven’t got my faults, but I love Bronwin. I loved both my kids.’

  ‘Fight us and you’ll lose and then you’ll never see Bronwin again. Do it this way and you’ll be able to see her. It’s your choice. I know which way I’d choose.’

  ‘You … you can’t do that.’

  ‘We can and we will. Do you really think the courts will agree to you keeping her after both myself and the social workers give evidence of you being unstable and incapable of giving Bronwin what’s needed?’

  ‘I love her. Ain’t that enough?’

  ‘In an ideal world it is but then we’re not in an ideal world are we? Can you excuse me one moment?’

  Not waiting for any sort of reply, Dr Berry picked up the phone on his desk. He spoke quietly into it. ‘Would you mind coming in now?’

  A moment later the glass door opened. The man who walked in didn’t bother to introduce himself. He stood with a frozen frown on his face as Bronwin’s mum stared at him. ‘Who’s he?’

  Once more, Dr Berry chose to ignore a question he saw as irrelevant. He walked over to Bronwin’s mum, picking up the papers as he passed his desk, then reached out with the pen which was always kept in his breast coat pocket.

  ‘Sign them. It’s for the best. If you say you love her which I believe you do, you’ll listen to me. No one’s the enemy here; don’t make us into them.’

  Bronwin’s mother took in the doctor’s face. Deep, entrenched lines circled his eyes and cold, small green eyes stared back at her. ‘You’ll let me see Bronwin?’