Mother Loves Me

by Abby Davies

  ‘She said something like, “I’m so happy you came back, Sis. It’s so great to see you.” But I remember thinking that her voice was flat, strange. Disconnected somehow.

  ‘I asked her what the knife was for, but she said nothing. She stopped a yard from me and said, “Your choice: shelter or knife.”

  ‘I tried to run past her, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me in front of her, pressing the knife against my throat, cutting into my skin. She pushed me into the back garden and locked me down here.’

  I clutched her hands in the dark. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m only sorry I ever came back. And I told no one where I was going. I’ve hoped and prayed someone would find my car and track me here, but surely they would have found something by now.’

  I let myself imagine being rescued by a kind-eyed, gentle man, someone like Captain Crewe. Imagined the in-pouring of light as he opened the little door and let us out. Imagined the smell of the clean air, and the bright green of the trees. And Mother’s face. Mother’s angry, red face as she attacked Captain Crewe with her knife. I exhaled shakily and stroked the back of Olivia’s hand.

  ‘How’s your neck now?’ I said.

  ‘It’s fine. She only grazed me. It’s the hunger that’s killing me – and the dark – so much dark. It makes my mind do crazy things.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘When you were asleep, I began feeling really weird. I was so relieved when you woke up. I can’t imagine how you’ve coped being alone down here all this time.’

  ‘My boys. And Robert. They’re all that’s kept me going. But I’m ashamed to admit I’d started thinking of ways to end it, then you came along. You’ve saved me, Polly. You really have. Just talking about everything is helping a little.’

  ‘We’re getting out of here,’ I said.

  She said nothing. I could hear her stomach rumbling. The snip, snip, snip as she bit her nails too.

  She was silent for a long time. We sat holding hands, both shaking with too many emotions to name.

  Finally, she cleared her throat. ‘How? How are we getting out of here?’

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t know what to say.

  Chapter 44

  After braving the disgusting brick toilet I groped my way back to the bed and lay in the dark with my eyes open. Hunger and fear kept me awake, but Olivia slept again. I listened to her long, slow breaths and brought my hand to my lips. My fingers trembled, my mouth felt like it had been dried out with toilet paper and my head banged. Each bang was the fist of someone trapped inside my skull, desperate to get out. Each bang echoed the anger and fear that throbbed in my veins.

  I was still running on adrenaline. I knew that and it terrified me. When that adrenaline melted away, fear would beat anger back down into the dirt, and I needed the anger that thrummed in my chest like a bird’s wings. Anger gave me courage. Anger was good.

  Before my anger could fade, I had to work out what was going to happen, but Mother was so unpredictable that there were too many ways this could go. I closed my eyes and pictured her face, trying to put myself in her position, think how she thought, see the world and Olivia and me through Mother’s crazed eyes. Olivia said that their grandfather had never abused Mother, but he had locked her down here, which was a cruel punishment that she had gone on to use on Olivia and then me. That was behaviour she had learned and copied. From what Olivia had told me, I knew their grandfather had been cold, unloving, violent – traits that Mother shared, but Mother could also be caring.

  She liked to turn little girls into her vision of the perfect doll; pretty, perfectly put-together, flawless. She liked her dolls to be obedient, quiet and calm. And young. Dolls were only perfect when they were young. That was why I was out. I was growing up and Mother couldn’t handle that – but why? If I could solve that puzzle, maybe I could work out how to convince her to let us out. That was if she ever came back with the food and water she’d promised … she might decide to let us both starve to death.

  I shivered, and shivered again. The dank, moist air was deep in my bones. Though the space was warm, so warm and muggy that I felt like I was inhaling steam, a nasty dampness had tunnelled into my flesh.

  My stomach was already beginning to eat itself and I had not been down here for very long at all. It seemed impossible that Olivia had survived this long. She’d said nothing about Mother increasing or decreasing the portions she delivered, so that meant Mother was consistent – but now that I was down here too, would that stay the same or would she make us split one sandwich? Share one cup of water? She was punishing us both, but how far she’d go, I couldn’t guess. A tidal wave of uselessness washed over me. It was simply impossible to work out what she would do.

  My hand tickled. I flinched violently and squealed, swiping at the place where traces of spider legs lingered. My skin crawled. I shivered again and hugged my knees, rocking back and forth on the bed and telling myself to calm down. Tears leaked down my cheeks and I tasted salt. The taste brought back a sudden memory of crying over the loss of my imaginary friend, Polly. I remembered curling up in bed, hugging myself, weeping quietly for fear she would hear me. Even then I had been fearful. At the age of six, just one year older than Emma, I had been frightened and uncertain of her reaction. She had always been unpredictable to me and always would be, but there was a difference now.

  I swiped my tears away and sniffed at my runny nose. When I was six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, I had believed her to be some kind of perfect, all-knowing figure. Up until two weeks ago I had thought her invincible. But now I knew better. She was human and she made mistakes. It was a simple truth I had long known about myself, but I had never known it about her. Humans made mistakes and she was human. She was flesh and blood and bone. She could bleed too.

  My lips formed a trembly smile. Shakily, I pushed myself up from the bed. The mattress wheezed and I heard Olivia move. I listened to see if she was awake but her breathing dropped back into its steady rhythm, and I was struck by the calmness of her breaths. In sleep and darkness, the emotions of the sleeping were hidden. I imagined what Olivia’s face looked like now, so many years on from the horrific photographs of her on a bed. I pictured the same widely spaced eyes and elfin nose grown larger, wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. The vision was strangely strong and clear, given it was built from memory and imagination.

  I thought about poor little Emma and wanted to scream. Was she still out there, lost and alone? And Patrick. What had happened to him? And Dot. What had happened to her? Mother had hit her so hard. Was she OK? Maybe Harold had found her and taken her to a hospital. Maybe not. Maybe that poor old lady was dead. Dead because of her.

  Anger clenched my jaw and fists, and I strode forward blindly, snagging my tights on the scraggy brick wall. The material on my left leg tore. I winced at the faint screak of tearing elastic and wondered how far the ladder ran, hoping it had not run all the way to my foot. My tights were another barrier between my bandaged feet and the grimy floor – not to mention the hundreds of spiders that haunted the place. Tights were my protection. My shield. My—

  Tights. Tights? Tights …

  Tights were strong, stretchy … tights could be useful … somehow.

  The hint of an idea scratched at the back of my mind. Something to do with tights. Tights, tights, tights. I stretched and reached desperately for the idea, trying to pull the wafer-thin wisp into the centre of my mind and form it into something whole. I almost had it when Olivia gasped and the sound of metal scraping metal came from the door in the ceiling.

  Chapter 45

  ‘She’s here,’ Olivia whispered.

  ‘I’m going to try to reason with her,’ I whispered back, groping my way towards the stairs.

  Olivia stayed silent.

  My hands found brick and I sidestepped as quickly as I could, heading in the direction of the stairs. Above our heads the door opened a snatch and light winked and glimmered in the opening; one
blinding ribbon of brilliant, shocking light that drew me like a bee to honey. Tripping over my feet, I stumbled, righted myself, sidestepped again. My foot found a step and I scrambled upward on my hands and feet.

  The door opened several more inches, flooding the first three steps with light.

  I glanced back into the gloom, which remained ink-black. ‘Come up with me,’ I whispered urgently, ‘maybe she’ll listen to you this time, if she won’t listen to me.’

  ‘Fat chance,’ came her voice, which now sounded as hard as stone. But her voice sounded closer and I wondered if she’d moved off the bed.

  ‘Please,’ I begged.

  A hand holding a sandwich lowered itself through the opening. Food. My mouth began to salivate. I recognized those knuckles, that skin, those nails. It was her. Mother. Who else?

  She placed the sandwich on the step, withdrew her hand then lowered another sandwich onto the step beside it. I was overcome with relief: she was evil but not so evil that she would starve two helpless people to death. Hope spiked in my heart. She was not a lost cause. She would listen to one of us, let us reason with her, let us persuade her – and I had one glittering diamond with which to bargain. Something priceless she craved. The diamond was fake, but she didn’t know that.

  ‘Mother?’ I said.

  The hand was lowering a large bowl of water through the gap now, quivering from its weight. The hand stilled an inch from the step, responding to my voice.

  She was human. She was only human.

  ‘Mother?’ I repeated. I reached out my hand and touched hers. Her skin was papery and hot. Her hand flinched at my touch and water splashed onto the step. I kept my hand on hers, my touch light.

  ‘Mother? Please let me out. I miss you.’

  She placed the bowl on the step then withdrew her hand. I almost cried out for fear that she was going to lock us in again, but the door remained open. I raised my head and peered through. I could see her knees. She was kneeling on the ground on the roof of our prison. Behind her I could see lush green grass. I could smell fresh air and grass and pollen and hear a bird tweeting merrily, unaware of the fear and misery happening at its feet.

  ‘Mother?’ I said, my heart a throbbing lump in my throat.

  ‘I can’t let you out.’ Her voice was flat and hard.

  ‘Yes, you can. You can let me out and we can be a family again. I will help with all of the chores around the house and we can keep each other company and dance to the Eagles and—’

  ‘No. That’s simply not possible. Not now. Not now that …’

  ‘That what?’

  ‘That you know about her.’

  I knew she was talking about Olivia. I felt a hand on my back and nearly gasped. Olivia was on the step below me. Now that she was there I could feel her heat and smell her sweat. My own sweat was cold and ran down my back. I looked at the sandwich, desperate to eat it.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I said, intentionally not saying Olivia’s name. Last time I had said her name, Mother had gone mad.

  ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But you’ll know, and I know you, Mirabelle. I know you won’t be able to stop yourself from trying to let her out – and that can never happen. She’s evil personified. I’ve already told you that.’

  A saying I’d read in a book popped into my head. Pot. Kettle. Black. I’d not understood what it meant at the time, but sudden understanding flicked on like a light.

  ‘OK. I understand that, but you can let me out. I will be better, better-behaved, and I can help you find Clarabelle.’

  The diamond was out there now. It was my only bargaining tool. If she didn’t take it, I had no other options.

  I held my breath, and her breath hitched. Olivia’s hand found my shoulder. It trembled. I could picture Mother frowning, thinking it through, her mouth a grim line, her small, dark eyes narrowed to slits.

  ‘How?’ she said slowly, drawing out the word.

  This was it. The big lie. ‘She told me she was going to hide in the woods, near the cottage, next to this fallen tree we saw.’ I nearly added, when we were running away from you.

  ‘Which fallen tree? There are hundreds of fallen trees in the woods.’

  ‘There was this huge one that I fell over. I can remember exactly where it is. It’s next to a deep hole in the ground. I can take you there and we can bring Clarabelle home and start afresh and be a happy family, and I can learn how to make dresses and we can make dresses for Clarabelle and—’

  ‘That’s enough. Be quiet now. I need to think.’

  She let the door fall shut, making me jump.

  ‘Bloody psycho,’ Olivia whispered, ‘she might actually be buying it.’

  ‘Here,’ I said, feeling for a sandwich then turning round to hand it to her.

  ‘Thanks.’

  I found the second sandwich and ate it like a wild beast, tearing chunks and chomping on them briefly before swallowing them down into my empty tummy. It was spam, but it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. When I finished the sandwich, I reached for the bowl and tipped water into my mouth, delighting, despite everything, in the deliciousness of the cold, crisp liquid. I was careful not to spill any. If Mother didn’t let me out, we would need to make this water last a long time.

  Carefully, I passed the bowl to Olivia and heard her drinking hungrily. She moaned with relief and burped. It would have been funny if not for the queasy uncertainty that plagued us. For a time that seemed impossibly long, we sat in silence listening, waiting and hoping she would open the door again, and that her answer would be the one we needed. I bit my nails and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in. It was a simple yes or no answer. Please say yes. Please say yes, please say yes. Please say—

  The door creaked open a few inches. Light shone in, golden and glorious. Birds sang.

  ‘I’ve given it a long hard thought and I miss you too, Mirabelle. You’ll never know just how much. Things have been hard, so hard. I’ve thought about letting you out hundreds of times. I nearly did once. I came out here and I stared at the shelter. I even pulled the key out of my pocket. I was so close to opening the door and letting you come back inside, but right at the last second I remembered how very badly you behaved, and I realized, as I’ve come to realize again, just now, that you are not the little girl you used to be. You used to be so pretty and kind and good. Such a good, beautiful little doll, but you’ve changed. You’ve developed these strange, wild ideas about me and about yourself. You seem convinced I’m not your mother and it’s hurt me very deeply. Too deeply. You’ve given me a wound that will never ever heal, but worse than that – if that’s possible – is that I know you can no longer be trusted. I know you’re lying to me about Clarabelle. I know—’

  ‘No, Mother, please. Listen. I’m not lying about her! I promise you I’m not. I know where she is and I’ll take you there. I’ll—’

  ‘Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself now. My goodness, Mirabelle, I’ve never heard you sound so pathetic. You’re a nasty little liar. You’re just as bad as her. You’re both evil and evil deserves to be punished. Evil, evil, evil, evil!’

  A scream-like roar tore itself from Olivia’s throat, ‘YOU’RE THE EVIL ONE, YOU MONSTER!’

  She launched herself at the door like a bull on full charge. I slammed into the wall as she shoved past and watched in horror as she got her head and arms through the gap and reached out for Mother. Mother screamed and shoved Olivia’s head back down into the shelter with a force that sent Olivia flying backwards, arms outstretched and flailing for the door opening. With a scream of rage, Mother slammed the door shut, trapping Olivia’s right hand.

  Olivia gave a blood-curdling scream, ‘My fingers! My fingers!’

  ‘Oh no, oh no – what can I do?’ I gasped.

  We were engulfed by darkness. I groped for her arm and trailed my fingers up towards her trapped hand. Mother was laughing manically on the other side of the door. She was trying to lock it, twisting the key in the lock and laughing but
Olivia’s fingers were stopping the door from locking.

  Olivia screamed.

  Still laughing, Mother opened the door an inch and Olivia whipped her hand out with a wretched groan. The door shut and metal scraped metal.

  ‘Evil deserves punishment,’ Mother shouted through the door. She banged twice on the wood and crumbs of dirt fell in my eyes.

  Olivia moaned, ‘My finger … is … hanging off,’ then she slumped onto my lap.

  I stared at the place where the light had come in, heart pounding at what felt like two hundred beats per minute. I ought to have been terrified but I wasn’t. I was angry, yes. Frightened, a little. But my strongest feeling was excitement.

  When the light had shone in it had revealed things inside the shelter that I did not know were here. Things I could use. A plan began to unravel in my mind like thread from a torn dress – or the ladder in a pair of ripped tights. The plan depended on a couple of things going my way, but if they did go my way, it might just work. It might save us.

  Chapter 46

  The air was full of the sickly-sweet scent of Olivia’s blood and her body was like a dead weight. I heaved her off my lap and moved her down the steps as gently as I could, one step at a time. I was glad she was unconscious but worried about how much pain she’d be in when she woke up. I didn’t have a clue what we were going to do about her hand. The only way to tell what kind of damage had been done would be to touch her hand, which would be agony for her. Her words rang in my mind, hanging off. Could shutting your hand in a door make that happen? Had Olivia imagined that or was her finger really hanging off? There was nothing down here to clean and bandage her hand with. Nothing to kill the pain. She was going to be in a lot of pain when she woke up.

  Olivia was light so I was able to haul her onto the bed. I covered her with the bedcovers then perched on the edge of the mattress and took off my tights. My letter to my parents dropped onto the floor and I hoped my parents would never need to read it.