Don't Say a Word

by A. L. Bird

  ‘If you’ve had a negative experience, then I can understand why –’

  ‘No, I haven’t had “a negative experience”; I’ve had the typical experience. He’s not a newborn or a cutesy toddler. He won’t be adopted; he’d be shoehorned into some home that thinks it’s doing the right thing. But he’d go from having no behavioural issues to being bereft and stormy and broken, because he’d have lost all his family, all his roots, all his connections. He’d be dispossessed.’

  ‘You’d have regular contact and –’

  ‘Shit! Why are we talking like this is even a possibility? Josh, do you get what this lady is trying to do? She is trying to say that you shouldn’t be living with me.’

  ‘With dad?’

  ‘No! Not with dad, sweetie, not.’ I kneel down in front of him. ‘Not the dad you have in your head, who plays football with you in the park, buys you treats, and ruffles your hair. The man who created you is a bad, abusive man. And there is no way you would be allowed to go and live with him, OK? Do you understand?’

  Josh nods his head, slowly. Tears trickle down his face.

  ‘What this lady is “exploring” with you, is whether it would be better for you to live away from me, with a bunch of people you don’t know, and who don’t really love you, like I love you. You know I love you so much, right?’

  ‘I don’t want to live away from you!’ And he runs to me, and hugs me fiercely, burying his soggy face into my neck. We both of us just kneel there, hugging and sobbing. There’s nothing like a mother-child hug. The number of times over the last nineteen years I’ve wanted to go back to Donnie and get one! But it’s not allowed.

  Patricia clears her throat.

  ‘I think it would be better if I completed the rest of the assessment without you in the room, Ms Sutton. Away from emotional influence. I know it’s difficult, but …’

  I close my eyes and clench my teeth. I mustn’t shout. I mustn’t seem unstable. But I must try to make Josh seem like a secure, happy boy.

  ‘If you think that’s best,’ I say. ‘But let me just get him something from upstairs first. Back in a tick, Josh.’

  I race up the stairs, into the bedroom, open our bags, grab the Lego spaceship, and run back downstairs again. She’s not taking him away before I’m back.

  ‘Ta-da!’ I say to Josh, handing him the spaceship.

  His eyes light up. ‘Oh wow! You brought it!’

  ‘Of course I did, kiddo!’

  He wipes away his tears, and gives me a big hug. Then he sits on the sofa and begins fiddling with the spaceship. A happy, well-adjusted boy.

  But Patricia is still writing in her notebook.

  ‘See you in a minute, Josh. I’ll just be outside, OK? Patricia’s going to have a little chat with you.’

  ‘OK.’ He looks up and nods at me. Smiles.

  I slip out and close the door behind me.

  I exhale loudly and press my hands against the wall, head down. Jesus. What have I walked into? Should I just have stayed at home with the door locked? How is it that this woman is so obstinately ducking the issue? And where was she when I was little? Where were all those questions then about being touched in the bath? Where was someone like Patricia when that care worker decided to come and help me bathe? Said so wistfully, ‘You’re such a pretty little girl.’ Then decided he didn’t have to be wistful and put his hands right under the water with me.

  Where was Patricia then?

  And where is she now, for me, for us? I get that she is trying to do her job. But they’re so hyperalert, so intent on judging my mothering, that they miss what’s in front of them. No one is harming my son. No one except the State who’s fucking threatening to take him away because I had the audacity to seek protection against the man I helped imprison.

  And where was anyone like that when I told the police that Mick was abusing me? They didn’t give a shit until Chloe told them about Mick’s meeting. How they could get him for good. Then they pretended to care (then they tried to take Josh away from me). Fuck them. Fuck the lot of them.

  Is this how Mum felt when I went away? Was it just too much for her – the wrath of Dad (physical and verbal)? The interviews with social workers? Did she cave, a weak, spineless woman, or did she have that fear and rage in her about losing her child that I have now? Did she try to resist? For all the crap, for all the blame, I could do with her now. I could do with her to dry my eyes. Your mum is always your mum, right? Maybe we could just smack Patricia across the face together – take that, System! – and abscond with Josh.

  Breathe out. She’s just doing her job. Even if she thinks I’m some kind of risk – for fuck’s sake! – Josh isn’t bruised and beaten; it’s not an emergency case. The witness protection officers will sort stuff out. They said this was a stopgap, right? It will be fine. Today, tomorrow, Monday latest, we’ll be safely somewhere. Somewhere stable and secure. And Josh can go back to school, with a chaperone or something. They’ll give me clarity on Mick. They’ll advise the best thing to do. It will be fine.

  I feel my heart rate slow again.

  It’s all good.

  Then the door from the living room opens. Patricia emerges. And she won’t look me in the eye.

  Chapter 22

  ‘Well?’ I ask Patricia.

  She closes her notebook, lest it give me the answer I’m looking for.

  ‘I’ll have to make my assessment of course, but …’

  ‘But what?’ I ask her. I’m hoping for ‘but it all looks fine.’

  ‘There are various risk factors we need to take into account. I’ll consult with my manager and we’ll …’

  ‘We’ll what?’

  ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  Fuck.

  Patricia tries to walk past me down the narrow corridor, towards the front door. I block her way.

  ‘Look, Patricia. Pat. What will it take to convince you my son is safe with me?’

  She looks around her. ‘Not to be running here in the middle of the night. He needs a stable, secure environment. You may not be able to give him that right now.’

  My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. She can hear it. I can hear it. I’m not going to answer it. We look each other in the eye this time.

  ‘My son stays with me,’ I tell her, like it will help.

  She gives me a little smile and pats me on the shoulder. I’d like to punch her right back. ‘Obviously we never want to split up a mother and child if we can help it. But sometimes we have to help you help your child.’

  And with that, she squeezes past me down the corridor, and she’s gone. Away to turn her notebook into a laborious chat with her manager. If only they’d seen me in the flat, dressed ready for work, happily sipping a cappuccino while Josh has his peanut butter on toast. Not here, like this. Then it would be a whole other assessment.

  I dart back into the living room to see Josh. He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa staring out of the window, his spaceship fallen to the floor. His face is soggy with tears. I sit down gently beside him.

  ‘It will be OK,’ I whisper to him, putting my chin in the crook of his neck.

  ‘She’s not going to take me away from you?’ he asks me, his lower lip in full quiver mode.

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m making some calls to get it sorted out. But first of all, we’re getting you some tea and some decent breakfast.’

  I turn towards the kitchenette. ‘Hello?’ I call out. ‘Any chance of some tea?’

  Lesley emerges too quickly. She’s plainly heard most of our morning’s exchanges. The clipboard has gone, I notice.

  ‘Of course, love. I’ll make some toast as well. We’ve got some chocolate spread. Will that be any good for him?’ she asks.

  ‘For both of us,’ I say. I could do with the sugar.

  She turns away, then turns back again. ‘Listen,’ she says. ‘Stick with it. You’re a good mum. It will get sorted out.’

  I nod,
sharing for a moment in her fairy tale, where happy princess mothers always keep their golden children and live happily ever after in an impregnable fortress. See a threat? Summon a prince to pour boiling oil on it, and it will melt away, notebook and all.

  Back in the real world, I take out my mobile and see who the missed call is from.

  Dan.

  Hah.

  Calling like he said he would.

  And look, there’s a little text. ‘Hi, hope all’s OK after last night. Enjoyed the brief bit of our date. Call me! D x’

  Well, I’m not replying to that now. It would take a novel, not a text message.

  Instead, I call Sarah, our witness protection officer.

  Voicemail.

  ‘Listen, Sarah, it’s Jen Sutton. You need to get me and Josh out of here and find out what’s going on with Mick. OK? Call me.’

  I hang up. I toss the phone up and down in my hand, wondering who else I can call. Bill, maybe? Let him know what’s going on? Maybe he has some connections I can call on?

  I call his mobile before I change my mind.

  ‘Hello?’ It’s an upbeat, Saturday voice. He obviously doesn’t have my number in caller ID.

  ‘Bill, it’s Jen. Jen Sutton. From work.’

  ‘Oh, Jen. Hi! Just out with the dog. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Um, it’s a bit delicate, actually.’

  I can almost hear the frown as a rain cloud gathers over his weekend.

  ‘Oh dear. What is it?’

  ‘We got a threat – my son got a threat – last night at home. We’ve had to move into a hostel. They think it’s Mick.’

  ‘Oh gosh! But I thought he was still in prison?’

  ‘So did I, and so do witness prosecution but –’

  ‘Mindy, no! Bad dog!’

  There is barking and kerfuffle at the other end of the line. I wonder if his dog is the rapist or the victim. Or maybe trying to eat a squirrel/child/poisonous chocolate bar.

  Then Bill is back, breathing heavily.

  ‘Sorry, Jen – bit hectic here. Keep going.’

  ‘Yes, well we think he is still in prison. The team are going to –’

  ‘Mindy! Not by the neck! Sorry, Jen, I really can’t talk. If you need to take some time away obviously we’d be sorry but we’d – NO, MINDY!’

  And the line goes dead.

  Right.

  I turn to Josh to make a joke out of the whole call, but he has found the TV remote, and is staring fiercely at the small screen, over-moist eyes blinking too fast. It is not a time for jokes. The door of the room starts to open slowly. I hold my breath – will it be Patricia back already? Or perhaps one of the witness protection people, here to shed some light on the Mick/escape situation?

  Neither. It’s the mother and baby duo from upstairs. The baby is wriggling about in its mother’s arms, rooting for milk. Mum looks round the room, and fixes on my tea, eyes pleading.

  ‘Lesley, can we have some more tea, please?’ I call out.

  The baby starts to cry. Shit. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Then the mother starts to cry too.

  ‘Here, let me take her,’ I say, gesturing to the baby. ‘Sit down. Have my tea.’ We’re all in it together, after all. Refugees from an abusive regime, seeking asylum in our own land.

  The woman needs no second bidding. The baby is in my arms in a moment. I try shushing it but I’ve lost whatever technique I had. Josh carries on staring at the TV. Lesley doesn’t appear. The woman takes my tea and leaves the room again, presumably to rest undisturbed.

  The baby and I are our own small island. Holding the little crying person takes me back to when Josh was this tiny. I didn’t have a shelter back then. Sure, I had health visitors. And the witness protection people saw a lot more of me than they do now. But in between times, it was just me, in that bedsit. Josh was there too, of course, but he wasn’t a person to me then. He was a thing. The most precious thing I had. The most precious thing Chloe would ever have had. Apart from me.

  But you cannot bond with a baby when at any moment the door could be broken down by a vengeful member of your ex-boyfriend’s crew. Or Chloe. I was so worried about Chloe turning up. Full of vengeance, for being left behind. Reclaiming what was rightfully hers. There were no prospects for going out of the door, either. I would be too conspicuous, they said. My cover too easily blown.

  Nothing had been set up. No hope of a job, no hope of a friend, no hope of a babysitter – to admit weakness would be to let the State nurse Josh permanently. I’d already fought so hard to keep him – they took a lot of persuading not to separate us at birth, to better protect us both from revenge killings. Bastards. If I’d known separation was a risk, I never would have done what I did. So I just had to sit there, temporarily reprieved, absently shushing, just as I’m doing now.

  Come on baby – shush shush now, shush. Hush, little baby, don’t say a word … Oh, she wants milk; it’s no good.

  Have things changed since that time, sitting and shushing? After that call with Bill, it seems again like the life I know is going to be stripped from me. He doesn’t care about some legal executive. He’s not going to pull strings, make things happen. He has his own domestic situation to worry about. Sure, they’ll give me a leave of absence. But how long before that turns into permanent leave?

  I’ve been lucky for Bill’s charity; I know that. Plus the proximity to the school, to the flat – everything has been almost perfect for so long. And now is it all going to fall away? Not just from me, but from Josh too? Oh shit, this is so the opposite of what I wanted, when I did what I did. I thought I was protecting Josh, not harming him.

  The phone rings. The baby cries louder. I manage to flick a glance at the caller ID. Dan again. I slip the phone onto speaker.

  ‘Dan, can you hear me?’

  ‘Jen, are you there?’

  ‘Dan?’

  Some other hands on the baby – Josh is coming to my rescue. He pulls the baby from my grasp and begins tickling its chin. Miraculously, it starts to laugh. I mouth ‘Thank you’ to Josh, and pick up the phone properly.

  ‘Dan, sorry.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Jesus, where to start?’

  ‘With the crying baby, maybe?’

  ‘Right, OK. We’re at a hostel for abused women and children.’

  ‘What the hell? What happened? Are you OK?’

  I shake my head into the phone, then I say: ‘We’re fine. After you’d gone last night, we got a note under the door with a threat to kidnap Josh. So I rang the –’ Careful, Jen. He doesn’t know everything. Or even the witness protection thing. ‘I rang the police. They said, because of Mick, we had to come here, in the middle of the night. And we’ve had social services here, threatening to take Josh away from me.’

  Josh looks up from his game with the baby. I give him a reassuring stroke on the head. ‘Which I am NOT going to let happen,’ I say, for Josh’s benefit. ‘And now Josh and I seem to be the adoptive parents of a battered mother’s baby. Oh, and I’m waiting for the police to tell me if Mick is out of jail. And I think I’m going to lose my job, and we can’t go back to the flat. But I need to provide a safe, secure environment for my son, and damned if that’s here – so yeah, we’re totally, totally fine.’ I have to stop. My voice will start wobbling soon. Josh mustn’t hear that.

  There’s a pause, then Dan asks, ‘Mick was that bad, was he?’

  ‘Oh, look, fuck Mick – this is about Josh, and these idiots just not getting it. Sorry, Dan. We’ve been on what, one date, and you’re getting all this shit. But I’m just so angry! And frightened. I’m frightened, Dan.’

  ‘Right, I’m coming round,’ Dan says.

  Oh please, please do, I think.

  ‘No, you can’t do that, Dan – we’ve got to stay here, wait for the police and the child protection woman and –’

  ‘Of course I’m coming round. You shouldn’t be by your
self. This is ridiculous. You need someone who knows you personally, not all this officialdom. What’s the address?’

  ‘You know you won’t be allowed in. They’ll think you’ve come to beat someone up.’

  ‘I will beat someone up if they stop me coming there. Now, go on, address.’

  I give him as good directions as I can, and he promises to be on his way.

  Josh looks up from playing with the now happily gurgling baby. ‘Is he coming round?’ Josh asks.

  I nod.

  ‘Phew,’ he says. ‘Then we can go, right?’

  The phone starts buzzing again. Dan again? No. Unknown. I hesitate a second. But I have to answer it. There are so many calls I am waiting to receive.

  ‘Ms Sutton?’

  It’s witness protection.

  ‘Sarah – what news? When are you getting me out of here?’

  ‘I’m working on it, Ms Sutton. There’s a limited availability of permanent accommodation, I’m afraid so …’

  ‘What news on Mick?’

  ‘Well that’s better news, Ms Sutton. He’s very much still in prison. There’s an opportunity for parole coming up soon, but I’ve checked with the prison authorities and he’s behind bars as we speak.’

  I relax slightly. Good. Not Mick. I can stop preparing Josh and myself to see his face in the middle of the night.

  But the relief is short-lived.

  Because if it’s not Mick, who is it?

  Chapter 23

  I think back to the night before it all happened, all those years ago. Is there a clue there as to what happened last night? Who it is I now have to fear? Did someone else see what Chloe did? Was there someone else there, not locked up, seeking righteous vengeance?

  Mick, Chloe, and a couple of the rest of us in the living room. There was PJ, and there was Andy, Luke as well. Mick packing for his ‘business trip’. Chloe playing fetch, going from room to room to help him. Chloe telling them to go on, leave her to it, she’d finish it herself. Everyone else filing out of the room, off to get a curry. I look back into that room like I’m one of them. Examine their faces.