by Toni Maguire
Once I had that knowledge tucked away in my mind, all I wanted was to get through the summer, work as many days as I could at the bakery and save up some money. I felt a bit guilty about not being able to tell Colin the truth, but I had no choice but to let him continue hoping I would end up working full-time for him. I just hoped that Carl had not put two and two together and worked out that this was never going to be my intention.
He had.
As soon as I walked into the house and saw his grim expression, I knew. I just prayed that I could somehow defuse his anger. But I didn’t have long to put that to the test, because even before I had taken my things through to my room, his bombardment of questions started to fly at me.
‘So, Emily, what are your plans for the holidays?’ was the first seemingly innocuous one.
I told him that I was going to be working at the bakery most days.
‘And you have talked to Colin, have you, about working full-time for him next year?’
‘Yes,’ I said, keeping my fingers crossed that my answer would satisfy him.
It didn’t – the smirk that appeared on his face told me that.
‘So’ – and here, he held my gaze – ‘you’re still leading my mate up the garden path, are you? You’ve no intention of working for him, have you?’
I tried to bypass that question by saying I had to wait for the results of my exams before I could make any plans.
An answer he made clear that he did not believe.
‘Come off it! Do you think I was born yesterday? You’re planning on at least another four years of studying so don’t lie to me and say you aren’t.’
Before I could think of anything to say to that, he told me in a deceptively calm voice that he was disappointed I had not confided in him, if that was what I wanted. However calm he might sound, I could sense him stoking his rage with every question and remark he threw at me though.
‘I expect your dad knows all about your plans, doesn’t he? But you didn’t think I was good enough to be told, did you?’
I tried to pluck some placating words out of thin air, but Carl, sensing my hesitation, just gave me a scornful look.
‘Oh, don’t waste your breath trying to palm me off with some excuse or other! There’s no point talking any longer, is there? Now do me a favour and go out to my car – there’s a bag in the boot I want brought in.’
Surely that’s not all he’s going to say to me, I thought, wondering just what was in that bag that he wanted me to fetch. I wouldn’t have put it past him to have brought home some bondage gear or a new sex toy, for the pornography he showed me was getting weirder and his sexual advances had become more adventurous and disgusting. If so, he would enjoy imagining me quaking with fear as I waited with him watching me until it was time for Mum and the boys to go to bed.
My brothers might have heard him ridiculing me and even watched wide-eyed as he pulled up my jumper in front of them, trapping my arms, and undid my bra before grabbing hold of one of my exposed breasts. They saw it as a game, which of course it was to him – a very sick one. But he was careful, apart from the odd slap across my face, not to show them his violent side.
‘OK, what am I looking for?’ I asked, scarcely believing that I was being let off the hook so lightly.
‘A bag of shopping, that’s all,’ he told me, tossing a bunch of keys in my direction.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mother’s face turn a chalky white as she stood up and I heard her utter his name as I went outside – I still had no idea what her reaction was all about.
Opening the deep boot of his car, I saw a bag tucked in the very far corner. As I leant into it, my arm outstretched to reach the bag, I suddenly had a flash of realisation and knew why he had sent me out to get it.
He had moved so fast to follow me that before I had a chance to straighten up, his knee was rammed onto my back, pinning me in place as his hands gripped my shoulders to prevent me moving.
‘You two-faced little bitch!’ he hissed. ‘You and your dad have plotted this together, haven’t you? You think I’m going to let you swan off after everything I’ve done for you? Well, there’s only one way you’re going to be leaving here . . .’
I felt one hand release me and stretch upwards towards the lid of the boot.
I then heard a blood-curdling scream coming from my mother as she hurled herself against us, breaking his grip on me. Just as the lid crashed downwards where my head had been, I flew sideways. My mother’s intervention meant I only received a glancing blow to the side of my head.
I could feel the blood trickling down my face and into my eyes.
Through ringing ears, I could hear my mother shouting, ‘So what are you thinking of doing, Carl, killing us all? She’s not worth it! Think of your sons being without a father. Now go, just go and don’t you dare come back tonight or I’m warning you, I’ll call the police!’
I’m sure she said a lot more than that, but I was only half-conscious and totally in shock. Whatever else she might have said to him, it was enough for him to jump in the car and drive off at high speed.
For the second time, my mother had to help me up. Sick and dizzy, I leant on her as she slowly led me into the house. All I wanted was to lie down and close my eyes.
‘Not until I’m sure you don’t have concussion,’ she told me, her voice full of concern.
If I had felt a bit better, I might have asked what she thought someone who has just had a hard blow to the side of the head and lost consciousness had.
Mum examined the cut and bathed it in antiseptic to make sure it was clean. It wasn’t deep and didn’t need stitches, she proclaimed. She made me some sweet caffeine-free herbal tea, before giving me her arm again and leading me into my room.
* * *
I should have fallen into a deep sleep straight away, but all the questions churning in my mind kept me awake.
Would Carl, the man who had given me a silver chain and told me he saw me as his daughter, really have crashed that heavy boot down on my head? Was it my skull he had wanted to shatter?
Or did he want to drive it into my face and tear my skin until the bones were exposed?
Did he want to scar me for life so no one else would want me?
And what excuse would he have used to the people who would question him? Would he convince them that it was just a dreadful accident?
And to himself, how could he justify that act?
That I had driven him to it, that he had no choice?
Could he really have lived with that?
I just couldn’t get my throbbing head around these questions. They kept repeating themselves until finally I fell into a deep, but troubled sleep.
When I woke, it was light – I must have slept for hours, I realised.
I hardly had the energy to move, but move I must; first to the bathroom and then to the phone. I couldn’t stay here any longer, I knew that. Mum had got the better of him this time, but what about the next time it happened?
He might return home all charming and pleasant, he might even tell me he was just trying to scare me and that he was sorry, or he could return full of the confidence of a man who believed he was justified in his actions. There was just no telling with him – he was completely unpredictable. The one thing I was really afraid of was believing I would be at home for another year, he would stop at nothing to impregnate me.
A bulging stomach would keep me tied to him, wouldn’t it?
By covering my bed with several books, and using the word ‘homework’, which in fact I did not have, I had already managed to prevent him from coming into my bed several times. I doubted if those excuses would work now.
After everything he had done to me from when I was a small child to just the day before, I doubted he would have had any compunction about adding rape to his list of depravities. I knew too that however much I struggled, he would overpower me. And however much I screamed and begged for help, would anyone come to my aid? And did my m
other care enough to intervene a second time?
As soon as I was able, I crept out of bed and took myself into the room where the phone was. Mum was already up, looking even more haggard than she had the day before. I doubt she had managed to have a dreamless sleep either. Without saying anything, I picked up the phone and dialled Dad’s number.
‘I need to get out of here,’ was all I said.
The only question he asked was, ‘Is he there?’ When I answered him with a short no, he just told me to pack what I needed and to give him an hour to get to me.
I told Mum I wanted to say goodbye to my brothers before I left. If I was looking for any show of emotion at this point then none came, she just said, ‘All right.’ I then went into my room and threw haphazardly as much as I could into a selection of carrier bags, which Mum handed to me wordlessly.
Was she sad I was leaving? I certainly know that there was a lump in my throat. Whatever sins she had committed, she was still my mother. Did I hope there would be a final hug, that she would tell me I would be missed, and even more important, that she was sorry, so sorry she had stood by and watched what was happening but never once tried to put a stop to it? Surely she must have known that as soon as I walked out of the door, she was unlikely to see me again. This was her final chance to say it. Or was it a relief that I was actually going?
Even now I still don’t know what her feelings were – she never told me.
Unlike my brothers, her face gave little away, but the boys burst into tears when I said my goodbyes.
‘When are you coming back?’ they asked.
The one question I didn’t want to answer, for I had little intention of ever returning.
‘I’ll send you lots of postcards,’ I told them. ‘You’ll be able to take them to school and show your friends.’
A promise that diverted them from asking me again when I would return so maybe their tears ceased because they thought I really would.
When I hugged them both, I felt such a pang of grief. I might not have wanted to love my brothers, because from the moment they came into the world, I knew that one day I would want to leave. But I had found it impossible not to feel a deep affection for them. Just six and seven years old, I was going to miss them so much. My arms wrapped around them in those last hugs. None of the reasons I was leaving were their faults, were they? They might have Carl’s genes, but perhaps those of my mother were stronger, for they reminded me of my cousins when we had all been small.
Before they could ask any more questions, I heard the sound of Dad’s car pulling up.
Mum actually helped me carry out all those bags.
I thought I would try just once to make her see sense: ‘Mum, why won’t you leave him?’ I asked. ‘You’ve not been happy for years.’
‘And where would I go?’ she said wearily.
Our eyes met and there was the flicker of remorse that I had seen all those years ago. She must have felt that by giving in to Carl, she had burnt all her bridges with her own family. They must have been so angry with her for hurting Gran. She had not even gone to the funeral. Probably too afraid, I had thought then. But who else would understand, if she did not tell them?
‘You could let your sisters know the truth . . .’
She looked at me then with a slightly sardonic smile on her face.
‘I don’t think I could do that, Emily. Now do you?’
That was the closest she ever got to admitting how much in the wrong she had been over all those years. The fact that I was finally escaping was what gave me the ability to forgive her – I might no longer have any love left for her, nor wish to receive any in return, but still I felt something which made me want to reassure her that my life was not completely ruined.
‘I have a place at university,’ I told her.
‘I know, Emily, you were fast-tracked. You forget I have joint custody as well.’
She had kept my secret after all.
‘So, are you going to stay with him?’
‘You don’t understand, Emily. I still love him. Now go!’
That was the last conversation we ever had.
* * *
Once in the car, I didn’t turn to look back at the forlorn woman holding the hands of two tear-streaked little boys.
I looked straight ahead.
I think it was the phone call my father had been waiting to receive ever since Gran had shared her fears with him. He placed a hand gently on my shoulder, smiled as I turned to him and said, ‘Let’s get you back to mine.’ To my relief, he didn’t ask any questions during that drive.
You can leave now, I told Fear, and without a murmur of protest, it moved out of the space that it had occupied since I was four.
It had a new home to go to, hadn’t it?
Epilogue
June 2006
Dear Journal
I can write to you in English now! I’m free, I can stay with Dad until I go to uni!
Surprise, surprise, Lily found me a job in a coffee shop! But what did she do first? Pulled out all my clothes and tossed them in a black sack. ‘Oxfam for those,’ she said. ‘Maybe there’s a nun running away from a convent who might want them.’
She had a point.
‘Shopping is needed,’ she told me. ‘Your dad’s given me his credit card. Time you looked like a teenager, an attractive one.’
Lily being friendly, well, that’s a first! She did tell me that the reason she hadn’t wanted me sleeping over was that Paul had such a crush on me. And she knew (a) I wasn’t interested and (b) I would leave one day. Anyhow, he has a girlfriend now, so problem solved.
She took me to Gap. Now that’s a shop Carl would never have let me go to. She made me say yes to a pair of straight-legged blue jeans, some really bright coloured T-shirts and even a pair of leggings. All my shoes were chucked out as well. Now I’ve got strappy sandals and a pair of boots with heels that were in the sale. And you should see my make-up!
I can’t believe how different I feel.
Lily says I look trendy.
What, me?
September 2006
Hello again, Journal
I just love being at uni! I’ve made some friends already – they invited me to a party and I can’t believe what a great time I had.
I didn’t tell them it was my first one! And they didn’t guess. They are all so cool. None of them mind about me sorting my veg into different colours – they think it makes me more interesting!
Spoke to Marion on the phone and she’s happy too. Says London is super cool! She wants us to meet up later this year.
That will be so good.
February 2009
Dear Journal
I met someone last night. I was in the bar where we all hang out and I looked up and how romantic! It’s such a cliché, I know, but our eyes did meet. His are a beautiful deep green. I thought he was just drop-dead gorgeous, he told me he thought I was! Well, he did after he bought me a couple of drinks.
We talked and talked, I just didn’t want the evening to end. He’s a third-year student like me, only he’s studying science. And guess what? He’s asked to see me tomorrow. Can’t wait!
His name is Patrick and I just know he’s special.
October 2009
Amazing, I never thought this could happen! I’ve moved in with Patrick – but not until I opened up and told him everything.
He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. Told me he would keep me safe. That I have a new life now and so many people like me. All he wants is for me to feel cared for.
Didn’t I say he was special? He really is. I can’t believe my luck that I found him.
September 2010
Here we are with our degrees, not just any degree but an honours one.
And you know what I’m going to do?
When I get my certificate, I’m going to send a copy of it to Carl and sign it from the idiot savant.
Petty, you might think.
Maybe, but I’ll
tell you one thing, that cloak of inferiority that he had draped around my shoulders for all those years – well, it’s going with it!
I’m posting it in London when I meet up with Marion.
Let him think that’s where I live.
May 2012
Hello, Journal!
Guess what? We’ve moved to Ireland, to County Cork – Patrick was missing it so much. Oh, did I not tell you, that’s where he’s from?
We’ve found a lovely cottage to live in. It’s in a small village and the people here are just so friendly. It will be a great place to bring up children and yes, we are planning that.
We’ve only been here a week and Patrick says I’m already sounding Irish. And yes, it does rain a lot, but then it makes everything so green.
That’s why it’s called the Emerald Isle, isn’t it?
January 2019
Dear Journal
OK, you know there are times when I have the wobbles. Can’t escape the past all the time. But then who can? And as for that nasty little demon Fear, it has a knack of paying me the odd uninvited visit.
It’s a good thing I have you to write in. Because once I have, I can find the strength to shove it away as hard as I can. Oh, it mutters away for a bit and then it disappears.
June 2020
Dear Journal
Today, I had my first scan, watched that little tadpole wriggling away. My third baby! And guess what? He or she is due to arrive at Christmas.
Sonia might think Santa brought the baby! So, I take her hand, place it on my stomach and watch her eyes grow huge as I explain that’s where babies grow. I can’t wait to see her face once she can feel those tiny feet kicking away.
None of us can wait till this Christmas.
And here’s a selfish thought – guess who will have to do the housework this year!
Went maternity clothes shopping. Can you believe all the clothes were in navy blue and dark burgundy! No way! Eventually I found what I wanted in a pretty pale yellow and another in a lovely deep pink.