by Mary Jaine
*
London was a long, long journey from Carlisle, travelling on the cheaper (but still crushingly expensive) stopping services as I was to conserve the meagre funds I had; endless stops at every rural train station, multiple train changes at obscure, out of the way railway stations and halts, a long and wearying journey zig-zagging down the length and breadth of England, but I kept going because I felt sure I was on the verge of something that would change our lives, hopefully for the better, because let's face it; it couldn't get any worse...
Arriving in London was a confusing, scary experience; the place is vast, with a capital 'V'; just looking out through the row of glass doors at Euston Train Terminus to the Euston Road was intimidating; I'd never seen so much traffic, so many people, such huge buses in my entire life, and I sat for what seemed like hours trying to work out how to find this place, 'Dalston'. As luck would have it, I spotted a newsagent, and in the window, a map book titled 'London A-Z'. Bingo, there was my map.
Using my London street-map, I was able to locate the road I was looking for, and, after a few wrong turns, and a little guesswork, I found the address I was looking for, an imposing three-storey Victorian terraced house with a front garden, black iron railings, and high, impressive bow windows. And that's when my nerve failed; supposing this Ayesha Shahida person didn't live here anymore? Supposing she wanted nothing to do with me? Maybe she wasn't our mother, or maybe she was, and wanted nothing to do with either of us? At this point I had no other option; most of the money I'd lifted from poor Bobby was gone, I was alone in London hundreds of miles from anywhere I knew, so I might as well take a shot, and play it by ear from there.
I'll be honest with you; knocking on that door was one of the hardest things I'd ever done; supposing this Ayesha person only vaguely knew of dad, supposing the elaborate scenario I'd concocted in my head was nothing but wish-fulfilment, and she was nothing but one of dad's shadowy business contacts? But I knocked, and waited, then waited some more, but nothing. Just as I'd decided this was not going to happen, that it was just a red herring, and I'd wasted my time and money, I heard the lock being turned, and the door was opened by a handsome Indian woman with thick, wavy, dark mahogany hair, golden olive skin, and bright, light green-hazel eyes that looked like they were lit from behind.
"Can I help you...?" she began, but her voice trailed off as she stared at me, with something like veiled hostility, although I could have been wrong; reading other people was not one of my strong suits back then.
"What do you want...?" she whispered, making no effort to open the door, ask me to come in, nothing; it looked for all the world like she was keeping the door between us, ready to slam in my face if I made a move, and that unsettled me; she obviously knew me, if the look on her face, a mixture of recognition, dread, anger, and something else, was anything to go by, and something about me had scared her.
"Why are you here, haven't you people done enough already? Go away!" she grated, an edge of real anger in her voice. "Leave, now, or I'm calling the police!"
I was dumbfounded; this was not the reaction I was hoping for, and just what had we done enough of already? I had to find out what she was talking about.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you; please, do you know me? What have I done, who are you, and do you know my father? I found your address in his things, I thought maybe you could help me..."
She glared angrily at me.
"You father is Robert Davies, and don't bother denying it, you're the spitting image of that bastard! What the hell do you mean by coming here now? After what that...that son of a whore did, why, why should I waste my time on you, on any of you? You're all the same, worthless users and takers! Only Nicky meant anything, and that bastard got rid of him, and now one of his bastard brood shows up at my door! I'm glad that bastard's locked away forever; I hope he spends his days in prison being beaten and raped, it's what he deserves. Now go away, or I'm calling the police!"
I was rocked back by the gust of hatred coming from her; what the hell had Dad done to provoke such an extreme reaction? And she knew about Nicky? I had to try once more, she had answers, I knew that now, all I had to do was somehow get some from her.
"Please, I don't know what you're talking about, what did my dad do, what did he do to Nicky, how do you even know about Nicky? Please, just tell me who you are, and why you hate dad so much; are you my...mother? If you'll please just tell me what's going on I'll leave and never trouble you again, but I have to know, please!"
She looked at me strangely, and shook her head slowly.
"No, I'm not your mother! How could I be? Your poor mother's dead, why don't you ask that whoreson father of yours what happened to her?"
My heart sank at that statement, but now there was another mystery; why had she reacted so negatively and how did she know my mother was dead? Did she know who my mother was? And more importantly, just what had we done to her that she could spit bile and anger like that at me? I had to try one more time, there was something bad here, something very bad, I could feel the edges of it, as if this person, this Ayesha's accusations weren't bad enough.
"Please, I don't mean you any harm, I don't want anything from you, I honestly don't know what you're talking about, at least please tell me what you mean. What did my father do, and why?"
Ayesha looked closely, searchingly at me, and her eyes narrowed.
"You really don't know, do you? That bastard never told you anything about me, about us, and what he did to me and my family?"
I shook my head dumbly, completely at sea in the churning maelstrom of rage and hostility I could feel swirling around her.
She stepped to one side and pulled the door open.
"You'd better come in; if you really want to know the truth, then sit down, and keep your trap shut and your hands where I can see them; you try any funny business and I'll bash your skull in, you hear me?"
I saw for the first time that she was leaning on a heavy black walking stick with an iron ferrule and a large, ornate silver finial in the shape of a bird's beak, and something told me she'd have no hesitation in bashing me with it if she thought I was threatening her, so I nodded; I wasn't here for a confrontation of any kind, all I was looking were some answers. Her set expression told me she wasn't joking, either, so I resolved to not antagonise her.
Ayesha looked closely at me for the longest few seconds of my life, then nodded and stepped to one side.
"Go on through and take a seat, I'll be right behind you, and remember: I'm watching you."
The corridor was wide, and well decorated, floored with beautiful Victorian Minton ox-blood, russet, and cream tiles in a pleasing geometric pattern, almost exactly the same as the hallway back home, spotless white skirting-boards, and a pair of white painted doors open wide enough for me to see a sunshine-bright sitting room, with more large, imposing doors in the corridor, opening into yet more rooms, I guessed. I went through the open doors into a fairly large sitting-room, again very tastefully decorated in muted shades, with a comfortable-looking three-seat couch and two matching armchairs, and with a soft carpet underfoot.
"Sit, sit..." she muttered, waving vaguely at the couch, "I'm not going to hurt you...unless you try something..."
She sat in one of the armchairs, and studied my features thoughtfully, her elbow on the arm of the chair, and her chin cupped in her hand.
"So much like that father of yours, but...there's something different about you; is your brother like you, or did he take after that bastard? Is there another Robert Davies running around out there and poisoning the world?"
Wow, she really hates us, was my immediate thought, followed by wonder that someone could hate another person so much (and then my own attitude toward Nicky and Barbara, that 'fuck-off and die' knee-jerk hatred dad had given me came back to bite me, hard; I was just like her, I'd spent years spewing hate and anger, now suddenly I knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of such blind, unreasoning, bitter hatr
ed; it was a sobering feeling.)
Ayesha stared thoughtfully at me, sizing me up, I could tell.
"Well, I'm waiting; is your brother another one of that Davies creature's clones, or is he different too?"
I shook my head;
"Bobby's not like me, at least I don't think so; he's angry, and he's always tired, he works hard and doesn't get paid much, and it...kind of comes out now and then, but I don't think he's like dad; he's not as angry as dad, I know that..."
Ayesha nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off me, but she didn't seem inclined to say anything more, just that unnerving, penetrating stare. After a while, the silence got to be really uncomfortable, and I shifted uneasily, wondering what happened next, and if she was actually going to tell me anything at all. Just as I thought we'd gone as far as we were going to, she suddenly spoke.
"Your father, Robert Davies, took everything I had, he took me from my family, he took away all my money, my property, everything I'd worked so hard for, and worst of all, my self-respect, and my right to say 'no'; he robbed me, he abused and brutalised me, he hurt and terrorised my children, and he thought it was funny. I'm glad he's in jail, I'm glad he's going to rot there; as far as I'm concerned, they didn't do enough just jailing him; they should have publicly flogged him, flayed the bastard alive, just like he did to...!"
She caught herself, but she'd said enough to make me wonder who he'd flayed alive, and why. She caught my expression, and her expression softened just a little.
"You really don't know what I'm talking about, do you? You've never heard any of this before, or who I am, have you?"
I shook my head, shocked at what she'd been saying, casting around in my mind for a way to disbelieve her, but I could see it in her eyes; she was speaking the God's honest truth, and it made my stomach roil to accept that my dad had done these things to her (although a small voice deep inside insisted I knew just exactly what kind of man he was, I'd just never let myself put it all together; it wasn't happening to me, so it didn't matter, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that that was the voice that will damn me one day...)
"You must be Richard, the younger one, is that what they call you?"
The sudden change in direction threw me, and all I do was nod.
"My...oldest brother always called me 'Ritchie', but dad and Bobby call me Ricky; I don't know anyone else..."
She cocked her eyebrow at me and nodded.
"Nicky, your oldest brother; the boy who left..."
I gawped at her. How did she know that? She saw my startled expression and smiled grimly.
"Oh yes, I know all about Nicky, about who he really was, and what your father did to him; it's a wonder the poor boy lived through what Robert did to him. Do you want to know what that man did to that poor, defenceless boy, do you really want to know?"
For a second her eyes glinted with malice, and I felt a chill; something bad was coming, something dad had done, and now my mind circled back to her comment about how dad should have been flayed alive. Suddenly I didn't want to hear this, but she was inexorable, the intensity of her gaze compelling and magnetic, and I couldn't look away.
"Your father beat Nicky so badly he nearly didn't live through it; he used his special belt on him, the one with an edge he honed on the buckle himself, and he whipped that poor boy until he literally took the skin off his back; he left him barely alive, and do you know what that man boasted to me when he did it? He said THAT was a father's true legacy; every time your brother saw his back, he was going to remember who his father was, and what he'd done to him. He was gloating, actually beaming with pride when he told me. There's no place in Hell deep enough for that demon to squat in; to do that to your own child..."
I was shocked and appalled; this couldn't be true; I knew dad had a mean temper on him, but this? No there was no way he'd do that, not even to that sneaky little mummy's boy Nicky; and then I pulled myself up short as I remembered the stuff we'd ignored, the times he'd punched-out Nicky, sometimes in front of us, but usually when there were no witnesses, just the evidence of his black eyes and bruises and his split lips, the screams and cries and entreaties when he beat Barbara, the meaty sounds of flesh hitting flesh, her sobbing as she begged him to stop, please, to not hit her anymore, and yes, then I understood; he was that kind of man, and he'd tried to make us in his image.
Ayesha looked long and steadily at me, her expression unreadable, but something told me she was softening towards me.
"Let me show you something, Richard, then maybe you'll believe me."
With that, she stood, a little unsteadily, and rested her cane against the arm of the chair as she unbuttoned her blouse. I suddenly wondered what she was doing, and what the hell she was going to show me, but then she turned and slipped her blouse down to her elbows, exposing her shoulders and bare back. I stared in fascinated horror at the network of criss-crossed red welts and white scars lacing her upper back, shockingly vivid against her honey-gold skin.
"Did my father...?" I began weakly, shocked and disgusted by what had been done to this woman, and Ayesha pulled her blouse back up, and, still with her back to me, buttoned herself up again.
"Your father put those on me, Richard, he did it to me, he did it to Nicky, much worse that what he did to me, and he did it to your mother, and he enjoyed it; that man is a sadistic demon, no Hell is too much for him to suffer!"
I sat in silence while my head spun; I didn't want to believe these things, I tried not to believe them, but I'd seen what I'd seen, and I felt sick that dad had done that. As I sat in stunned silence I heard the front door open, and two girls' voices chattering and giggling. I looked at Ayesha and she pointed an admonishing finger at me as she murmured "my daughters; behave yourself, I mean it!" emphasising with her heavy cane what she would do if I stepped out of line.
The door swung open, and two girls came into the room, the smiles on their faces dying away when they saw me. They were both tall, slim, each with a mass of wavy, bright, mahogany-bronze hair tumbled over their shoulders, and the younger one, who looked to be a little younger than me, had green-hazel eyes like her mother's, while the other, who I thought was maybe the same age as Bobby, had large, expressive grey eyes. They both had delicate, heart-shaped faces and clear, fine, porcelain-doll features, and olive complexions, with just a tinge of their mother's golden skin tone, both of them exotic-looking and, to me, at least, quite the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen.
"Mummy...who's this?" asked the older girl, her eyes narrowing and her tone sharp and suspicious. The younger girl moved closer to her, putting her arm through her sister's as she too stared distrustfully at me.
"Richard, these are my daughters, Yasmin and Shereen...your sisters, God help them..."
The two girls gasped, as did I, at Ayesha's blunt statement.
The older one, Shereen, was the first to recover.
"What are you saying, mummy, do you mean he's that...fucking piece of shit's son? Is that why he looks like him? NO! This piece of filth is NOT my brother, I am NOT his sister, take it back, mummy, say it's not true!"
Ayesha slowly shook her head, tears glinting in her eyes.
"No baby, I can't; he's Robert's son, he came looking for us; he's your younger brother. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Shereen's face twisted in rage, and in a blink of an eye she'd grabbed Ayesha's heavy walking stick and raised it over her head, obviously ready to crack my skull open with the thick metal finial; in my mind's eye I clearly saw that bird-beak splitting open my skull as she hit me with it, and I stayed motionless, not wanting to provoke her further.
"No, don't, stop it Shari!" shouted Ayesha. Shereen looked at her mother and shook her head.
"I thought we were free of that stinking piece of shit, now his dogshit son shows up here, in my clean house, and it's going to start all over again! We'll never be free until that dog-fucker and all his dog-fucker family are dead, and it starts here!"
"No, Shari, don't, please, don't!" beg
ged Ayesha, but Shereen shook her head vehemently, her eyes glittering with hate.
"I don't care. That whole family deserves to die in fucking agony, I don't care if I go to jail just as long as I get to see this piece of shit dead on my floor! Fuck him, he dies, now!"
The other girl, (Yasmin?) stepped in front of me, her hands up, shielding me from Shereen's fury.
"Get out of the way, Yaz, can't you see who that is? That whole family are filth, nothing but pieces of shit, get out of my way, after what they did to us he owes us this, and I swear to fucking God...!"
"Shari, no! Enough! He didn't do anything, leave him alone!" she barked, making Shereen blink in shock.
"But...but...look at him! Don't you know who he is? LOOK AT HIM!" she yelled.
Yasmin shook her head.
"Enough, Shari, leave him be! He's just a kid! Just let him say his piece, then, if you still want to, have at it, I won't get in your way; just let him talk first!"
Shari stared at her for a long moment, her chest heaving and her nostrils flaring, while the angry flush in her face slowly faded. She glared at me and pointed at me with the lethal-looking metal head of Ayesha's walking stick.
"Five minutes, that's all, then you better run back to whatever shit-hole you escaped from, because when your time's up I'm coming after you! Start, damn you, say your piece then fuck off out of my home!"
I was appalled at the hatred this beautiful girl had for me, for my family; Ayesha had already intimated how much she hated us. What the Hell had we done, what had dad done to her, to all of them, to create this much poisonous hatred for someone she'd never met before?
