Thrown Away Child

by Louise Allen

  I walked on and Barbara was behind me, still ranting to herself, but occasionally said, ‘Look at that bird,’ as a magpie went past. I guessed she must be feeling better, but I didn’t dare look. I loved the bird’s black and white markings, and thought they were amazing. I ran on up to the trees and leant against one. It was solid, with rough bark. It felt strong. I gave it a big hug and looked up at the branches and the leaves shaking in the wind. I could see two magpies now and turned around to tell Barbara, but she was gone. I blinked. Where was she? Where’d she gone? I started running back along the little path through the trees, but it soon became several paths and I got lost very quickly. I was alone, right in the middle of a wood. I didn’t know how to get out. I started crying, feeling frantic and really scared. I ran through the trees, calling ‘Mummy’ and ‘Come back’. The tears and snot were streaming down my face. I had no coat, no hankie, nothing. I was just in a light dress.

  Eventually I bumped into a man with his dog. He was old, with a cap and green jacket on. I kept thinking, Men are filthy, dirty creatures, so when he tried to hold my hand I ran away from him screaming. I screamed and screamed, absolutely hysterical now. Then I found three women walking together. I was unable to speak now, as I had been sobbing and running, screaming and shouting: ‘Mummeeee!’

  One of the women took my hand, but I hated her touching me. I felt so scared I pulled away, like a wild animal. She was kind and calm and eventually I was able to walk with her to the car park. She put me in her car and gave me a drink of water. I was still panting from sobbing and running so much. The woman said she would take me home and, again, I felt a stab of dread. I gave her my address and we drove in silence. I was so confused. Why had Barbara done this to me? Did she really want to leave me in the woods?

  When we drove onto the gravel in front of the house, the Escort was parked and Barbara came out. She was holding tissues to her face.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said to the woman before she could say anything. Barbara dabbed at her eyes with the tissues. ‘I was about to call the police. I didn’t know what to do. I turned around and she had just run off. She’s very difficult to look after,’ she explained to the woman. ‘She’s an unwanted child, and I’ve done my best for her. She has a chip on her shoulder – just like they all do.’

  The woman handed me over and gave me a strange look. I knew I had to play the game. I went in and nothing was said – not a word. She didn’t explain; she didn’t say sorry. This time I was told to go and feed the chickens. I never said a word to Ian; not even to Sean. It felt so scary that she could do that to me that it sort of shut me up and made me cling onto what I had. The idea of the night in the wood alone was terrifying, but worse was to come. And these incidents triggered memories of similar things that had happened when I was even younger.

  The first time I was dumped I was about six years old. She had actually abandoned me before in many places, like Debenhams, local shops or playgrounds. I usually got home with the help of a nice adult or a school friend’s mother. Then, when I was eight, she drove me, again at high speed, to a place called Wytham, just outside Oxford. I had never really met people from Barbara’s family, although she did have some relatives still living. This was yet another day I should have been at school, but I’d been kept home as usual because I was ‘coming down with something’. I wasn’t, as I had done chores all morning.

  We parked up the car and she got out and started striding towards a stone cottage on a bend in a country lane. There was an elderly couple, Rene and Fred, in the cottage, and we went in. I was sent outside to the back garden but Barbara stayed and sat with them. I had no idea who they were or why we were there. I knew Barbara had worked for years for an Oxford couple as a nanny – she was proud of that time in her life – and maybe these people were old friends from back then.

  She had recently begun to mention things about my birth mother, who came from the Oxford area. I didn’t get any clear information but she kept talking about her, getting me quite interested. I didn’t know if this couple had something to do with my birth mother. Then Rene came outside with a metal tin filled with custard creams. I took a couple and sat outside in the garden, on the cobbles in a little courtyard, while Barbara had tea and biscuits with them inside. I always amused myself by looking at things, especially flowers. The garden was full of lovely blooms – red, blue, yellow, white. Big daisies, roses, tall purple flowers, like bells. I was lost in looking at everything. I wanted to draw them but had no paper. So I set about memorizing the shapes and colours for later. When she was ready to leave, Barbara shouted, ‘Louise’, and I scrambled up and we said our goodbyes.

  On the way back I enjoyed the view out of the window over the fields. I loved seeing the big fat cows nibbling on the grass. I said, ‘Hello, cows,’ to myself as we passed. I always loved animals and liked to wave to them. I felt Barbara was in a dark mood now, worse than when we arrived, and I didn’t know why. She wasn’t speaking at all, and she was gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white with a pink glow.

  Suddenly she turned the car abruptly and we were bumping up a narrow lane through the trees. We turned right and left, and were then in the middle of woods. I was confused.

  ‘Get out,’ she ordered. So I did. We walked with the dog through the woods for a while but it was getting chilly. Then Barbara did something strange. She sat down on a big stone and started crying. She cried and cried and I stood watching her, not knowing what to do. The dog and I sat down next to her. I leant over and put my hand on her hand, which was icy cold.

  ‘Get off me, you stupid little girl,’ she snapped through her tears. I felt foolish. Stupid. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. What had I done now? What was wrong? Barbara began talking to herself and hitting herself on the head with her fists. I felt scared watching her doing this. I didn’t know why she was doing it. It was usually me she was hitting, so I actually felt sorry for her. I knew how much it hurt. Still I stood watching, not knowing what to do. She looked up and saw me looking.

  ‘Go away and leave me alone,’ she shrieked. ‘Get out of my sight!’

  I turned around and started walking. I didn’t know where I was going but I was crying now. I was scared of her. What would she do to me? Why was she hitting herself? I’d never seen Barbara like this, and I walked a little way away, hoping she would feel better. It was beginning to get dark. I looked back and she was still on the stone, pointing to a path. ‘Keep walking,’ she shouted. So I did, saying, ‘Mummy, stop’ to myself in a quiet scared voice.

  When I turned around to look again, she was gone. I froze on the spot. What should I do? I knew she didn’t want me to run back towards her, yet I didn’t know where I should go. She had told me to keep walking, so I kept walking. The whole situation was very scary. I walked and walked. The sky was still blue, although the light was fading. There were lovely trees. I climbed over a wooden stile, and then slipped on a cowpat and got all dirty. I got up and ran through a field of big red cows, who turned and looked at me, chewing the cud. Then I realised I could see the cottage we were at earlier, the one with Rene and Fred. I ran through the field and eventually got to the house. When I knocked on the door, Rene and Fred were there but they were not that pleased to see me. I was ushered through the house and out into the back garden where I’d eaten the custard creams earlier.

  Rene gave me a glass of squash and I drank it, as I was very thirsty. She went to the telephone and eventually came out and explained she’d had to call social services, as she couldn’t find Barbara, and they would come and get me. I was extremely upset. Where was ‘Mummy’? Rene told me she was not coming. I started pulling out my eyelashes, pulling out my hair. Where was I going? What was happening? Would I see Sean again? I was really frightened as I sat and looked at the flowers in the garden. I willed them to help me.

  When the social worker arrived it was a man wearing a leather jacket and jeans. I usually saw women in twos. He was about the same age as I
an and had brown hair and a crinkly face, but I found him a bit scary. He had a big brown moustache.

  I said, ‘Thank you for the squash,’ and the social worker put me in the back of his green car. As we drove off I had no idea where we were going. We were driving along with me in the back seat looking out at the fields and cows again. Where was Barbara now? Where were we going? I could see the man’s brown eyes shining in the driving mirror.

  ‘Well, Louise,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’re a pretty little girl, aren’t you?’

  I didn’t say anything and just looked out the window, hoping to see more cows. I liked cows.

  ‘We’re going to a farmhouse for the night,’ he said. ‘Mrs Knight will look after you.’

  I had no idea who ‘Mrs Knight’ was, and just kept looking out the window. In my head I was counting and pressing my thumb and fingers together on both hands, at high speed. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. I had no idea why this was happening to me.

  Suddenly the car was slowing. We were on a very small country lane. There was a lay-by in the road – I’d been in one before when I was travelsick and had thrown up on the verge. The social worker put the brake on and opened his door. What was he doing? I looked about me – there were no houses around. I wondered if I should get out too.

  Then he opened the back door and got in next to me. I was quite dirty, having trudged across the field of cows. I had a little dress on and white socks, now splattered with mud and poo. I said nothing and looked at the man, who made me feel uncomfortable. He closed the door and said, ‘Want a sweet?’

  I said, ‘No, thank you,’ although I was dying to have one. I felt very peculiar with this man. He put his hand on my knee, and then moved it up my thigh. I stopped breathing. What was he doing?

  ‘You’re very pretty, Louise,’ he said. Then he moved his hand up further towards my knickers, and further up, just as an ambulance came hurtling around the corner a few feet away from the car. He took his hand away very quickly and looked out the window. The ambulance rattled by. We sat on the backseat together in awkward silence for a few seconds. Then he suddenly opened the door, got out and slammed it shut. He got back in the driver’s seat and started up the car.

  I sat, shocked, on the back seat. What was going on? I looked at his eyes in the mirror and pulled my dress back down. I felt truly terrified.

  ‘Louise, you don’t need to tell anyone about this,’ the man said, as we drove off. Who was I going to tell? Who would believe me? Then, without a word, I was driven to a place I didn’t know and handed over to Mrs Knight, a large lady who lived in a big farmhouse.

  I sat in her rambling living room. There were three big boys sitting on the floor playing with Lego and bricks. Then I heard the male social worker say to Mrs Knight in the hall outside, ‘Be careful of Louise, she is known for telling lies.’

  I was amazed. I heard Mrs Knight say, ‘Oh, thanks, Malcolm. Good to know. You can’t be too careful.’ Then she came into the living room and handed me a sheet of paper.

  ‘Read this and we’ll get along fine,’ she said. I couldn’t read very well, and the words sort of swam before my eyes. Then Mrs Knight took me upstairs to a room with bunk beds: I was on the bottom. There were more children up there, two girls and two boys. Some were her own children, some were fostered. I didn’t speak to anyone. I had no idea what was going on or why I was there. Why had Barbara left me again? Why had the old people not wanted me? Why had the social worker tried to touch me? Why was I here now, and for how long? Was I ever going home again?

  When teatime came there was food but I didn’t really want to eat it. I felt too upset. I had no clothes, no toothbrush, nothing. Mrs Knight found me some pyjamas. That night the children took it in turns after lights out to hold me down, pull down my pyjama bottoms and look at my private parts. They took it in turns to touch my body, like it was a scary animal, and each time they whispered ‘yuck’. Both the boys and the girls did this, mostly in total silence. I just held my breath, waiting for it to stop.

  I felt like I’d stepped into a nightmare that wasn’t going to end anytime soon. I was at the farmhouse for two days. I didn’t speak to anyone or play with the children. There was a big sheepdog outside, though, and I went and sat with him and stroked him all day. I loved being with a big calm animal with bright eyes, soft fur and a wet nose. I loved the feel of his coat and his warmth. Eventually Mrs Knight came out to find me.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, and I got up from the dog and followed her reluctantly. On the doorstep was Barbara in her grey anorak, looking sour. I felt my heart sink. I didn’t like where I was but I didn’t want to leave either.

  ‘You’ve worried me to death,’ she said, ‘running off like that.’ And with that I was swept off the doorstep and into the car without any explanation. We sat in silence all the way home. Nothing was mentioned about this incident ever again.

  11

  Going Up and Down

  When I was nine, I went up to middle school. It meant that I finally got away from the horrible school and the dreaded Spencer and his gang. The middle school was also near my first primary school, Vernon Lane, in a nicer part of town, and I wondered if I might see Miss Nickerson, my lovely first art teacher, by going back near there.

  I still thought about William from time to time, although his memory was now fading. Barbara had told me during one spiteful moment that he was so stupid and bad he was now in a ‘special school’, whatever that was. He was also in ‘care’. I didn’t really understand what this meant. I had tried to call the phone number I memorised once, but couldn’t get through – so gave up. It was now three years since I’d seen him and I still looked right occasionally when I went down our road, just in case I might glimpse him. I also looked around the shops whenever we were out, just in case I spied a red toothbrush of hair. But I never did see him again, and I had no idea where he was or how to contact him. He was the only other person who really knew what it was like in our house. I certainly couldn’t ask Barbara where he was, Ian wasn’t interested, and Kevin I avoided as much as possible.

  Middle school was smaller and seemed much nicer all round. The teachers were friendlier and the children not so harsh. I knew I didn’t look right, as I was still wearing the horrible maroon slippers or Barbara’s old-lady shoes, and my uniform was second-hand and not the same colour or quality as the other children’s. It was navy, and I had yet another knitted tie. Barbara still walked me to school with the dog, and we were still late. I got strange looks when she turned up and I could see people looking at her, and at me, and thinking, Who’s this strange lot? I wasn’t sure if the teachers could see I was different from Barbara, as although I called her ‘Mummy’ I knew we were not blood related. She never stopped telling me I wasn’t hers and that I wasn’t wanted.

  I was beginning to feel very self-conscious, as my breasts were starting to develop. I could feel my clothes clinging to my body and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like boys looking at me, after all the things Barbara had said about them. The constant touching, teasing and poking I had endured from Spencer, Kevin, Mark, and even the male social worker in the car, made me feel very awkward about my body. I knew I smelt quite bad, as I didn’t have enough baths, and washing was very quick in the morning and almost non-existent in the evening. I hated smelling. I had started to sweat now, and I asked Barbara if I could shower after school, especially after PE.

  ‘I’m not wasting water on the likes of you,’ she spat. I tried again and asked if I could have deodorant. ‘You’re too young.’

  So I was stuck with trying to wash myself with carbolic or green Fairy soap with a flannel, but I knew I smelt sweaty and my clothes were awful. I would wear the same white shirt all week and it would end up grimy yellow under the arms, with a grey collar. Other girls mocked me for being dirty – they had Impulse sprays in their bags called wonderful things like ‘True Love’ or ‘Romantic Spark’. And they all had shiny hair in beautiful ponytails, with sparkly
bobbles and lovely fashionable hairbands, while I had a black pageboy, cut very short (real pudding basin style) and dandruff. My hair was greasy and it itched, so I had snow all over my blazer. It was awful.

  When I was sweating I would stuff toilet paper into my armpits to try to soak up the moisture and then, when I took it out, it would smell really bad and I would flush it down the toilet in disgust. The toilet paper was that hard, greaseproof stuff, so it chafed my underarms and they got red and sore. I couldn’t buy any toiletries as I didn’t have any money, and now, in my new school, I began to get bullied about smelling all over again. Then the soap and flannel disappeared from the bathroom; Barbara had taken it. Children began to move away from me at school, and refused to sit next to me. I would take refuge in the toilets at lunchtime and cry. I would never make a friend if I smelt like this.

  Then we were called into the headmaster’s office for a meeting. The night before, Barbara spent a long time pinning up her hair to make her usual demi-wave style. She put rollers in and covered it with a net, and manicured her nails using Nulon hand cream. She wore a dress and jacket and looked unusually smart, but I was grubby as usual and was called out of class before the morning break. I could smell myself; it was awful.

  When I got to the headmaster’s office Barbara was already there. She was standing looking very smart – for her – and she nodded at me as I came in. I could see she was in one of her strange moods. She looked quite smug, so I didn’t know what she had already been saying to the headmaster, Mr Phillips, who was very nice. We both sat down in front of him on high-backed chairs.

  ‘I’ve asked you in,’ Mr Phillips began politely, looking at Barbara, ‘because we are concerned about Louise’s hygiene.’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir,’ said Barbara, in a polite voice that I didn’t recognise. ‘We are also very concerned. She refuses to wash. She is such a dirty girl. I’ve tried my best to teach her but she just won’t learn.’