by C R Martens
“Right,” the man said, but he just sat there scribbling in his notebook. Was that all the response she was going to get? “Um, I wouldn’t speculate on it at this stage.”
“Right, then what should I speculate on?” Eve said with a hint of snideness. It was like he was reading from a manuscript.
“I just mean,” the psychologist started, “we’ll circle back around to it at some point.”
“If you say so,” Eve replied. “So, same time next week?”
“Yes, let’s say that,” said the psychologist.
She walked out of the room feeling a little empty. Was she ever going to forget her past? Eve felt so out of control, something she wasn’t used to, her emotions were slowly running away with her and her psychologist was making it hard not to get frustrated. Especially when everything seemed so off about this setup.
***
“This is out of the ordinary,” Eve said, closing the door behind her. “Twice in one week.”
“I know we said same time next week,” he started, looking her in the eyes for once. “But it’s heavy stuff we are dealing with right now, so I thought it best if we got through it so you don’t have to dwell on it too long.”
“Wow, how thoughtful of you,” she said, not quite believing him. “But I’ve been dragging these memories around with me for about 20 years, so what’s a few more weeks?”
“Perhaps 20 years is also too long,” he said, giving an unusual smile for a change. “You can begin.” And she did, but with a little apprehension.
“That night our lives were changed forever; everything we had been through up until then with Dad all of a sudden seemed small and insignificant, he almost seemed perfect compared to John. But then again, I had nothing else to compare with. I woke early the next morning after that first abuse, still frightened about what had happened the night before. Frightened at the thought of what John might do next. The house was completely silent, not even Trip was up and about. It was still dark outside and drizzling – it fit exactly with how I felt. I didn’t have a clock in my room so I didn’t know if it was still night-time or early morning. I did know I didn’t dare get out of bed so I just lay there as still as I could, looking at the top bunk. The images of the previous night were sharp in my mind and soon the tears started to stream down my cheeks again. John’s face had turned into a whole new shade of evil and I saw it everywhere I looked, even when I had my eyes closed. My pillow was already so damp from all the tears I had shed during the night so what was a few more? I was scared and worried and all I wanted was my mother. I rolled over onto my side, pulled my legs up to my chest, made myself as small as I could and then covered myself with my duvet. It was the only way I knew how to shield myself. Only when I needed a bit of fresh air, did I dare to lift the duvet off my face, but only a little, just enough to feel the cold air on my lips.
When morning finally came around, I heard footsteps on the stairs – more than one set of footsteps. Trip had gotten up from his bed in the living room and was waiting impatiently in the hallway. He was getting hungry.
“‘Hey, boy, are you hungry?’ John asked the dog, with cheer in his voice. ‘Let’s get you out for a run before breakfast.’ Trip sounded happy and dogs usually do when treated well. John sounded all wrong; he sounded like nothing had happened, he sounded like he did every other morning, like everything was normal in the house. A hand was put on the door handle to my room, but the door didn’t open. ‘Where are you going?’ John asked. And there he was – the man from last night. I remember starting to shake.
“‘I was going to wake Eve,’ Mum said. ‘She has to go to nursery.’
“‘Well, I think we should have breakfast before she gets up, a little quiet to ourselves,’ he said in a demanding but calm tone of voice. ‘Who is going to make that when I have to walk the dog? You can wake her after I have gone.’
“Mum let go of the door handle and walked into the kitchen. John left to let Trip out in the back garden and to have a smoke himself. I could hear Mum in the kitchen making John’s breakfast; the house was eerily quiet again. And though I was getting hungry, I wasn’t going to make myself noticed. I wasn’t going to move an inch, not until Mum came and got me, no matter how sad or hungry I was. I wasn’t going to move.
“John had his breakfast and left. I could hear Mum standing on the other side of the door, the floorboards creaking under her nervous feet. She took a deep breath and opened the door to my room. I lay completely still in bed, I didn’t move, not until I felt Mum’s hand on the duvet. I turned around and pulled the duvet from my face and looked at her. I was horrified at what I saw, it didn’t look like my mum, but I could see Mum was nervous so I didn’t react. The evidence of last night was very clear on her face – a black eye and a bruised lip and one of her cheeks was so swollen it almost closed her eye. Mum had called work to say she was ill with the flu so she wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. For the next few seconds, we just looked at each other. She must have figured out from my tired face and bloodshot eyes that I had seen something. I lifted my hand and ever so gently I stroked mum’s good cheek and we both started to cry; it was very clear we both knew what had happened. For the next five minutes, we just lay there in my bed. I was happy Mum was finally here to make me feel safe but at the same time I was petrified about what had happened. And even more scared that it might happen again.
“We both ended up staying at home that day; Mum didn’t feel like going out. She didn’t quite know what to do or how to react. It was a sombre day, we didn’t really talk and we sort of just floated around one another, together but a million miles apart. The day just went on in silence and then it ran out of daylight. I could feel Mum’s mood change towards the afternoon – she became more anxious. She went from being absent-minded to being very focused; she started tidying up, then she cleaned the kitchen and after that, she disappeared downstairs. I heard the shower start, but I just kept playing while Trip was lying right behind me, back against back; he was sleeping heavily and snoring. I had tried to nudge him a little but to no avail. Trip made me feel safe, even if he was John’s dog.
“When mum reappeared, she looked very different – she was dressed nicely, her hair was done and so was her makeup. She had tried to cover up the bruises, but you could still see them and the swelling didn’t help either. I didn’t understand why Mum behaved that way, but there was a lot I didn’t understand and some things I didn’t wish to understand. When Mum started to tidy up my room I knew something was wrong. ‘I was playing with that,’ I told her in a puzzled voice.
“‘Don’t you want everything to look pretty?’ Mum asked. ‘And when we have cleaned up, you can help me make dinner.’ I didn’t want to make dinner, I just wanted to play, even Trip was told to get out. Mum was making a fuss and I didn’t understand why and I certainly didn’t like it. As Mum started to make dinner, I sat at the breakfast nook flipping through a book. I couldn’t read but I understood the pictures very well. Children playing with a happy little monkey named George. I knew his name because I had had the story read to me many times, so it was okay that Mum didn’t have the time to read right now. Then all of a sudden, Mum got nervous and quickly arranged the kitchen neatly. I heard the car door slam and Trip bounced out to the front door and I knew what was about to happen or rather who was about to step through the front door. I started to feel out of breath and scared about what might happen next. But, however much I expected the worst, the opposite happened.
“John came into the kitchen, he had flowers with him, which he handed to Mum.
“‘I am so sorry,’ he said, almost tearful, with his bottom lip pushed out. Pathetic. ‘Please don’t leave me, I promise it will never happen again. It’s not who I am, you know that.’
“Mum just smiled and kissed him. ‘I’m not leaving you,’ she said. ‘But if it happens again, I will leave you.’ I could see this made John frustrated; it wasn’t obvious to Mum, but to me he didn’t hide his anger very well.
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“‘Hi, Eve.’ He tried to pat me on the head, but I wouldn’t have it, so I cleverly ducked and turned my head away from his hand while I turned a page in the book so it didn’t seem like I tried to evade it on purpose – I was just trying to see what was on the next page.
“‘Something smells good,’ John said, putting his hands around Mum and pulling her in.
“‘It’s homemade lasagne,’ said Mum, smiling as if she was as happy as ever. I studied both their faces meticulously – Mum’s was forgiving but hesitant, but John’s was almost expressionless; he was smiling but it was hollow and masked. I didn’t like it, it felt wrong, and it felt ominous. I tried desperately to get to grips with what had happened and now everything was as if nothing had happened. The evening went on in this manner of complete denial and what was worse was that I was expected to participate in this charade, but I didn’t know how to act happy. So I just ate my dinner quietly, then played quietly in my room and finally went quietly to bed. That night the awful nightmare haunted me again. I dreamt I was at nursery playing with my friends when the clouds started to cast big shadows – only to look up and see it wasn’t the clouds. It was John and Trip and they had come to take me away because Mum was gone forever. I started to run but they kept coming and they kept finding me wherever I hid. I felt my legs move but I couldn’t get anywhere. I screamed for Mum, but Mum didn’t come. Then I woke up still screaming and still all alone. It was the darkest of nights, not even the moon was glowing. I was warm and my curly hair was all sweat-drenched. I was crying because I wasn’t quite sure what was a dream and what was real. I called out, “MUMMY!” but nothing; it was dead silent. “Mummy!” I cried out again, but not as loud. “Mummy.” My voice shrank with every cry, and then finally I lost all my courage and in a whisper, I called her one final time, “Mum.” Terrified of every shadow in my room and aware of every little noise in the house, I lay in my bed with my duvet over my head just like every other night. I cried and wished for morning to come when finally, I would fall asleep from exhaustion. There would be many nights like this, far too many for someone my age.” Eve almost held her breath.
“So, what happened next?” asked the psychologist, eager to continue his notes. Eve caught her breath and continued.
“Life continued and so did the loud music and so did the beatings, but I was no longer hiding behind semi-closed doors watching. I made John aware I was there too. I would scream at the top of my lungs, ‘STOP! Stop it.’ Just as Mum would scream for him to stop too. Watching John beat Mum wasn’t something I wanted to do, but even at that age, I felt that things wouldn’t go too far if I was there. My heart would be in my throat and I was terrified. I would crouch down behind the sofa whenever he looked in my direction, a few times he would charge at me but Mum usually got his leg before he could reach me. One time, though, she was too weak to hold on and John got hold of me. He grabbed the back of my blouse, pulling my small body back so fast my legs continued forward, almost like a ragdoll. He pushed me down, pinning me hard down onto the sofa. His entire weight pushed down on my chest making it hard to breathe. I could feel my body jerk around in panic and my hands tried to grab anything I could, but my mind must have gone blank because I didn’t feel panicked. All of a sudden, I just surrendered. Until I heard Mum screaming, ‘You’re hurting her, get off her.’ That’s when real panic kicked in, but no one felt the panic more than John, who all of a sudden seemed to be torn from his drunken trance, realising what he was doing. I don’t remember much after that, and the reason why I felt that I had surrendered was because I had almost lost consciousness.
“The next morning was different. That morning Mum dressed me to hide the bruises on my chest. I felt like screaming, but I was worried that if I did, someone might hear and I might be taken away from Mum. Once when he was drunk, John had told me this would happen if I ever told anyone. But this time was different, John knew this and tried to buy my forgiveness but I wouldn’t accept it. Suddenly it was John who felt out of place in his home and his discomfort pleased me. You’d think things would have calmed down after that, but, on the contrary, John’s brutality escalated.
“One night he was so brutal Mum shouted, ‘Not in front of Eve. Eve, don’t look! Please stop, John.’ She fought back, but it only seemed to make him more furious. His face full of disgust and fury, spit was flying out of his mouth with every punch. Her blood sprayed all over John with his final punch. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He pushed her up against the doorframe to the hallway, which knocked the air out of her. Mum tried to shield her face with her arms up in defence, but she had hardly the strength. He shouted drunkenly, ‘Get out of my sight.’ He let go of Mum, who fell to the floor. Weakly she crawled over to the sofa and reached out for me. I crawled over the back of the sofa and into her arms. John walked over to the drinks cabinet to drink himself into oblivion. Pulling Mum up from the floor, we hurried into my room where Mum threw some things in a bag as I stood nervously by the door to keep watch. But John didn’t notice or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Then we ran downstairs, we went into the bedroom and mum locked the door behind us. I stood there in the corner behind the door shaking and I could hardly breathe for crying.
“‘Hello, I need a taxi right away,’ she said, giving them our address but the wrong house number. ‘Ten minutes? Can’t it be quicker?’ We both jolted as there came a loud bang from upstairs. ‘It’s fine. Bye.’ She hung up and walked over to me. ‘Darling, we need to be quiet when we leave, okay?’ She crouched down in front of me and wiped the tears from my cheeks, but to no avail as they came fast and continuously. ‘We’re going to go quickly out the basement door and then we’ll run up the street as fast as we can,’ she said. I could feel her shaking and though she tried to hide it, I could hear the fear in her voice.
“‘Are you okay?’ I cried out loudly and uncontrollably. She hushed me and looked up as if to make sure John hadn’t heard me. ‘Your face, Mum.’ She was still bleeding from her lip and eyebrow. She ran over to the mirror, grabbing a t-shirt to wipe most of it off, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop, so she kept the t-shirt pressed against her face. She came back over to me after a few minutes.
“‘I need to get us away from here,’ she said. ‘That’s all we think of right now, okay, getting away.’
“‘But what about my shoes?’ I cried. I had only my night slippers on and my outdoor shoes were upstairs. She looked at the clock – it said 1 am.
“‘It’s fine, you can run in those,’ she said, trying to smile through the pain and the worry. ‘Are you ready?’ I nodded. She got everything together, it wasn’t much, and then she unlocked the door. We ran as quietly as we could to the back of the house, unlocked the basement door and sneaked out. We made ourselves as small as we could as we sneaked in silence around the outside of the house to the front corner of the house. It was a dark and damp night, it helped to conceal us in our escape.
“‘Run,’ Mum whispered. She held my hand tight and we ran as fast as my little feet could, with beating hearts and hoping he hadn’t seen us out of the window. The taxi came around the corner at the far end of our street and down the road towards us. Mum almost ran into the street to stop it. She threw me in the backseat.
“‘Just turn around and go back the way you came,’ she said hastily as we got in.
“‘Okay, but I can just as easily go down the road and out to the main street rather than to go back,’ he said.
“‘No!’ my mum said loudly. ‘Please just reverse back.’ I could see his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He looked at mum, who was looking out the window trying to hide her face, with a shocked expression on his face. I knew she was waiting and was worried that John would come running out of the house after us, but I think she was even more worried about what the taxi driver was thinking.
“‘Okay,’ said the driver, having gotten a glimpse of her face. He reversed and drove us back down the way he had come from. I looked up at mum and saw she was bleedin
g from her lip and nose now too. My mum’s face was red with smeared blood and her eyes were bloodshot. She felt burning hot, I could feel it because she was sitting so tight up against me.
“‘Mum, you’re bleeding,’ I said as quietly as I could.
“‘Shhh.’ She hushed me as she didn’t want the driver to get involved.
“‘Where can I take you?’ he asked.
“‘Thoravej, in Bispebjerg,’ my mum said. That’s when I knew we were going back to our little flat; she had kept it. We sat in silence the whole way, looking out of the window. I felt completely empty. The taxi dropped us off at the end of the street, Mum didn’t want him knowing the address, so we walked exhaustedly to the building and we let ourselves into the small half-empty flat. Adrenalin was pumping through me while my mum made up a bed for me on a mattress on the floor. Even though it was the middle of the night, I didn’t feel like I could sleep. But I did eventually and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have a nightmare. And I felt safe again, there in our small empty flat,” Eve finished. They sat there in the small and cosy room, him and her, talking about traumatic and life-altering events in her life, when…
“Good,” he said. “So, Tuesday again.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” she said, then Eve gave way to her instinct and let a question fly. “Why are you not asking any questions? Or why aren’t you asking more questions? I thought that was what a psychologist did. To be nosy? To work things out.”
“I like to get the full story before I delve into things.” He seemed pleased with his answer, trying to hide a smug smile, leading her to think he wasn’t used to having client consultations. But she didn’t encroach on her hunch any further. A hunch that told her he wasn’t a psychologist. She didn’t because she hated being tied to the desk, it held her back from what she needed to do. So, Eve did what was required of her from the firm to get back in the field.