A Song of Isolation

by Michael Malone

  Damaris chewed at the nail of her left thumb.

  ‘And there will be someone, a commissioner or something, like a judge kind of person who’ll be overseeing things.’

  ‘And there will be a camera there so people in the court can see and hear it all,’ Dad finished.

  That was the bit Damaris wasn’t looking forward to. A camera. That would be weird.

  ‘Once you start talking you’ll completely forget it’s there,’ said Dad as if he’d read her mind.

  ‘And we’ll both be there,’ said Mum again, and Damaris won­dered whose benefit that was for: Damaris or herself.

  ‘If you just run over one more time what happened that day, for us, pet.’

  ‘Daa-aad,’ Damaris protested. ‘I’ve gone over it, like, a million times.’

  ‘Then this will be a million and one.’

  ‘No, I’m not doing it,’ she shouted. ‘And you can’t make me.’ She ran out of the room.

  ‘Let her go,’ she heard Dad say. ‘The wee soul needs a break.’

  She ran up to her room, dived onto her bed and covered her head with a pillow. This was all so horrible. Going through all this stuff. Where Dave had touched her. Knowing this was important to her parents and trying to remember everything was so hard. Every time they brought it up she just wanted to sleep.

  Sometime later, there was a knock on her door.

  ‘C’mon, D, darling,’ her mum said. ‘We’ll go over it one more time and that’ll do okay?’ She paused. ‘Please?’

  Back down in the living room Damaris ran through the events of the day as she now remembered them.

  ‘Where did he touch you?’ Mum asked. Dad shrunk a little as she did so.

  Damaris pointed to her lap.

  ‘When they ask you about that, can you hold yourself as if you need a pee?’

  ‘Mum, I’m not a baby.’

  ‘I know that, sweetie. A visual will help them understand better, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And don’t say it like that either,’ Dad said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like you’re fed up.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Mum. ‘You have to say it like you mean it.’

  ‘And remember the Haribos,’ Dad said. ‘That Dave said next time he’ll have a giant bag of Haribos for you.’

  ‘I’m worried there’s too much to remember, honey.’

  ‘That’s a strong detail,’ Dad replied over the top of her head.

  ‘And if you feel like crying don’t hold it in, honey,’ Mum said to her.

  Damaris looked from one parent to the next, imagined a room that might be like a classroom, with her parents either side of her, three other grown-ups in the room and a camera pointed at her. She didn’t think she’d have any problems crying.

  There was a knock at the door. Her mother went to answer it, but not before she patted Damaris on the back of the hand.

  A voice sounded from the door when her mother opened it. Deep and loud and full of swagger.

  ‘Awright, sis. Long time no see.’ It was her uncle Cammy. Dad’s least favourite relative from her mum’s side of the family. They all pretended they got on fine, but Damaris could see her parents be­coming tense whenever he came around.

  ‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’

  ‘You gaunnae let me in, sis? Or do I have to stand here and let all your neighbours know your business?’

  Damaris heard the creak as the door opened more widely, and then the heavy footsteps of her uncle as he moved up the hall. He entered the kitchen and, arms wide, gave Damaris a huge smile.

  ‘How’s my favourite niece?’ he boomed.

  ‘I’m your only niece, Uncle Cammy,’ Damaris said before walking across the room and into the offered hug. She couldn’t help but be cheered a little by Cammy’s big personality. He was never serious and always had something tucked away in a pocket for her.

  She stepped back and assessed the large bag he was carrying in his left hand.

  Cammy laughed. ‘Didnae take you long to spot that.’ He handed it to her. ‘A little something for my wee doll. I know it was just out at the pictures a few weeks ago, but I managed to get you a cheeky copy.’

  Damaris pulled out the bigger box first, and saw it was a pair of white Converse trainers with pink piping. ‘Wow, the girls are going to be so jealous.’

  ‘See anything else in the bag you fancy?’ Cammy asked.

  She plucked out a DVD and let out a little cheer when she saw the actors on the cover. ‘Excellent. Divergent. Thank you, Uncle Cammy.’ She held up the small case, and then looked at her mum. ‘Can I watch it now, please, Mum?’

  ‘Have you done all your homework?’ her mother asked, while wearing that smile Damaris had come to know over the last few months. The one that was tinged with relief that her daughter was happy.

  As she turned to run up the stairs to her bedroom, Cammy reined her in.

  ‘Here, don’t be putting that on just yet. I want to watch it with you.’

  ‘Since when were you into watching kids’ movies,’ Roger asked.

  ‘I’m more into hanging out with my favourite niece,’ Cammy replied as he sent Damaris a wink.

  ‘Only niece, Uncle Cammy,’ Damaris repeated.

  ‘Whatever,’ he replied and made a face. ‘Away upstairs and set it up. I’ll be there in a minute.’

  She climbed the stairs, but paused when she heard her uncle’s voice again. He was speaking in that low, quiet way the adults did when they didn’t want her to hear what they were saying. Which had been happening a lot lately.

  ‘This is nice,’ Damaris heard her mother say. ‘Really nice. But please don’t…’ The pause suggested that her mother was struggling with what she wanted to say. Damaris heard the back door slam. Her father must have gone outside.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Cammy said.

  ‘…Spoil her. Don’t spoil her.’ It was clear to Damaris even from where she was perched that this wasn’t what her mother really wanted to say.

  There was a long pause before Cammy replied.

  ‘She’s changed,’ he said. ‘Used to be when I saw her she was skipping all over the place. A right wee ray of sunshine.’

  Damaris felt bad at that. When her uncle came upstairs to sit with her she’d try and be a little happier. If she could. It was so tiring trying to act all okay when all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball.

  ‘If I ever get my hands on that prick,’ Cammy said. ‘It’s the trial next week, eh?’

  ‘What if he gets off with it?’ her mum asked.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Cammy replied. ‘I’ve got a boy in his block primed to make sure he pays. One way or another.’

  Chapter 24

  ‘What will it be?’ asked the man standing behind Dave with a small pair of very sharp scissors.

  Their eyes met in the mirror. Dave assessed the other man’s cropped scalp, yellowed teeth and full sleeve of tattoos, and won­dered if this man should ever be allowed near such a sharp implement. ‘Court case start the morra, aye?’

  ‘In a couple of days’ time,’ Dave answered, feeling the roil in his stomach in reaction to another reminder that his day in court was approaching. ‘How did you guess?’

  The barber grinned. ‘Haven’t saw ye afore, likes. And your hair’ – he lifted up a strand from the top of Dave’s head in a way that suggested competence – ‘hasnae been done in a good while.’ He then looked down at Dave’s beard. ‘Want a wee trim there as well, mate?’

  Dave nodded and looked either side of him at the other prisoners sitting in front of mirrors, one to each side, both of them in the throes of a good chat with their barber.

  ‘People are always surprised when they first come in here. As if they forget that guys still need to look after their appearance even when they’re in jail. I’m Tony, by the way.’

&n
bsp; ‘Dave.’

  ‘So, Dave,’ Tony said as he cocked his head to the side while he assessed the state of Dave’s hair. ‘Just a tidy-up, or something wi’ a bit of style?’

  Before he answered Dave looked to the guy at his right whose head had been shaved up to a line about two inches above his ear and from there round his head, but his barber had left the top section of his hair in longer layers.

  ‘I need to look presentable for the jury,’ Dave answered. ‘A sensible short back and sides, and just a wee beard trim, thanks.’

  ‘Captain Sensible it is,’ Tony replied, and set to cutting Dave’s hair with practised ease while maintaining a dialogue about what he’d heard was happening in the world outside. After a few minutes of this he stopped speaking and simply concentrated on his job, as if he’d read the occasional grunt from Dave as a sign that this guy wasn’t interested in his chat.

  That left Dave to concentrate on what was filling his mind.

  The trial.

  His mum and dad would be there. As would Amelie. And he hoped beyond hope that they’d all be rewarded with those two little words: not guilty. The alternative just didn’t bear thinking about: Dave Robbins a convicted paedophile. Even setting those two words against his name was enough to set off his gag reflex. He closed his eyes against the impulse to be sick.

  ‘You awright, mate?’ Tony asked as he held his scissors away from Dave’s head. ‘You look like you’re going to keel over.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Dave managed. ‘Just need a drink of water.’

  ‘Nae bother,’ Tony said. He stepped over to the sink, plucked a plastic cup from a small tower of them and filled it from the tap. ‘Here ye go,’ he said as he offered it to Dave.

  He sipped. Said, ‘Thanks.’

  Tony looked at him for a long moment in the mirror before he next spoke. ‘I’ve been at this a long time. And it’s never as bad as you think it’s going to be, mate.’

  Dave took a long, tremulous breath and nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said, thinking the other man’s kind thought needed to be acknowl­edged, while at the same time wishing he would shut up and let him sink into the terror of his thoughts.

  Once Tony finished, he stepped back and said, ‘There ye go, mate.’ Then he removed the sheet from around Dave’s neck, brushed away any shorn hair and then held up a mirror at various angles so Dave could see the back of his head.

  Dave went through the motions of nodding and mouthing ‘Aye, cool’ at each new vista of his head the foot-high mirror offered, but he was really seeing nothing.

  Tony gripped Dave’s right shoulder in an attempt at reassur­ance, while Dave stared at himself. He could see the haircut and newly trimmed beard was a massive improvement on the man who sat down in the chair twenty minutes or so earlier, but he struggled to get past the shadows gathering around his eyes. This was the face of a man strung so tight it was a wonder his heart could cope with the strain.

  Leaving the chair, Dave barely had the presence of mind to thank Tony for his services. This act of preparation for court made it all so much more real. He was just glad that it was his lawyer bringing in his suit later, rather than his father. If he was the one to show up there was no telling what his response might be.

  But you’re innocent, he told himself and lifted his head up as he walked back to his block alongside a few of his ‘neighbours’, who’d also been for a haircut.

  A breeze cooled his face. A spot of rain sparked on his forehead. He pulled in a long breath. You did nothing. This is all a sham. The judge will throw it out of court. The jury will see that Damaris is being coached. And you’ll be a free man. Free to go back to work. Free to find out whatever life might have in store for him next.

  A life without Amelie, for sure. A new home somewhere. And stares from people who saw the smoke, greedily imagined the fire and were sure he was guilty. The stain would never be washed from him, but still, that kind of attention would be better than being dubbed up in here for years.

  The guard opened the block door and stepped aside while they all trooped in.

  ‘Just in time for dinner, guys,’ he said. ‘And it’s your favourite. Shepherd’s pie.’ A few of the men responded to his good cheer. Dave just let the words flow over him and trudged down the cor­ridor to the middle of the hall, where the passmen were doling out the food. He wasn’t sure he could stomach anything but he knew he would need all the strength he could muster and would therefore need to eat something.

  Standing in the queue, lost in his doomsday ruminations Dave became aware of movement at his side. Movement that was too fast. He turned towards it. Saw a mug coming towards him. Above it the face of a man who’d served him food every day since he’d arrived.

  His mind struggled to make sense of the action, but his body was way ahead. Automatically, his arm lifted and he ducked his head behind it, but not before pain burst across his skin. An ago­nising flare of heat.

  He fell to his knees. What the hell was happening?

  Boiling water?

  Acid?

  He heard a scream. Realised it was coming from his mouth, but couldn’t stop. Oh my God, the pain. The scorch of it.

  A scuffle as guards jumped on his assailant.

  ‘Get some water. Quick,’ he heard someone else shout as he fell forward.

  Yes, water, he thought. Please. The side of his face, and neck and forearm felt like they were on fire.

  And felt as if the pain would never stop.

  Chapter 25

  The woman seated on the sofa in her living room was a bit fat. And her teeth were wonky, but she seemed nice. Mum was all over her when she came in. Need some tea? Want a biscuit? Is it too hot, should I open a window? Is the light in your face, should I close the blinds? Want a cushion?

  Godsake, Mum, you’re embarrassing, Damaris thought. But the woman handled it all with a quiet authority.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said. ‘A glass of water would be lovely.’ When her mum left the room to get the water the woman turned to Damaris.

  ‘Just to remind you, my name’s Shona. And I’m here because the court has appointed me to help you process what’s been hap­pening to you, okay?’ Damaris realised she’d only asked for the water to get her mum out of the room.

  There was a human-to-human note in her little introduction that Damaris appreciated. If one more grown-up did that fake too-nice voice when they were talking to her she was going to scream.

  Then Shona said some other stuff that Damaris zoned out at, struggling to keep her eyes open. This talking stuff was so exhaust­ing. Especially talking about the stuff with Dave.

  ‘Can you just go through the events of that day with me, please, Damaris?’

  Damaris opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything Shona continued. ‘…I understand you’ve gone over it before with the police, but they might have missed something. And they’re only looking for evidence. My intention is quite dif­ferent. I want to help you. Do you understand?’

  Damaris nodded. She thought she did. She certainly wanted to.

  Then she quietly went through the events, as refined by her mum and dad, but before she finished, Mum returned with the water. She placed it on the low table in front of Shona, the woman thanked her and then asked, ‘Could we possibly have one for Damaris as well, please? Talking is thirsty work.’

  Claire looked at Damaris to check if this was necessary, but Damaris didn’t meet her eyes; instead she looked down at Shona’s glass. Usually, Mum was the queen of everything, and it felt strangely pleasing that this woman was having her run about doing things.

  ‘And this wasn’t the first time this had happened?’ Shona asked when Damaris finished.

  Damaris heard her mother return to the room and looked up at her before answering. Claire sent her a small nod and Damaris said, ‘Yes.’ This really was all very confusing. After talking all of this over with h
er mum and dad over and over again, whenever she went into her thoughts it wasn’t quite what she expected. She held a hand to her mouth to suppress a yawn.

  ‘And Dave showed you his penis, didn’t he?’ Shona asked.

  The word no longer had that little frisson of shock for Damaris. She’d heard it used so often recently. Of course, with her friends she didn’t use that word. It felt too posh when she was speaking with them. Especially when one of the girls brought up some, what she called ‘dick pics’ on her phone. Her big sister got them, apparently, and shared them with her. They’d all cooed over it, and laughed, like, a lot. And some of the girls acted like they’d like to see one for real, in the flesh, but Damaris knew that was all fake cos when she looked at it on that phone it just looked gross. Of course she’d seen her dad naked – being nude wasn’t a big thing in her house; but the thought that her dad’s body might also behave in this way made her unable to meet his eye for a few days.

  ‘You need to answer the question, honey,’ Claire said.

  Damaris nodded.

  ‘Do you know what happens when a man gets an erection, Damaris?’ Shona asked.

  Damaris nodded, and felt her face heat a little.

  ‘I understand this might be uncomfortable for you, Damaris, but there’s no need to feel any shame or embarrassment. The shame belongs firmly with the abuser, okay?’

  Damaris nodded again, and felt silly that all she could do was nod.

  ‘And you know what happens when a man ejaculates?’

  ‘Not sure she knows that word,’ Mum interjected.

  Course she knows, thought Damaris. She wasn’t a baby. Well, in one of those pictures on her friend’s phone there was some white stuff. Her friend called it ‘jizz’ and said that when the man rubbed himself that was the stuff that came out. The stuff that made babies. So when Shona used that posh word she was able to work it out.

  ‘Uhuh,’ Damaris said quietly, ducking her head, and looking over at her mother from under her fringe. This was all so cringey.

  ‘Did Dave do that in front of you, Damaris?’