Escape From Evil (11 page)

The next time I saw Mark and Brian they were carrying a huge, thick tube. Large as it was, I still assumed it must have something to do with smoking.

I suppose they’ll want me to do something with that.

They did – but not in the way I imagined.

Mark went straight into the kitchen and called me through. In the past I’d been happy to make his joints for him. It was one of my chores, something for Mum to enjoy as well. Since the last time, though, since I’d seen him speak to Mum in that threatening way, things had changed. I was seeing him with fresh eyes now, like he was a completely different person – one I didn’t like one bit. This new man was uglier, he looked older, his teeth were yellower and he stank, mainly of smoke, but aftershave as well. His clothes were stained in places and his breathing was heavy. All things I hadn’t noticed before, things I hadn’t picked up on when I thought he was a friend. Now I knew the truth. He definitely was no friend of ours.

‘You’ll be needing this,’ Mark said, and he handed me a chunky knife with a short, savage-looking blade.

‘What’s this?’ I asked.

‘It’s a Stanley knife.’

‘What do you do with it?’

He laughed. ‘Lots of things. But in this instance, you lay lino with it.’

The penny dropped. The long thing they’d brought in was floor covering. But what was I meant to do with it? ‘Just pull up this old crap,’ Mark said, kicking the current linoleum sheet, ‘and put this down.’ He showed me how to hold the knife. ‘Think you can manage that?’ He was smiling, but there was a tone to his voice I didn’t like.

I shrugged. He took that as a yes and left.

I stared at this roll of vinyl, then at the knife, then at the kitchen floor. It was about five foot square. It never occurred to me to say no. The only question in my head was
Where do you start?

All the while I was working – on my knees, cutting and pushing and trying to inch the stuff into place – I could smell the sweetness of the joints and hear the sound of the bubbling water in the bong, as well as the rowdiness of half a dozen or more men. Some of them were familiar faces, others were new to me. Everyone was laughing. Everyone, that is, except Mum.

I kept straining to hear, trying to make out her voice, but the noise was too great. What if they’d hurt her? What if they’d given her one of those pills?

Every fibre of my body wanted to rush out and check, but I didn’t dare. Mark was being nice today, but I’d seen his true colours. If I went out to check on Mum, who knew what he would do to her? It was clear now: he was that sort of man.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually I got the lino down. Absolutely shattered, I stood back and admired my work. As much as I’d hated doing it and I’d hated Mark for making me, I felt really proud of myself. I didn’t know why he’d bothered enough to get it done, but there was a part of me that couldn’t wait to show him my handiwork.

I stepped cautiously into the lounge. One of the men noticed me.

‘Here she is.’

Mark span round. ‘I hope this means you’ve finished,’ he said coldly.

I realized I’d been stupid to hope to impress him.

‘Yes, finished.’

His face broke into a large smile. ‘I’ve got to see this.’ He marched into the kitchen and let out a little whistle. ‘Not bad, not bad at all.’

That feeling of pride rose again in my chest. It swelled even larger when Mark said, ‘I’ve got a reward for you.’

A reward? Wonder what it is?

His hand reached into a pocket and I couldn’t wait to see what he pulled out. When I did, my heart sank.

‘Swallow this and make yourself scarce, there’s a good girl.’

I took the pill and, with just a hopeful glance at Mum, made my way to bed. She went to get up, but a strong hand pushed her back down. I closed the bedroom door, forced down the tablet, then buried my head under the pillow. Whatever the men wanted me out of the way for, I didn’t want to hear.

I didn’t know what business our kitchen floor was of this unpleasant man and nor did I care. The end result was impressive, even if I say so myself. It gave the kitchen a clean feeling. It would be a lot easier for me to keep tidy.

The only thing I cared about was the party everyone had when I wasn’t there. I wasn’t envious. I knew adults did things that children weren’t invited to. But what was it?

My seven-year-old mind couldn’t really work it out. Looking back, I obviously did things and saw things that no child should ever do or see, but it was normal for me. Even the Stanley knife was within the bounds of what I was expected to do. It was no different to wiring a plug or cooking a roast. I wasn’t aware anything was out of the ordinary. Apart from the sleeping pill.

What were they doing? They could have been going out to a party, but why did I need to be forced to sleep? Mum was often disappearing for a night or two. She didn’t have a problem leaving me. Why didn’t she just tell Mark and his friends that I was old enough to look after myself?

So I decided the party had to be taking place at the flat. For them to want me out of the way made me think that I would have heard things they didn’t want me to. Otherwise they would just have told me to stay in my room. Looking back, I have to imagine drugs featured heavily, but at the time I wasn’t aware of what drugs were – the joints to me were just cigarettes. Marijuana was such a regular feature of home life that if it hadn’t been for the episode with the police and the panda, I would never have suspected there was anything illicit about it at all. It was as commonplace at the Wilson home as tea or eggs. More commonplace, actually.

The one thing I do know is that Mum always fought it. She was always resistant to the pills. Sometimes she stood right in Mark’s or Brian’s or whoever’s face – they all seemed to carry these tablets – and screamed that she wasn’t going to let them do it to me. That made me more proud than any workmanship in the kitchen. But she never won. Usually the men just raised their voices. Then, one day, they raised their hands.

I thought I was going to be sick on the spot. I was on my way to the bedroom anyway, resigned to the usual routine. Mum needn’t have got herself into trouble, but she was in a spirited mood. She paid for it with a crack across her face.

Stunned, her legs gave way and she collapsed. Before I could move towards her, a man put his arm in my way.

‘Bed or she’ll get another one.’

I didn’t need to be told twice.

After that, I never hesitated again when they sent me away. I didn’t want them to touch a single hair on Mum’s head and I knew that was the only way to stop them. I wish Mum had realized it too. If she did, then she never showed it. Time after time, she stood up for me and got a hard swipe across the cheek for her trouble. It seemed to be every time now. Something had escalated. The relationship between her and the men, whatever it was, had somehow got worse.

I never lost the sense that I needed to look after Mum. Whether it was cleaning or cooking or worrying that she’d remembered her coat on a cold night, I always looked out for her. Knowing that if she didn’t let them drug me she would be hurt drove me mad. I found myself almost sprinting into the bedroom.

If I’m quick, Mum won’t have time to argue – and she won’t get hit.

Sometimes it worked. Other times I’d hear the smacks through the thin walls. Seeing her be hit was horrific. Hearing the attack – because that’s what it was – and wondering what had happened to her was somehow even worse. I didn’t dare cry out in case it made things worse for Mum. But anyone listening at my door would have heard me crying as quietly as I dared, cowering under my blankets, imagining horror after horror.

Mum, though, didn’t give in. One day I was in the kitchen rolling joints when I was told it was pill time, so I had to make sure everything was neat before I could leave. That gave Mum plenty of time to object. Too much time. Even though we were in different rooms, I could hear every word of the argument. I realized I was tensing, just waiting for the moment someone’s hand struck her face. This time, however, Mark went further.

‘If you don’t shut up,’ I heard him say, slowly and calmly, ‘I’m gonna do to Cathy what I’m about to do to you.’

That was it. Silence. I didn’t hear another peep out of Mum, not even when I emerged from the kitchen and traipsed over to the bedroom. Just before I closed the door I dared a glimpse in Mum’s direction and shuddered. Her face had a new level of terror etched all over it.

Why?

Mulling it over in the bedroom, I realized Mark hadn’t hit her because that never seemed to work. So he’d threatened to hurt me instead. I didn’t know how. Something about doing to me what he was going to do to Mum. It sounded ominous but unclear. Whatever it was, Mum knew exactly what it meant. And that was enough to keep her quiet. I cried as I realized she was sacrificing herself for me.

Over the course of I don’t know how long, things worsened. The men were still only coming round about twice a week, but their manner changed. They used to be friendly. Mark, in particular, would go out of his way to keep me onside. I thought he might have been trying to impress Mum, like a boyfriend, by making me like him. I couldn’t think of another reason. And she’d seemed to like them all in the early days. At least, she’d appeared to. Was there ever much more than indifference in her eyes when they’d arrived those first few times? Every time I thought about it, the memory was just too far out of reach.

Now, though, with the pills and parties and the threats against me, the atmosphere in the flat whenever the men were there was hideous. I literally felt sick whenever the door opened and there they were. I prayed each time that it wouldn’t be them, but more often than not it was. We had no friends, so who else would come round? I wasn’t the only one devastated by their arrival. Mum began making less of an effort to pretend she was happy to see them. Some days it was as though she barely registered they were there until the threats started. Then she’d look at me, like she was trying to focus on my face, and say, ‘Leave her out of it.’

Mostly the men did leave me out of it. Mostly.

As I went to close the bedroom door one night, I felt the handle lift back up. Someone was trying to come in.

‘Mum!’

But it wasn’t. It was one of the men. Brian.

‘What do you want?’ I asked him. ‘I’ve got my tablet.’

I held it up to prove it. In fact, eager for him to go away, I swallowed it down, no water.

‘I’m not here for that. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.’

This isn’t good.

I closed my eyes and willed the sleeping tablet to do its work, but my senses were on red alert. I couldn’t switch off. I was so intent on listening that I didn’t even dare breathe. Then I felt the mattress sag with the weight of someone sitting down next to me on the edge of the bed.

My last thought as I passed out a few minutes later was
Why is Brian touching me there?

It was my old foster parent’s behaviour all over again. Outside, I heard my mother scream.

Violence was slowly becoming a way of life – no longer was there just the threat of it. And the worst was still to come.

I didn’t know what I’d done to offend them, or what Mum had done, but there was a distinct change in attitude. Some of the men had virtually ignored me at first. Now they seemed to go out of their way to throw insults in my direction. One or two occasionally held me in ways I didn’t like.

‘Come on, Cathy, sit over here. Keep me company.’

I knew that if I did I’d be fighting off wandering hands, but, as much as I hated it, I always thought,
If they’re hurting me, they won’t be hurting Mum.
But it didn’t always work like that.

Sometimes the men weren’t interested in parties and making me sleep. Not immediately. Sometimes they wanted food. Mum never cooked for the two of us, but Mark or Brian insisted that she fix them something. I offered to do it instead.

‘Jenny’s all right, aren’t you?’ Mark laughed unpleasantly.

‘I’m fine,’ Mum said.

They made me leave the kitchen, but as soon as I heard raised voices I was back. I don’t know what had been asked of her, but Mum was adamant she wasn’t going to do it.

‘You will,’ Mark was saying.

‘No, I will not!’ Mum virtually spat the words into his face and ran towards the door. She was quick – but Mark was quicker. He grabbed her long blonde hair, the hair she was so proud of, the hair I loved to sit and brush for her, and tugged it hard, stopping Mum in her tracks. It must have hurt because she screamed the place down. Instinctively I screamed too. My reaction was fear. Hers was pain. Mum was on her knees, but he was still holding her hair.

Why hasn’t he let her go?

Stupidly, she went to move again, but he jerked her head back, like he was yanking on a dog’s lead. Mum swore at him and he did it again, but this time dragging her backwards across the floor.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I flew over to Mark and started beating his chest with my angry little fists. I wanted to hurt him, but mainly I just wanted him to let Mum go. He didn’t want either of those things.

Still holding Mum’s hair so tightly that her head was tipped right back, he waved his other hand in my direction and knocked me clean to the floor. My ear was buzzing where he’d caught me. I went to get up again, but he started swearing at me, so I sat still, crying, and begged him to let Mum go.