I Looked Away, page 6
I thought she’d tell me not to worry and that she’d find something else instead. But she fixed me with a disapproving look. ‘In that case, you can go without, young lady. We didn’t have nice things like this during the war. You should consider yourself lucky.’
That night, when the winter wind was howling outside, Daddy came in to tuck me up in bed, as he always did. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’
‘Is it to do with the fish fingers?’ I asked anxiously.
‘No. Why? What about them?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said quickly.
I tried again. Daddy and I used to play lots of guessing games when we’d been alone. He used to say how quick I was and that I was a ‘clever girl’.
‘Is it because she’s expecting, then?’
His face registered surprise. ‘You knew?’
‘Mrs Greenway said. But she didn’t tell me what she’s expecting. Is it a present?’
He smiled. ‘In a way, it’s exactly that! She’s going to have a baby, Ellie. A brother or sister for you. Isn’t that wonderful?’
I leapt out of bed and flung my arms around him. At last I’d have someone else to play with. Someone to talk to in this house who wasn’t older than me. I’d be like all the other girls at school.
‘Thank you, Daddy! Thank you.’
But it was only later, when I was saying my prayers, that I felt sad. My real mother had wanted a baby so much. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I whispered out into the dark. ‘I still love you best. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
My nose is still bleeding today when I get to school. A few weeks ago, I came in with bruises on my arm and when the teacher asked how I got them, I said I fell over in the park. Today I tell them our cat scratched me, even though we’re not allowed pets in our flat.
They say they’ve got to ring someone called a social worker.
She’s a nice lady called Jill. I get called out of class to talk to her. I tell her about the other stuff my dad does to me and how my mother doesn’t stop him ’cos she’s scared.
She says I’m safe now. I don’t have to worry any more because no one’s going to hurt me again.
Maybe that means I’ll get some tea. I can’t sleep at night when I’m hungry.
6
Jo
‘Jo?’
I can’t see the face but I know the voice from somewhere.
I open my mouth to yell ‘Help’ but the word won’t come out. Strong hands are wrapping something long and wiry round my neck and pulling it taut. There’s no breath left in my body. So this is it, I tell myself. I feel almost calm. This is what death feels like.
Then I feel a sharp stab in my ribs. ‘Shut up, lady. Some of us are trying to get some shut-eye.’
Relief washes through me as I open my eyes. It was only the same old nightmare again. ‘It’s not real,’ I repeat over and over to myself. ‘It’s not real.’
But my body isn’t convinced. It continues to shake even though I don’t know why. It’s almost like my mind knows something that the rest of me doesn’t.
It’s bloody impossible to go back to sleep because my newspaper blanket is soggy with dew. I make my way towards the broken factory windows, stretch my arms and legs and stare up at the sky. It’s streaked with pink. It might be the centre of a big city but right now I can only hear the odd car or bike go by.
Then I hear a siren scream. I scuttle back to the safety of my cardboard mattress and curl up, trying to control my shivers, till the others begin to stir.
‘You kept us up with your nightmares all night,’ grumbles a kid with green hair.
My skin prickles. ‘What did I say?’
‘Dunno. Load of rubbish it was.’
‘Stop arguing,’ says a small bird-like woman I hadn’t noticed before. She’s running her fingers through her long hair like a comb. ‘Can’t wait to be out of this place. Won’t be long now. I’m on a list. They’ll find me somewhere soon.’
‘You’ve been saying that for months,’ snorts the man in a suit.
Paul is standing over me. He seems different today. ‘Come on, Jo,’ he says sharply. ‘Time to get going.’
‘Where?’
‘Start with the toilets at the coach station. They’re 20p. You can have a bit of a wash-up there before you begin working.’
‘But I haven’t got a job right now. I used to sell the Big Issue –’
‘Forget it,’ cuts in a pretty girl with light-brown skin. ‘There are too many of them as it is.’
Paul puts his arm around her. ‘Faduma prefers to use her looks, don’t you, love? Go and put your slap on, there’s a good girl. Maybe you could train Jo here.’
She gives me a look like I’m something the cat brought in. ‘You must be crazy. Men don’t want some old hag with saggy breasts.’
I start up. ‘Bloody cheek …’
My Irish friend comes between us. ‘Don’t take Faduma the wrong way. It’s just how she is.’
‘I’m no prostitute,’ I say.
Paul’s eyes narrow. ‘And I’m not a pimp. You’ve got a cheek saying that after everything I’ve done for you.’ He waggles his finger at me. ‘Faduma wouldn’t sell herself, would you?’
‘No bloody way,’ she hisses. ‘But you can still make people pay without touching.’
I don’t get it.
‘She might be like a little cat with us but Faduma’s got charm, believe it or not. She uses her looks to soften people’s hearts.’ Paul speaks like he’s her master. ‘She asks passers-by to give her a couple of quid so she can “get the bus to work”. A few of those every day and you’re home and dry.’
Clever.
He looks at me like he’s sizing me up. ‘But you’d be better off with straight old-fashioned begging. People will give you money because you’ll remind them of their mum like you reminded me of mine. You just need to find yourself a spot near the buses and put up this sign. Here. I’ve done one for you.’
There’s no way I can do that. All those people ….
He gives me a sheet of cardboard. On it in thick black capital letters are the words OAP. HUNGRY AND HOMELESS. PLEASE HELP.
Paul grins like he’s pleased with himself. ‘I took a guess with the age. Did I get it right?’
‘No you bloody didn’t! I’m not that old.’
‘Oh, sorry. Better change that, then. I don’t like to lie.’
The woman with the spiky hair and dog gives a snort. ‘Is that right, Paul?’
‘Enough of that. I’ve got faith in this one.’ He touches my arm like we’re friends again. ‘We haven’t had a mature lady for a bit. They always melt a few wallets.’
He gives me another look. ‘Now, these are the rules, Jo. Keep that beanie of yours on. The shaved head seems a bit threatening. When someone gives you food, you can eat a bit yourself but you’ve got to bring most of it back for the rest of us. Any cash donations have to come straight back here too. It’s how we work. Don’t try to get away with anything. We’ll be checking up on you.’
He pats my back. ‘Off you go. And remember to wash first. No one will want to come near you if you stink.’
Stiff with cold and hunger, I make my way towards the bus station, looking over my shoulder all the time. I don’t know what to do. I feel safer with someone like Paul to look out for me, but I don’t want to do this. My heart starts to pound when a tall man seems to be following me, but then he turns off in another direction. It’s only just morning and the sky’s still that dark-pinky colour. Loads of people are getting off the buses or walking past, dressed up for work. What I’d give for a nice cosy office job in the warm. Then I’m back where I got off the bus last night.
There’s a woman trying to push her pram with a screaming kid inside up a ramp.
‘Want some help, love?’ I ask, but she ignores me like I’m not here.
I scurry through the main area, keeping my head down. Past a stall selling coffee and croissants. My mouth waters. There’s a sign on the wall saying NO MODERN SLAVERY OR HUMAN TRAFFICKING DEALING IS ALLOWED TO TAKE PART ON THESE PREMISES.
At last I find the toilets. I’m desperate for a pee. This morning, I couldn’t bring myself to squat in the corner like the others. A snotty-looking woman in a business suit is coming in at the same time. She gives me a sideways look as if to say, ‘What are you doing here?’
It’s a relief to sit down on a proper seat in privacy. Then I go to one of the basins. Hot water! That feels good. I splash my face and squeeze out some soap, running it over my scalp and rinsing it again. Heaven.
‘Excuse me,’ says Snotty Face. ‘I don’t believe you’re meant to do that here.’
Too late. I just have. Then I take off my anorak and the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath and rub another squirt of soap under my armpits.
A navy-suited girl with high heels at the sink next to me moves away. I put my head under the dryer – I might not have any hair but it still feels good – and then get dressed and go into one of the cubicles. Perhaps I can hide in here for a few hours and figure out what to do. There’s no way I can beg like Paul told me to. I’ve already dumped the sign he gave me in a bin.
After a bit, I hear people outside starting to moan. ‘That one’s been occupied for ages.’
Someone hammers on the door. ‘Hurry up!’
I keep quiet. An hour passes, maybe two, as I sit and doze in the warmth.
Then it happens.
I see the shiny black shoes under the door. More hammering. I begin to shake.
‘Are you all right in there?’
There’s a sound like someone is getting down on the ground.
A black-uniformed arm.
It’s the police!
‘Better break the door down, then, and see if she’s OK.’
There’s nothing else for it. I’m going to have to open up.
‘I’m OK,’ I say, pulling down my beanie and unlocking the door. ‘Just got the squits, that’s all.’
The policewoman’s eyes narrow. ‘Really? Looks to me like you’re hiding from someone or something.’
‘Why do you think that?’
‘There’s no need to be aggressive.’
‘I’m not,’ I say, feeling my fists clench into balls.
‘What’s your name?’
‘What’s it to you? I haven’t done anything wrong.’
She stares like she might have seen me somewhere before. ‘I think we ought to pay a visit to the police station and check out your identity. Come with me, please.’
There’s a queue of people staring at us. My throat is tightening with panic. I’ve got to get out of here.
‘Let the lady go,’ says a woman in the crowd. She’s one of Paul’s gang, I realize. ‘Stop bullying her,’ she continues. ‘Like she says, she hasn’t done nothing wrong.’
Some of the others are now agreeing with her. There’s confusion. The policewoman seems to be doubting herself. I use the opportunity to dash past, racing out of the bus station as fast as I can. Over a main road. Past a café and office blocks. There’s a park ahead. Just what I need. Maybe I can hide there.
Don’t ask me why, but I’m pretty sure my life depends on this.
Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna)
Long associated with fertility. On the first day of May, young women would take a sprig of blossom and keep it close to attract a husband. It is also known as a tree of protection, offering shelter from storms.
7
Ellie
Time passes really slowly here. Every minute counts, ticking its way towards freedom – or not. It’s like that for many adults, not just those in prison. But when you’re a child, time goes by in a different way. As I look back, there appear to be periods when my life was concentrated into small intense patches, such as when my mother died. At other times, it seemed to rush past, like my new mother’s pregnancy. A baby takes nine months to grow, yet it seemed to me, back then, that it happened in a few weeks. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized Sheila must have been pregnant when they’d married.
To my excitement, I was allowed to help my new mother get ready for the baby. It was the first time I’d been invited into their bedroom since the marriage. The old wooden wardrobe had gone and in its place was a line of white sliding doors with mirrors on them. My mother’s pretty Victorian dressing table had been taken away too, with all her little trinkets and pictures. In its place was a matching white table with a mirror that went up and down when you moved it. (We’re not allowed mirrors inside prison in case we crack the glass and use it to stab someone or self-harm.)
But the thing that really drew my eye was the new big bed with a maroon bedspread on top that Daddy said was called ‘candle wick’. How strange to think that my father got into this every night with a woman who wasn’t Mummy. There was also a chest of drawers and shopping bags with little white baby clothes inside. My task was to put them in the drawers.
‘Thank you, Ellie,’ Sheila had said. ‘You’ve done a lovely job.’ Then she picked them up and did them all over again. They looked just the same to me afterwards but she seemed happier.
‘Don’t you mind about the baby?’ asked one of my friends at school.
‘Why should I?’
‘It shows they’ve done it,’ she sniggered.
‘What do you mean?’
Another of the girls laughed. ‘Don’t you know?’
I didn’t want to look stupid, so I made out that I’d suddenly got it. ‘Oh, that,’ I said airily. ‘I see what you mean now.’
But I didn’t.
Then one day in biology, our teacher announced that we were going to be studying ‘reproduction’. There was a wave of laughter round the class. ‘Your dad and new mum will know all about that,’ whispered my friend, whom I was beginning not to like any more.
We all sat in front of a big screen, which was lit up almost as if we were in the cinema. My father used to take me every Saturday afternoon to the matinee at the local Odeon but we hadn’t been for ages. Now, in the classroom, there was a large drawing of something that looked a bit like a bulb. When she was well, my mother and I would plant bulbs in the autumn and then green shoots would come through in the spring. ‘This is a womb,’ said the teacher. ‘It’s in a lady’s tummy.’
Then there was a picture of a little fish, which was called a sperm.
‘Men produce these. Lots of them swim into the womb but only one will fertilize the egg. That means it gives it life. Then a baby starts to be made.’
The class began to giggle again. It was no good. I had to ask. ‘How do the fish get into the womb?’
Some of the other girls looked as though they didn’t understand either. But my friend dug me in the ribs. ‘It’s because a man and woman have sex, stupid,’ she hissed. ‘Just like your dad. My mum says it’s disgusting, so soon after your poor mother.’
Was it? Why?
That evening, I went upstairs to Mrs Greenway and repeated the conversation. I’d hoped she would tell me that the friend was silly. Instead, she was silent for a few minutes, even though the television continued to blare with her favourite programme, Coronation Street (which I’d never seen before. She was always watching either that or Crossroads. I couldn’t make up my mind which one I liked best.) ‘Some people might say your father found someone else too fast,’ she said eventually. ‘But it was nearly two years and, besides, he was lonely. Men don’t always do well on their own. He needed a woman to look after you. My daughter needed a husband too. Time was running out for her. She was always desperate for a child.’
Never before had I heard the old lady talk so much in such a serious voice without her usual cackles of laughter.
Then she sighed. ‘She thought it was getting too late to have one of her own. So she wasn’t careful enough.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing.’ She gave herself a shake. ‘Don’t listen to me. Your father’s right. I should learn to keep my opinions to myself. Now, how about something to eat?’
Getting up, she made her way to the gleaming golden trolley where she kept her tea cups, a teapot and a pretty biscuit tin with a picture of a kitten on it. Her fingers struggled to open the lid. ‘Flipping arthritis,’ she grumbled.
‘Shall I help?’
‘Thank you. You’re a good girl.’ Then her hand patted mine as we tucked into chocolate digestives together. ‘We’re in this together, you and I. Let’s just hope everything’s all right when the baby arrives.’
‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ I asked as we settled down on the sofa to watch TV.
‘Things will change, mark me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Her hand patted mine again. ‘Even if you did, there’s nothing you or I could do about it. Don’t go mentioning it to your father or we’ll both end up in trouble. Now shh. The adverts are over. We don’t want to miss the next bit. Do we?’
I found myself snuggling up to her. It felt comforting, especially with everything changing all over again because of the baby who would be here soon. ‘Do you mind if I call you Grandma?’ I said suddenly. ‘I’ve always wanted a grandmother like the other girls at school. My grandmas and grandpas all died before I was born.’
Her face went all red. For a minute, I thought I’d offended her. Then she beamed and put her arm around me. ‘I don’t mind at all,’ she said. Tears were glistening in her eyes at the same time. ‘In fact, I’d rather like it. We’d better tell those two.’ She chuckled. ‘Wonder what my daughter will make of that! She’ll probably think we’re ganging up on her.’
It was nearly Christmas. This was always an exciting time, because my birthday was the day after. Before everything had changed, I’d loved all the sparkly lights and the way that everyone was happy as though they were celebrating my special day too. Mummy used to say that I had been the best Christmas present anyone could ever have given her.
Since she’d died, my father and I hadn’t had a tree. But this time, we had a huge one in the hall with lots of parcels underneath.
