I Looked Away, page 17
‘That’s shocking.’ The man gives me a look as if to say that I’m a bad mother.
‘You need a fixed address for that, don’t you?’ continues Tim. I shoot him a ‘shut up’ look but the food seems to have loosened his tongue. I start to hum with embarrassment.
‘Don’t mind Mum,’ says Tim. ‘She does that when she’s worried about stuff.’
Mary-Lou lowers her voice and speaks in a hushed tone. ‘Honey, forgive me for asking, but do you and your kid have anywhere to sleep tonight?’
‘Course we do –’ I start to say but Tim cuts in.
‘We’re running away from my dad. He used to hit us, so Mum said we needed to leave. Been living in a caravan for a bit but then the owner chucked us out.’
That kid can spin a good yarn. The trick is to mix truth with lies. Always sounds better.
‘How awful.’ Her husband’s face starts to look a bit kinder. ‘What will you do?’
‘Dunno. Maybe sleep in a field somewhere.’
They’re talking now, this Mary-Lou and her husband, up at the bar. Looks to me like she’s arguing with him. I pretend I need the toilet so I can eavesdrop. As I walk past, I catch some of her words. ‘It could happen to anyone. Just think. What if it was one of our boys? Wouldn’t you want someone to help them?’
Maybe she’s going to give us some money. That would be good!
When I come back, they’re at the table again. ‘Listen up!’ says Mary-Lou. Her face is shining with pleasure. ‘We’re staying at a hotel near here and we’d like to pay for you to stay there too.’
Tim jumps up. ‘We’re not fucking like that.’
‘Like what, dear?’ Mary-Lou looks alarmed.
‘It’s OK,’ I say, pulling Tim down to the table again. He shakes off my arm.
‘He’s just scared you’re coming on to him,’ I explain.
Mary-Lou and her husband seem shocked, like someone has threatened to smash their faces in.
‘Some people pretend to be kind but they’re after something else,’ mumbles Tim. He has a distant look about him. I shiver. Once more, I wonder what he’s been through.
‘We meant we’d get you a separate room from us,’ says Mary-Lou quietly. ‘Somewhere warm and dry for a night. Would you like that? The hotel takes dogs. I saw one there this morning. Think of it as another birthday present.’
‘OK,’ says Tim slowly. But now I’m beginning to panic. Supposing these do-gooders begin interfering. What if they decide to say something to the police? Yet the temptation of having a proper bed is just too much … And perhaps if they feel really sorry for us there might be something else we can get out of them.
‘OK,’ I say.
It’s a risk but we’ve got to take it.
1.10 p.m., 17 August 1984
We carry on driving. The car is hot and stuffy even though the windows are open. It’s the kind of heat which makes your skin sweat and your head muzzy. The sort that makes you want to take it out on someone.
Michael begins wriggling around in the back of the car. He seems to think it’s funny to kick me. Not hard but enough to leave scuff marks on my dress.
‘Don’t,’ I say, edging away as far as my seatbelt will let me. Normally I wouldn’t have minded too much but I want to look my best for Peter.
Ever since I found out through our weekly letters that he is coming to the party too, I’ve been counting the days until I see him. The other girls at school will expect me to tell them what happened when I get back. I’ll have to come up with something or else they might start ignoring me again.
‘Stop arguing in the back,’ grumbles my stepmother.
‘It’s not my fault,’ I retort. ‘Michael was kicking me.’
‘No I wasn’t,’ he pipes up. ‘I was just playing.’
‘But –’ I begin.
‘I knew it was a bad idea to have you back for the rest of the holidays,’ spits Sheila. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t take you to France next week with us after all.’
‘Please, Ellie,’ says my father, glancing at me in the mirror, his eyes pleading. ‘Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’
It’s not fair. I wish she’d just disappear. Get out of our lives. For ever. And right now, part of me wishes Michael would go with her too.
31
Ellie
The days at Highbridge blurred into the nights, or was it that the nights blurred into the days? It was hard to tell. But when I went out for what they called my ‘morning constitutional’ with one of the staff, I noticed that the frost had gone and that there were primroses in the woods where they took us for walks. They had been another of my mother’s favourite wildflowers, along with forget-me-nots.
I liked it there because there weren’t any pavement cracks.
Sometimes we had ‘open days’ when families could visit. I always stood by the door of my room, hoping to be called. But my father never came for me. Was it any wonder? (We have open family days here in prison too. And just like at Highbridge, none of my ‘loved ones’ ever turns up.)
Angie, the girl who shared my room, always had visitors. One night, she leaned across to me. ‘My brother sneaked something in,’ she whispered. ‘He said it would help.’
She pressed a small tablet into my hand. ‘Go on. I’ve got more for myself. They’re happy pills.’
I didn’t deserve to be happy but I found myself taking one anyway. ‘Thanks,’ I said. I still couldn’t say much more than one word at a time.
At first I lay there in the dark, not feeling anything, but then our room filled with reds and blues and yellows and greens. I felt light-headed and found myself dancing around. Nothing mattered now. Not even …
‘What’s going on?’
I was only vaguely aware of a voice. I wanted to tell it to go away and let me carry on having fun. I hadn’t felt as light and carefree as this since I was a small child with my mother next to me, gathering flowers in the hedgerows. Then I sensed some hands helping me into bed. When I woke up, Cornelius told me that it wasn’t my fault. Angie had gone now. ‘But you must never take tablets again unless we give them to you,’ he said. ‘Otherwise it will make you ill again. Do you understand?’
Not really. But I pretended to. It seemed easier.
One morning when the bell-tower clock had struck eight and sunlight was streaming in through my window, Cornelius came into my room along with a woman I hadn’t seen before. ‘This is Julia,’ he said. ‘She’s our new crafts instructor.’
I’d never seen anyone with such lovely long red hair before. I touched my own hair, which I’d chopped off myself with Sheila’s kitchen scissors after it happened. It was getting a bit longer now. But it shouldn’t be. I didn’t deserve it.
‘Hi, Ellie,’ she said brightly. ‘Nice to meet you. Do you like cooking?’
I thought back to the butterfly cakes Sheila had made after my real mother died, before she became my stepmother. She’d fooled me into thinking she was kind. She was vile. But she still didn’t deserve what I’d done to her.
‘No,’ I said.
‘How about knitting or sewing?’
I had a mental flash of my mother, when I was little, knitting every evening. Those were the days before she got ill. After she died, I found rows and rows of little matinee jackets in her bedroom. They had been intended, my father had told me, for the brothers and sisters that never came.
‘No,’ I said.
Julia was beaming as if I’d said the right answer. ‘Then maybe arts and crafts? I know you like Roman villas.’
Why did these people keep telling me they knew what I did and didn’t like?
‘I thought we might make a mosaic.’
‘No,’ I was about to say. But then I stopped, recalling the mosaic wall my father had shown me all those years ago. ‘How do they do it, Daddy?’ I’d asked.
‘It’s a real skill,’ he’d told me. ‘You need to put all those tiny pieces together in a very careful way.’
‘Shall we have a go?’ said Julia.
I still wanted to say ‘No’ but my father’s memory placed a finger on my lips.
‘Yes,’ said my mouth. ‘Please.’
I found myself fascinated by the small bits of brightly coloured shapes Julia gave me to stick on a patterned piece of paper.
‘Brilliant.’ She leaned closer. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me about a garden, Ellie?’
Green. Trees. Sunlight casting shadows on the lawn. Orange and pink roses. Glasses with sparkling bubbles. A warm hand. Michael.
‘No,’ I moaned.
Then I tore up the flower picture just as I had destroyed the Roman villa and all the other things that Cornelius had given me.
But this time, fragments kept coming back. Lunch party. Do we have to go? So I walked across to the wall and smashed my head against it to get my father’s voice out of my head.
The alarm screamed. Three men in white coats burst through my door.
Then I heard someone yell three words. No – three letters. I’d heard them before but didn’t know what they meant.
E. C. T.
32
Jo
I must have died and gone to heaven! There’s this huge bed with a soft blue cover on it and loads of fancy cushions as well as pillows. I can’t help leaping on top and bouncing up and down like a kid. My stomach isn’t sore any more. I feel like a different woman.
On the other side by the window is a smaller bed. (‘Sure you don’t mind sharing a room?’ Mary-Lou had asked. ‘The hotel only has a family suite left but you can have the dog in it too.’)
‘It’s got its own bathroom,’ said Tim, jumping in and out of the shower with his shoes still on. ‘Look! It’s big enough to live in!’
I walk round the room, running my fingers along each piece of posh furniture from the sofa to the DVD player. There’s even a bowl of fruit. ‘I feel like royalty,’ I say, peeling an orange.
The kid gives me a high five. ‘Not bad, is it?’
Lucky jumps up at us, barking with excitement.
There’s a knock on the door. It’s Mary-Lou. ‘Thought you might like this.’ She’s holding out a couple of carrier bags.
‘Thanks.’ I grab them eagerly. Bags are really useful for loads of things on the streets.
But there’s something in them. I shake out two pairs of black tracksuit bottoms and a turquoise fleece. They’ve got a label inside with the words ‘Relaxed Leisure Wear.’ They’re really stylish but, most importantly, warm. There are socks too, along with a thermal vest and black tights and plain white pants.
‘I had to guess your sizes,’ says Mary-Lou. Her face is shining once more. I remember one of my old friends saying that there are some folk that get a real kick out of giving. ‘There’s a beret at the bottom too. Might keep your head warm out there.’
My hair had started to grow in short spiky tufts since I’d last shaved it. But it was still no protection from the weather and I’d lost my old beanie somewhere when running away from Tim’s gang.
Then she presses an envelope into my hand. ‘I want you to take this now just in case we’re gone when you wake. We have to leave early to get a connection, but sleep in if you like. Check-out isn’t until ten.’
I’m so gobsmacked that by the time I remember to say thank you, she’s gone.
‘Look at these!’ I say to Tim.
But he’s sitting on the sofa, dirty trainers up on the fancy blue pattern, playing with the remote controls. A cartoon roars into life. ‘I used to watch this when I was a kid,’ he says dreamily.
I realize that somewhere out there is a woman who can’t sleep or eat for not knowing where her son is.
‘Ever thought of getting in touch with your mum to let her know you’re all right?’ I ask.
‘And get beaten up by her bloke again?’
‘Maybe she’s kicked him out by now.’
‘Bet she hasn’t.’
‘How about trying to find your dad?’
Tim spits with disgust on the nice carpet. ‘Walked out on us before my mum even had me.’
‘That must have been hard.’
‘I can deal with it.’
Why is it that, even if our families are crap, we still need to belong somewhere?
I go into the bathroom, taking my clothes in with me. In the caravan, we’d never had clean stuff to change into so we just slept in what we wore. It feels like there’s an awkwardness between us now in this posh hotel room that hadn’t been there before.
Still, I think, this is pretty amazing, isn’t it? I lie back in the bath, wriggling my toes under the hot water. Then, just to see what happens, I fiddle with a lever thing near the taps. Suddenly a gush of water comes out from this great big shower above me. It’s freezing.
I let out a scream.
‘You OK?’ asks Tim from the other side of the door.
By now I’ve found the bit that gives you hot water.
‘Great,’ I yell back. The water goes into my mouth and I find myself laughing because it’s all so bloody funny. Who’d have guessed that we’d end up in a palace like this? There’s even a hairdryer on the wall – not that I need one – and a whacking great mirror.
There’s a tube of toothpaste on the side in a packet with a new toothbrush. It’s been so long since I cleaned my teeth that I’ve got used to my doggy breath – though I noticed the American woman took a step back when she got a bit close earlier. The paste is fresh and minty. Nice!
‘Your turn,’ I say when I come out.
Tim’s still lying on the sofa, watching cartoons with Lucky snuggled up in his arms. ‘I’m all right as I am.’
So he’s still pissed off with me.
‘Don’t you want to wash?’
‘What’s the point? We’re only going to get dirty again.’
I glance at my now-clean fingernails. ‘It makes you feel good.’
‘Getting used to this kind of high life, are you?’
‘Maybe. Why don’t you put on your new clothes anyway?’
‘’Cos the stuff she bought me is too small. It’s trainers I need.’
We both do. My feet are still rough and raw from where the soles have come away. I find a ‘room service menu’ card and cut out two shapes with some tiny scissors from a little sewing kit on the side. Then I stuff them inside my shoes as a makeshift. Not brilliant but they’ll do for a bit.
I go to bed, leaving Tim to watch the television. He’s glued to the screen like he’s in another world. I’m in another world too. The mattress is so soft that I am sinking into it. I can’t remember the last time I slept on a pillow. I’m out before I know it.
I wake with a start. It’s dark apart from the light of the telly, which is still on. But there’s another noise too.
It’s Tim.
‘Mum, Mum.’ He’s talking again in his sleep and crying at the same time.
Lucky is making little whimpering noises and licking Tim’s face.
I get out and kneel down next to him. ‘It’s all right,’ I say, stroking his arm.
It seems to soothe him. His cries turn into quiet sobs. Then into steady breathing. In the end he settles. I watch his face, which looks even younger now he’s having a kip, and gently pull a strand of hair away from his eyes. It’s like I really am his mum. Makes me happy and sad at the same time.
Then I tiptoe back to my bed. But I can’t sleep. I sit upright in the end, thoughts running through my head. Half of them don’t even make sense.
I get up. I fancy another shower – I’ll probably never be in a bathroom like this again – but I don’t want to risk waking the kid. I finger the soft white towels, stroking them. They’re too big to take with me in my plastic bags but I can nick some of those lovely soaps. Then I get dressed in my new clothes and leave the old ones in a pile in the corner.
There’s some fancy hotel paper in the chest of drawers below the mirror. I write two notes in big capital letters.
I take a last look at Tim curled up in bed, calm now, with Lucky in the crook of his arm. I leave the first note on the floor next to him so he’ll see it when he gets up. I find myself blowing them a kiss. Must be getting soft in my old age.
Quietly, I shut our bedroom door. Then I tiptoe down the corridor to where the Americans are sleeping and shove the second note under their door.
Feeling like shit, I go downstairs. There’s a desk – all shiny like someone has been polishing it every day of its life – and a young girl with a swishy brown ponytail. Maybe ’cos I look clean now in my new clothes, she doesn’t shoot me that ‘you don’t belong here’ stare that the bloke on the desk had given us when we arrived yesterday.
I go outside. The wind has picked up. Shivering, I make my way to a public phone box I saw yesterday on the way to the hotel.
My fingers shaking with cold and nerves, I dial 999.
‘Police, please,’ I say in a made-up voice. ‘I’m ringing about a missing boy. He calls himself Tim but I don’t think that’s his real name. I know where he is.’
1.23 p.m., 17 August 1984
We’re almost there.
My stepmother is giving me last-minute instructions.
‘Don’t think you’re one of the guests,’ she snorts dismissively. ‘You’re only coming to babysit Michael. When we arrive, take him outside and keep an eye on him while your father and I talk to friends.’
Usually I wouldn’t mind. I love looking after my brother. But being away at school has given me a different perspective on how I’m treated by my stepmother. Not only is she rude to me but she also uses me as an unpaid servant. And Michael’s behaviour in the back of the car has upset me.
Everything was all right when it was just Daddy and me.
33
Ellie
From my prison-cell window, I see a large white van arrive. It pulls into the courtyard below. Uniformed armed guards are bringing out a woman. She is young and is wearing beige trousers and a smart jacket, which suggests our latest ‘resident’ might have come straight from court.
She looks bewildered, just as I did when I arrived at this place. Like she’s being led to the gallows. It was a bit like that at Highbridge.
