each other.
“Why did he do it Mum?” She stammers through the sobs.
I shake my head, “I have no idea, no idea at all, but it’s
over now, he’s gone, well almost.”
I pull the toilet seat down and sit whilst Anna washes her
face. “Are you okay Mum, really?” she asks.
I nod, “I’ll be fine, I’m just emotionally drained, that’s
all. I’m going to climb back into bed, get a few hours sleep, you’ll be fine
with James, he’s a good person.” I smile at her.
We both emerge from the en-suite, James has waited, perched
on the edge of my bed.
“Are you both okay?” he asks. We both nod, “We’re fine.” I
answer for us both, “I’m just very tired, I’m going to go back to sleep for a
while. Is that okay?”
They both acknowledge me with smiles and nods as I climb
back under my duvet feeling more in control that I have for such a long, long
time.
Chapter 7
I must fall to sleep. I don’t know
how long I’ve been sleeping but when I wake it’s barely light, the summer sun
just starting to show itself through the blinds. Turning in my bed and facing
the window, I look at the patterns the light is making on the blind. The events
of yesterday replay in my mind. I have shared the secrets I have kept for years
with a man I barely know and with my daughter. Yes, she knew there were issues,
but she is now fully aware of the brutality her father is capable of. What
have I done?
I’d learnt to accept what Lewis did to me, what he was like,
I suppose, but I never expected – certainly never wanted – Anna to find out
about how, the extent to which her father had abused me. He’s never laid a
finger on Anna and swore he would kill anyone who hurt her, I know he probably
would. I remember the history of those scars. There were other things as well,
the odd thump and slap, the occasional broken rib, but never my face, he was
careful never to hit my face and up until the branding I’d not been subjected
to any form of abuse from him. He’d argue with me, yes, all of the time – every
day, some weeks, I’d have done something wrong. Stayed too late at school when
I worked, gone on a school trip he didn’t quite agree with or approve
of… Why did the violence start after Anna was born?
My mind drifts to the news that I am not my mum and dad’s
real daughter. I think about the years I spent talking on the phone with “Aunty
Maggie”, the birthday cards and presents, Christmas gifts and the tokens that
she always came home with from her travels around the world. I remember the
national costume dolls she’d bring home and leave with my mum, I’d take them in
to school to show the teachers and my friends. “Look what my Aunty Maggie
brought me back from Bermuda…” Now that was one that really earned me some
street-cred in the day! Thirty-odd years ago you were considered to be
something if you’d got yourself off on a holiday to Bermuda.
All the time the woman bringing these things had been my
mother. It never occurred to me until now, but she always visited when I was at
school. Always a reason why she couldn’t stay. Mum used to say, “Maggie’s
really sorry she missed you – she had to get back for…” Whatever. She’d avoid
all physical contact, only speaking on the telephone every now and then. What a
life! I sigh.
Suddenly I’m aware of another being in my room. I sit up
and, there in the corner, asleep in my easy chair, is James, his head lolled on
one side, hands loosely held together in his lap, his long legs stretched out
in front of him. I watch him breathing deeply, his soft yet masculine face, the
full beautiful lips, lips that have brushed my cheek, his dark hair messed up.
He really is stunning.
He stirs, aware, I think, that I am looking at him, opening
those dark eyes, eyes that mesmerize. “Good morning,” he croaks. “How are you
feeling this morning?”
“Okay.” I pull myself up in my bed, I need the loo. Throwing
the quilt back, I swing my legs out
“Why did he do it Mum?” She stammers through the sobs.
I shake my head, “I have no idea, no idea at all, but it’s
over now, he’s gone, well almost.”
I pull the toilet seat down and sit whilst Anna washes her
face. “Are you okay Mum, really?” she asks.
I nod, “I’ll be fine, I’m just emotionally drained, that’s
all. I’m going to climb back into bed, get a few hours sleep, you’ll be fine
with James, he’s a good person.” I smile at her.
We both emerge from the en-suite, James has waited, perched
on the edge of my bed.
“Are you both okay?” he asks. We both nod, “We’re fine.” I
answer for us both, “I’m just very tired, I’m going to go back to sleep for a
while. Is that okay?”
They both acknowledge me with smiles and nods as I climb
back under my duvet feeling more in control that I have for such a long, long
time.
Chapter 7
I must fall to sleep. I don’t know
how long I’ve been sleeping but when I wake it’s barely light, the summer sun
just starting to show itself through the blinds. Turning in my bed and facing
the window, I look at the patterns the light is making on the blind. The events
of yesterday replay in my mind. I have shared the secrets I have kept for years
with a man I barely know and with my daughter. Yes, she knew there were issues,
but she is now fully aware of the brutality her father is capable of. What
have I done?
I’d learnt to accept what Lewis did to me, what he was like,
I suppose, but I never expected – certainly never wanted – Anna to find out
about how, the extent to which her father had abused me. He’s never laid a
finger on Anna and swore he would kill anyone who hurt her, I know he probably
would. I remember the history of those scars. There were other things as well,
the odd thump and slap, the occasional broken rib, but never my face, he was
careful never to hit my face and up until the branding I’d not been subjected
to any form of abuse from him. He’d argue with me, yes, all of the time – every
day, some weeks, I’d have done something wrong. Stayed too late at school when
I worked, gone on a school trip he didn’t quite agree with or approve
of… Why did the violence start after Anna was born?
My mind drifts to the news that I am not my mum and dad’s
real daughter. I think about the years I spent talking on the phone with “Aunty
Maggie”, the birthday cards and presents, Christmas gifts and the tokens that
she always came home with from her travels around the world. I remember the
national costume dolls she’d bring home and leave with my mum, I’d take them in
to school to show the teachers and my friends. “Look what my Aunty Maggie
brought me back from Bermuda…” Now that was one that really earned me some
street-cred in the day! Thirty-odd years ago you were considered to be
something if you’d got yourself off on a holiday to Bermuda.
All the time the woman bringing these things had been my
mother. It never occurred to me until now, but she always visited when I was at
school. Always a reason why she couldn’t stay. Mum used to say, “Maggie’s
really sorry she missed you – she had to get back for…” Whatever. She’d avoid
all physical contact, only speaking on the telephone every now and then. What a
life! I sigh.
Suddenly I’m aware of another being in my room. I sit up
and, there in the corner, asleep in my easy chair, is James, his head lolled on
one side, hands loosely held together in his lap, his long legs stretched out
in front of him. I watch him breathing deeply, his soft yet masculine face, the
full beautiful lips, lips that have brushed my cheek, his dark hair messed up.
He really is stunning.
He stirs, aware, I think, that I am looking at him, opening
those dark eyes, eyes that mesmerize. “Good morning,” he croaks. “How are you
feeling this morning?”
“Okay.” I pull myself up in my bed, I need the loo. Throwing
the quilt back, I swing my legs out
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