Silent Child

by Toni Maguire

  My mother, seeing he was not going to move, picked up the receiver nervously as if it was a red-hot poker, not a phone.

  That stone in my stomach grew even heavier as I heard Mum’s replies:

  ‘I see, yes.’

  ‘I’ll talk to her.’

  ‘No, I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘Yes, we are all very upset.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me know.’

  ‘Yes, tomorrow afternoon’s fine with me.’

  ‘What did she want?’ asked Carl and I noticed his knuckles whiten as he gripped the arm of his chair.

  ‘She says she’s concerned about Emily and wants me to go and see her.’

  ‘You should have said you couldn’t, that you’re too busy.’

  ‘I can’t, Carl – she was pretty firm about it. She thinks Emily’s depressed and her schoolwork is suffering, that she’s clearly grieving over Maria’s death.’

  ‘Don’t see why she should be, she never knew her. Just trying to get sympathy, aren’t you?’ he said, turning to me. ‘Well, you can stop that nonsense right away! Taking advantage of what we’re going through just to get attention. Now, look what you’ve done!’

  Getting up from his chair, he lashed out with his hand, sending me staggering backwards. He just about snarled when he asked what else I had been saying to my teachers.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied.

  ‘I hope for your sake, you’re not lying because if I find out you’ve been mischief-making, that slap’s just a taste of what will happen. You understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  * * *

  In the end, they both went to the meeting the following afternoon. Just the thought of Carl being in the school talking to the Head made me shake with nerves.

  When the bell rang, announcing that lessons were over for the day, I found them standing outside the classroom with the Head. There were warm smiles coming in my direction from all three of them. Mum actually put her arm round my shoulders.

  ‘Home, darling,’ she said in an artificially bright voice before thanking the Head for her time.

  Before I knew what was happening, we were outside and in the car.

  Nothing was going to be said until we got home, I realised. Not that either of them told me much of what went on in that meeting. Just that Carl blamed my gran – ‘that meddlesome old bitch’ – for having to go in the first place.

  ‘Why can’t they mind their own business and stop interfering in ours? Saying Emily needs counselling and giving us a card with the woman’s phone number! Means either the Head or your mother has already spoken to her. Next thing we know, we’ll have Social Services knocking on the door – she’s capable of that, all right, isn’t she?’

  Gran must have gone to the school for my sake. If she had guessed what the outcome of that would be, I’m sure she would have thought of another plan. I believe she had a shrewd understanding of what sort of man Carl was. Perhaps she wanted him frightened. What she could not have considered was what he might do to protect himself – use their ‘interference’ as he called it to move us to another area where we would not be known or know anyone.

  He certainly acted swiftly. It took him just 48 hours to announce that he had found us a new house and we were moving at the weekend.

  ‘Where is it?’ Mum asked anxiously and I heard him name a town that was several miles away.

  ‘And,’ he added before either of us had a chance to say anything, ‘no running around and telling anyone. Do you hear me, Emily? Don’t you be yapping away to Ben because I’ll know if you do.’

  ‘But, Carl, that’s miles away,’ my mother protested before bursting into tears while I sat there, completely numb. I had allowed myself to hope that the disagreement between Carl and my uncles would blow over, that everything would be all right. But I knew when he told us about the move that nothing ever would be.

  ‘Oh, stop that, Betty!’ he snapped. ‘We’re moving to a better place and that’s that! You should be pleased.’

  * * *

  That time is engrained in my memory, as is a small scar on my wrist. It’s been there for a long time, a little faded over the years, but it never ceases to remind me of those last few days in the flat.

  It was the day after he announced the move that my mother came into the bathroom while I was brushing my teeth. She leant over me, opened the small cabinet above my head and took out a razor blade.

  ‘It’s your fault, Emily,’ she told me with blame in her eyes. ‘All because of you we’re going.’

  She raised her hand and for a moment I was frightened it was me she was going to attack so I pressed myself against the wall. But I was mistaken there for she didn’t even look in my direction. With horror, I watched as she raised her arm, held the razor in the air before bringing it swiftly down and slashing away at her wrist.

  I remember so clearly how I screamed as she, without making a sound, dropped the blade into the washbasin. I couldn’t move or speak when, her face expressionless, she held her arm as blood splattered onto the floor.

  Hardly the right time for me to have a compete meltdown, but Fear never could remain silent: You are going to be left living with Carl, it said, and I opened my mouth and let my screams ricochet around the room.

  No one can remember exactly what they go through when a meltdown is in charge of both body and mind. It’s worse than any panic attack for the sufferer has absolutely no control over it. So I have no recollection of picking up that blood-stained razor, nor how, imitating my mother, I cut into my own wrist. Evidently seeing my dripping blood running down my fingers woke her from her stupor. I finally came back into the world to find my wrist bandaged and Mum, with a matching one, sitting near me on the floor.

  Did she want to die that day? Did I?

  I think for those few seconds, we both did. Or maybe we were crying out for help.

  If so, our cries were never heard.

  Chapter 40

  I remember so well the day the furniture lorry arrived. It seemed to take no time at all for everything to be packed into it. First, the kitchen was stripped, then the sitting room and lastly, the bedrooms. Finally, several boxes full of our personal possessions were loaded on before the lorry doors were slammed shut.

  I had been given my own cardboard box the day before, as had my mother. Our instructions were to pack our clothes and anything else we wanted to bring with us: ‘Anything you leave behind will be thrown out. Understood?’ said Carl. Much as I would have liked to leave the dreary selection of skirts and jumpers, I knew better. And I saw to my dismay that once I had placed some of those bulky garments in it, they were going to fill most of that box. I looked down at what I was wearing: were any of those things thinner than what was going into it? After removing my outer layer of clothing, on went the thickest shirt, jumper and skirt I had. Then I looked at my shoes and decided to wear the bulkiest ones. Perhaps that would gain me some space? I was disappointed to find that the space saving was minimal.

  Where was I going to put all the books Gran and my aunts had given me, the drawings I had in folders and my collection of dolls from various birthdays and Christmas? Glancing around the room where all my possessions, except for the dolls, were arranged in neat piles ready for me to pack, made me summon up the courage to ask my stepfather for another box.

  ‘No, Emily,’ he said firmly. ‘One is enough, so pack your clothes. Those are the important items. And make sure you put all of them in – you won’t be getting any new ones if you forget anything.’

  That was the end of that conversation and seething with resentment at his refusal, I went back to my bedroom.

  Into that box I pushed down more clothes and the rest of my ugly shoes. There was one colourful item I came across: a hat my gran had knitted for me, brown with bright yellow bears stitched into it. A lump formed in my throat when I picked it up. Even now I can still remember the day when Gran, her face wreathed in smiles, slipped it onto my head – ‘That will
keep that busy little brain of yours warm,’ she had said as she tugged it into place.

  Carl had given a derisory laugh when I walked in, wearing it proudly. ‘Makes you look even more of a simpleton,’ he said scathingly. ‘Take it off and don’t ever embarrass us by wearing it outside again.’

  Knowing his view, I tucked it under my navy-blue and grey skirts carefully. No way was he going to tell me to leave it behind! To me it was like holding a little token of the love she had put into every one of those stitches.

  Next, I turned my attention to my dolls. Each one reminded me of the person who had given it to me. And often when I lay on the bed looking at my collection, I conjured up pictures of those happier times before Carl entered our lives. In my mind I saw all my birthdays where Gran would have baked a cake and I, in an effort to blow out all the candles, sucked in all my breath before letting it out in the biggest burst I could muster. ‘Now make a wish,’ I was told and closing my eyes and crossing my fingers, I did.

  Not that I could tell anyone, I whispered to myself, because then it wouldn’t come true, would it?

  And now I can’t remember a single one of those wishes so I don’t know if they did or not. What a shame I had no clue as to what my future might hold, or I might have asked for those days to last forever. After the candle-blowing and the wish-making, one by one, an assortment of brightly wrapped packages was handed to me and smiling faces watched as I undid them.

  There was one doll I had named Maisie, a flaxen-haired, blue-eyed one, wearing a sky-blue dress and holding a cream handbag. Just looking at her brought back the memory of the last Christmas my parents and the family had spent together. My mother would take me first to Gran’s, where presents were given, and then we would all make our way down to my aunts’ houses. There were my cousins of varying ages delving into their Christmas stockings while my aunts made breakfast for everyone.

  ‘Just a light one,’ they warned, ‘we’ve got a big lunch to eat.’

  Then there was the huge, sparkling Christmas tree, so tall it almost touched the ceiling. At its base were the piles of presents that, unlike our stockings, were not permitted to be opened until after the breakfast things had been cleared away. I’d never seen so many helping hands clearing the table as on that day.

  After our lunch, when the adults were too full to move, all of us younger ones went outside to burn off some of our excess energy. I have a vague memory of family games being played later in the day, and of slabs of homemade Christmas cake, with its thick crust of marzipan and sweet icing, being passed around. By the end of the day I was drifting off to sleep and I know Dad had to carry me out. My parents must have put me to bed, for I seem to remember that I didn’t wake up until the following morning.

  Now those days were gone and Carl wanted to throw away everything that reminded me of them. Good memories, like old photographs, might fade over time, but they never vanish completely from our minds. Like an album of old photos, we can run through them in our heads and smile whenever we see them. We can almost taste the birthday cake and smell the needles of the pine tree.

  Chapter 41

  Standing in my room that day, it was apparent there was only a little space left in that box, just enough for one doll. I had to choose which one was going to come with me. Take Maisie, my inner voice told me, and carefully, I removed her from the doll family, wrapped her up carefully and placed her in the cardboard box, ready to go on her journey. I felt those treacherous tears – you know, the ones I kept telling myself that only babies had – form in my eyes at the thought of what I would have to leave behind. Carl clearly didn’t want me to have room to take anything my relatives had given me, not the books nor my drawings. I had to choke back sobs when I looked again at my doll collection: it was as if they already knew they were going to be abandoned and their bright shiny eyes were asking me why.

  My mother suddenly appeared in my room and without saying anything, started to fold my clothes. Even the ones that I had already packed, she took out and refolded before repacking them again. She must have seen my hat, understood why it was so precious to me and decided not to mention it.

  ‘There, that gives you a little more room,’ she told me when she had finished.

  She glanced at my row of dolls – a couple had come from her and Dad. ‘He’s going to take them all to the hospital,’ she told me, ‘for the children’s ward. They will make some sick kids happy.’ That cheered me up, as did her unexpected act of kindness.

  The last thing she did before leaving my room surprised me even more: she gently took hold of my arm, removed the bandage and peered at the cut underneath.

  ‘That bandage can stay off now,’ she told me. ‘Not much more than a deep scratch, really. Good thing I keep a first-aid kit in the bathroom though. And Emily, don’t ever try that again, will you?’ She looked me straight in the face when she added gently, ‘You will have a future. You’re getting excellent school marks and one day, you will walk into a world that will be good to you.’

  Before I could say anything in return, she walked away, leaving me wondering if I had imagined the expression of remorse on her face when our eyes met.

  If I hadn’t, it was a long time before I saw it again.

  I wondered how she really felt about the move. Carl had told us it was a much bigger place and just needed some work doing to it, which he was arranging. I overheard, as was my wont, him let slip the area it was in to Mum and lodged it into my mind. In my room, I looked it up on the map.

  Not too far away, but far enough for us not to bump into anyone we knew.

  Yes, Carl had got my mother and me exactly where he wanted us. In just a short time he had removed not just Mum’s support group, but mine as well. Because of his timing, he knew when he did this that she was vulnerable and incapable of making decisions and needed her family more than ever. On top of that, he was taking her to a place where isolation and loneliness would become her constant companions.

  There was no way Mum could arrange behind his back to meet up with old friends. Carl controlled the money that came into our house and exactly how every penny of it was spent. There was nothing he did not check, including each of her shopping bills. Every week I had seen him studying the receipts, which amused me because it took him so long. Out came his calculator and he punched in every total shown on the slips of paper laboriously.

  Once, I couldn’t resist asking him if I could do it for him. I loved seeing the look of fury on his face, which he wiped off quicker than it had appeared.

  ‘Mind your own business and don’t talk nonsense!’ he snapped. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  At least he did not show his annoyance by lashing out at me physically. A small victory, but small ones can all add up to a larger one in the end, can’t they?

  Chapter 42

  The morning we finally left, the three of us climbed into the car and Carl drove behind, slowly following the furniture lorry.

  That day I said goodbye to the housing estate I had lived on for nearly five years. Goodbye to all the youths rolling up and down the roads on their skateboards before, with arms outstretched, they mounted the base of a wall. I could hear the click of their heels against the concrete, followed by whoops of excitement as they spun off again. I said goodbye to the teenage girls who, in their tight, short skirts, were cheering them on, and goodbye to the children’s playground, where once I had spent all my spare time.

  As we drove through the estate I noticed for the first time how time had taken its toll. Paint blistered by the seasons was peeling off window and door frames, net curtains hung drably from windows and most of the small, square-front gardens were overgrown with coarse grass, weeds and dead bushes.

  Naturally, Carl made his usual derisive remarks about the louts, the sluttish girls and the rundown houses in those overbearing tones of his. He said he was happy that he was taking us away from it. But still, it had been my home and I had seen it as a friendly place where people with kind faces
smiled and waved at me when I walked to get the bus to school or to the local shops. As we drove out of the estate, I turned to look out the back window and said a final goodbye to it as well.

  I should have said goodbye to my cousins.

  To my aunts.

  To my uncles.

  And to my gran.

  For I never saw them again.

  I also should have bidden a farewell to my childhood for it ended that day.

  Part Two

  Chapter 43

  If I felt down in the dumps when we left, the weather seemed pretty dismal too. A thin winter sun peeked through the thick clouds hanging in a dull grey sky. Once we drove off the highway and onto the country roads, the trees, without their canopy of green leaves, were just dark, sombre shapes, their out-flung branches casting shadows over the windy road we were travelling on. Fields waiting for spring to change their dark muddy soil into crops of green and gold stretched either side of the road. The only colour I could see came from the thick evergreen hedges hiding country estates.

  I spotted a signpost with the name of our destination town on it and knew we were almost there, wherever that was. Before we entered, the furniture lorry and our car turned left onto a road where rows of new-build houses of various sizes stood behind low white walls. My mother looked hopeful when she saw them, while I guessed that our new home was not going to be there. I was right – we drove past and then turned down a rutted lane. At the end of it we came to a square, squat, single-storey stone building, with small windows and a dark blue door.

  ‘We’re here,’ Carl told us, pulling up behind the furniture lorry.

  ‘What, we’re going to live here?’ my mother said and I heard no hint of pleasure in her voice.

  ‘Why, Betty, it’s ours. I bought it,’ he said. ‘I told you it needs a bit of work doing to it – I’ve got a couple of boys coming over to give me a hand this week. Won’t take us too long before it’s looking great. Now, out of the car, both of you. Oh, and see all the land around it? That’s ours too.’