Invisible Child

by Mary Hayward

  I walked to a phone box and phoned the Samaritans.

  “Samaritans—hello, my name is Anne,” she said.

  “I have,” I sobbed uncontrollably, sniff, sob, “I have...” It was like a cork floating in a bottle of words. Each time I went to pour, the cork jammed in my throat.

  Sob, silence.

  “It’s all right, you take as much time as you want.” She heard me, yet I said nothing.

  I just cried and sobbed into the telephone. I had so much to say, but the hurt wouldn’t let me. It was impossible; my mind deserted me in my desperate struggle for help. I choked and cried. My words were my tears, and each tear, my pain, dripping into the phone like blood from an open wound, as surely as if I had just slashed my wrists and let all the blood pour out.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered gently, “I’m still here.”

  Despite all my efforts, I could not speak. I wanted to—God how I wanted to tell her. My tears, my inner screams of agony, twisted and all churned up, as if a hurricane had slammed into me, and now the aftermath. I was looking at my shattered self, broken, and completely destroyed.

  Language did not have enough for me.

  Silence, sob, sob, sniff, swallow. I wiped the tears.

  She said nothing, but I knew she was there, holding me close. I heard her swallow and I knew she felt for me, this lady I did not know.

  “I’m still here,” she said. “It’s okay to take your time.”

  “My friend… my best friend...” I couldn’t finish anything.

  Sob, sob, sniff, sniff. I wiped away the tears and blew my nose. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror, my panda eyes, all red and blotchy.

  “I am here still, it’s all right, take your time.”

  People passed by the phone box on the street. They must have heard my cries and sobs. Yet they scurried past.

  I did not believe that anyone could feel so alone, so utterly, so desperately alone. I felt in a wilderness so vast that time itself was absent, save the gossamer thread of hope that dangled at the end of that phone line.

  I tried to say something again. Nothing came and I clutched the phone like a drowning man. If only I could have told her—I had to tell someone. But still I was struck dumb and no matter how hard I tried, the words did not flow.

  “She’s, she’s err… and I am all alone,” I stuttered into my soaking hanky.

  “I am still here for you,” she said. “It’s all right.”

  I was spiralling down some black hole—I had no more to give.

  I dropped the phone and walked out of the box back onto the street, empty.

  31

  Leaving the Marriage with Colin

  TERRY SUGGESTED I LIVE IN THE FLAT but I couldn’t face it. The flat had held all the memories of my marriage, and the death of Joyce. Things were just too painful for me, and I was in shock. I ached for Terry and the utter loneliness that I lived on coffee, and watched my weight plummet to a size ten. It was Terry who left the marriage for another woman. He told me that Colin and I were holding him back in his ambition to make money, and to be rich.

  I made a telephone call to Mum and she said, “Come home, John will pick up your things.” It was such a relief to have somewhere to go, and I was grateful to Mum for having me home. Mum’s friend John lived in the maisonette above my mum’s house. He came and picked Colin and I up in his van.

  I phoned Terry and told him I didn’t want to live in the flat. We agreed that I could take the dining table and chairs, and he would buy a new bed and a chair for me. He let out the two bedrooms at the flat to Kevin’s brother, and another guy I never met.

  Terry was mini-cabbing and I believe living with some waitress who worked in a cafe. He was also seeing another girl, Theresa at the time, although I couldn’t be sure—and honestly, I didn’t really care; for Terry and me, it was over! Secretly, I thought, he didn’t waste much time, did he? I wished that my feelings would fade, but the truth of it was I still loved him.

  I just seemed to give up and let it all happen without a fight. I became a victim, like my mother in those troubled times—I had lost all my self-esteem and let everything go. Like a puppet, I agreed to whatever Terry wanted. The stuffing had been knocked out of me, and when I left Terry I had just a pound in my pocket.

  At Mum’s house, I set about placing Colin into my old Junior School. It was a big change for him. Changing from the leafy village to a concrete city school was to be difficult for him. I was determined and anticipated the problems. I shaved another layer from my credit card, and bought him a new school uniform. I knew it would help him blend in.

  Mum and Jane were pleased to see a carpet in the living room, the smart dining suite, and the use of a refrigerator in the kitchen. I even managed to cut and fit some carpet tiles, laying them throughout the living room and along the full length of the hallway.

  Colin and I shared my bedroom, and I thought that things would settle down.

  With the extra things I brought to the house, I imagined it would ease the tensions, and it did for a little while. Jane, now twenty-two years old, was firmly positioned as head of the household. She called Colin a ‘little brat’ because he ran around the house making a noise, but Colin was a seven-year-old boy—what did she expect?

  I started to have doubts about my decision to return home. Everything was costing more than I imagined. I was getting into more debt and unable to pay off the credit card. There was only one thing I could do—sell my table and chairs. Mother didn’t have a dining table and chairs, and she clearly expected me to leave it there for her to use. But I had no choice. They wanted me to give it to them for nothing. They had no understanding what it was like for me. Every time I had to look at the dining set it broke my heart. All the emotional memories of happy family meal times, with Terry, Colin and myself, together each night. I couldn’t bear it, and so, for that reason alone, it had to go. I sold it through the local newspaper, and paid off my debts.

  Domestic life worked for a little while. Mum routinely picked up Colin from school and Terry would see him at the weekends. I was working at Mappin & Webb in Regents Street as secretary to the financial director. It left me constantly juggling the demands of work and home. It was difficult to cook food for Colin and I in Mum’s kitchen. Jane smoked constantly; she occupied the living room and I had to listen to all the television programmes of a twenty-two year-old. Mother had no say in anything. It became impossible.

  Having no car, I had to walk everywhere. It was exhausting, arriving home on the train after working late into the evening, and then shopping. I was providing everything that was needed to run a whole house, the washing powder, cleaning fluids and even toilet rolls. It was as if I was a lodger in some dingy boarding house, except that Colin and I had only one room; I even had to pay the entire telephone bill, regardless of what calls Mother or Jane made. If I wanted any hot water, I had to put money in the meter. Nothing was free.

  Lugging the shopping through streets in the rain was starting to take its toll on my health, and more often than not, I would come home drenched to the skin in my flimsy coat, and sit, without energy, shivering by the old gas stove in the kitchen. I couldn’t afford to get ill like my mother did; what would happen to my son—would he end up like I did, starving? I needed a new coat. I bought two, a long woollen one for work, and a short cheap sheepskin to keep out the cold, when Mother dropped the bombshell!

  Colin would have to leave—she couldn’t have him at the house. Jane complained that Colin was too noisy.

  I was shell-shocked. We hadn’t been there more than a few weeks! Colin had a new school uniform, was settled and he was putting down roots. I had started to get my life back together.

  Angry? I could have killed her! After all the help I had given her over the years, what was I to do now? Who could I turn to now?

  My brother Les didn’t help me, yet he, of all people, knew the hardship of my youth and understood the life that I endured so well. He had to beg for fo
od before I did all those years ago.

  I thought that Jane, my sister, might be more sympathetic; she might have remembered our desperate struggle through hunger together as a little girl, and I thought that she at least would have had some sort of moral obligation, but not a bit of it! Quite the opposite: if I was looking for support from her, then I was to be very much disappointed.

  I phoned Florrie, my motherin-law. She offered to bring Colin up for me. But there was no way I was going to give up Colin. I wouldn’t do that. I brought him into the world and I was determined I would keep him. Joyce gave up her son Peter, and I saw how it destroyed her. It wasn’t an option for me.

  Terry offered to have Colin for a few months whilst I sorted out something better. It seemed the best option at the time, and so I stayed with Mother and Colin went to live with his father.

  I spoke to Colin on the telephone every day. At the weekend Terry would bring Colin to stay with me.

  Taking Colin up to the Wimpy Bar on a Saturday morning felt strange for me.

  I started to have sympathy for all those separated fathers, who, like me, loved and missed their children, yet were only able to catch a fleeting glimpse of their passing life. Everything crammed into one impossible speedy weekend, as if caught in some time bubble for the day.

  Terry would return to the house to pick up Colin each Sunday, and Mother would cook him a full roast dinner. Why she did this remained a mystery, for she had never done it for me. It was almost as if she was trying to impress and flirt with him.

  It became increasingly frustrating for me trying to maintain the relationship with Colin, separated as I was, and in the end I decided it would be best for me to move out. I wanted somewhere to live with Colin, but I couldn’t afford to rent a flat, or house; all I could afford was a room. He would have to live with his father and I would continue see him at the weekend.

  I found lodgings in a house in Bowes Park, and changed jobs, joining a firm of accountants in Commercial Road, where I met Andrea. Living on my own gave me some relief from the day-to-day hassle of living with Mum and Jane. At least I could think clearly and get my finances back on track. After all, it was cheaper to lodge with a stranger than at my mum’s.

  I didn’t fit anymore. I was single, yet I felt married. I had a child, but I wasn’t a mum. What was I? I felt like a wife and mother, but excluded from both. I had arrived in the world of a single mum.

  Andrea suggested that I do something completely out of the box. I took her advice and soon I found a job as the Manager of the Gift Shop with Pontins Holidays at Barton Hall, Devon. It was on the south coast of England. It was a long way from home, and I didn’t want to leave Colin with Terry.

  I arrived, feeling scared and wondering if I had done the right thing. Dropping off my bags I was shown to a room in the main hotel part of the complex. It was bare, stark and suffered the noise and steam from the kitchens below, but in a strange way it was much better than living in one room near home. I had space to think, without the worry of my mother and sister watching my every move, and I had company if I wanted or needed it.

  I managed the gift shop, and I found it a refreshing change to be in charge. Maybe that’s what I really needed. To take charge of my life and the shop was symbolic of that. I started to feel better about myself, and the downtrodden feelings I had slipped into I put in the past.

  I would talk to my son Colin on the telephone in the evenings, sending him little notes, postcards and letters several times a week. I so loved my little boy, yet somehow I didn’t feel I was ready to go back into that world. Constantly I reassured him that I would be coming home to find us a home together, although often I got the impression he was enjoying himself at his dad’s flat, quite happily without me.

  After a few weeks I persuaded Terry to bring him down and he stayed for a long weekend. We had a fantastic time in the holiday camp, playing with all the amusements, and touring parts of Devon. It was the first real holiday that I, or Colin had ever had, and I hugged and cuddled him as if every possible moment would be my last. I was reluctant to part with him, but I knew he had to return to his life with Terry.

  As manager of the gift shop at Pontins, I was required to sit at holidaymakers’ tables for the evening meal. There I met a man called Tom, a contractor, with a team of kitchen fitters. He wasn’t a holidaymaker—he was there to build a kitchen for Barton Hall.

  Tom was tall, charismatic, and wealthy. With his soft Irish brogue he charmed me, so he did, into leaving Pontins and becoming a partner in the business he ran.

  For a time I was able to forget my troubles, and although I worried about Colin and telephoned him daily, I was pleased he was happy with his dad. Tom’s offer appeared to give me the space I needed to decide my future. I speculated that it might provide the money I needed to get a home of my own, Colin and me. It was the new dream I was heading towards.

  Tom made me feel attractive with his compliments, holding out the hope and promise of big rewards. He could see the potential for me to market his company, although it didn’t take long for him to pester me to sleep with him. No, I couldn’t. It was too soon for me to leap into another relationship; my mind just wasn’t ready, and I rejected his advances time and time again.

  Not only did the work come easy to me, but the accommodation and expensive lifestyle was free. I enjoyed staying in hotels, being waited on, and having Tom buy me anything I wanted. He appeared to be a walking bank, carrying wads of money; every deal was done in cash.

  But like all good things that appear too good, I found myself increasingly doubting that I would ever get paid. Tom was full of words and grand promises; he paid for everything, the accommodation, the meals, the transport and everything I needed—except my wages.

  It wasn’t long before Tom took me to his grand home in Bury St Edmonds where he had an office. I wondered if he was going to try something on with me. He gave me a quick tour of the house and said that I could stay in the guest room that night; he promised to book me into a hotel the following day.

  I wandered back downstairs with Tom. He walked into the office and picked up his messages from his answer phone. They were routine business enquiries, nothing special. The ringing phone startled me at first, although Tom seemed to expect it. He put the handset to his ear.

  “Hello, it’s Tom.”

  I didn’t hear the caller. Tom scratched his head. I had the impression it was a woman.

  “I need to take this call,” he said, and started to close the office door. “You unpack your suitcase upstairs—I’ll not be long.”

  The door closed firmly behind me.

  I took my suitcase upstairs to the guest room. Poking around, I noticed an open bedside drawer. In it was an unopened sanitary towel and belt. It was almost as if it had been placed there on purpose. I was curious. Tom had always maintained that he was on his own. I walked back downstairs through to the laundry room. There, in the laundry basket, I spotted a pile of unwashed children’s clothing, hidden beneath a towel.

  His wife, a clever girl, I thought, had made her presence known. I made my way back to the hallway. It had been a sunny morning and light streamed through the windows, yet the hallway was now in shadow.

  Bang, bang.

  “Answer the door, will you Mary!” Tom shouted from the office.

  Two men in dark pinstriped suits stood motionless in the porch way. One looked as if he could crack walnuts with his bare hands.

  “We’ll be wanting a word with Tom, if you wouldn’t mind.” His Irish voice was soft.

  As I turned to Tom in the office, he was already aware of the men. He nudged me aside, sending me out of the way.

  “Mr O’Shane would like his money.”

  The Gorilla reached forward with both hands, gripping Tom’s jacket so forcefully that I could see the muscles ripple like melons swelling in the sun. He pulled Tom over the doorstep, like a helpless puppet.

  “I will have the money...”

  The Gorilla pulled To
m’s face close to his and spat the words at him: “Time for excuses has run out. Mr O’Shane sends a message.”

  The colour drained from Tom’s sweaty face.

  “You have until 2 o’clock tomorrow. Do you understand?”

  He nodded several times.

  The Gorilla pushed him back inside the hallway. Tom fell backwards in a crumpled heap.

  They turned, and calmly walked back down the path to the waiting car, as Tom got to his feet and quickly closed the door. He was still shaking as the men pulled away in their dark Mercedes.

  It was the first time I had seen Tom visibly shaken. I worried that something nasty was about to happen. Tom hadn’t paid me any wages, and I began to wonder if he was in financial trouble with what looked like republican IRA thugs.

  I didn’t have a good feeling about this situation. It was time I got out before I got myself caught up in something really bad. The IRA had been blowing people up and shooting kneecaps for almost ten years, and I imagined they were quite capable of doing something to me. If anything happened to Tom, then I would have been a witness.

  I waited for Tom to calm down, and made a cup of tea for us. I sat at the kitchen table.

  “Tom, I haven’t seen my son Colin for some time. I wonder if it would be a good time for me to travel home by train, and have couple of days with him?”

  “Yes, sure.” He seemed preoccupied with his troubles. “When will you be coming back?”

  “In two or three days, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, I guess that’ll be okay,” he nodded. “I’m sure it will,” he spoke kindly.

  I think at that moment he would have agreed to anything. He seemed happy to have me out of the way.

  “Just phone me when you’re ready and I’ll pick you up from the station.”

  “Thanks Tom,” I said, “that would be great. I’ll leave now if that’s all right.”

  “Sure, I have to go out for a bit...” He didn’t finish his sentence. He just stood there as if thinking of something else. I went upstairs to fetch my suitcase as he dashed out, racing off in his car.