by Pat Barrow
My bedroom door remained firmly closed, a clear sign to Jonty that he wasn’t welcome. Now I can surmise that as he experienced his own desperate sadness, it was impossible for him to make any sense of what had happened.
The October half term loomed up and Jonty and I were excited by Dad’s promise of a trip to London and a chance to plan how we would pack as much as possible into our three days there. Before term ended, Jenny, one of my special friends, asked me to her Halloween party right at the end of the half term holiday. “I know what fantastic outfits you always come in,” she said. The remark hit me hard. Muttering my thanks, I was overcome by this sickening realisation that in the past, it would have been Mum who would have created something amazing for me to proudly wear. Everyone would have been envious but now she wasn’t here and Dad’s creativity was sadly zilch, so of course I couldn’t go. I’d be the only one without a fantastic outfit – I’d look such a fool and everyone would ask why. Why did Jenny want a stupid party anyway?
I was quiet that evening and Dad sensed that something was up. Eventually, I flung the invitation on the table shouting, “I can’t go, I’ve nothing to wear, you’re just no good!”
As usual, he offered his calm response, “We’ll either hire something or buy something, there’s no problem. Of course, Cinderella will go to the ball.” He won me over and happily two days later, I chose a black cat outfit with huge whiskers and a long flashing tail from the party hire shop. Somehow, Dad always put things right and without me realising it, oh so slowly he seemingly eradicated my need for Mum.
Chapter 3
It was just before half term when ‘the letter’ arrived. Each morning, Jonty and I would dash to retrieve the post and hand it to either Aunty Nicky or Dad. I remember so well the long white envelope, the franked name where the stamp would have been ‘Grays & Co Solicitors’. That didn’t mean anything to me. Dad read the letter, grunted and shoved it in his pocket. He seemed very quiet, there was none of his usual banter, the fooling around and peals of laughter that we experienced most mornings. He suddenly seemed preoccupied and disinterested in Jonty and me.
In the evening when Jonty and I settled down for our bedtime story, Dad suddenly said, “Your mum wants to see you at the Contact Centre, there’s one in Shrewsbury.” He went on to explain that it was a safe place where children could see the parent that they didn’t live with. There would be grownups around to make sure that we were okay. I stared at him in disbelief.
“I don’t want to see her!” I screamed. “I hate her!” I stormed out of Jonty’s bedroom sobbing and shouting, “I don’t want my mum, I hate her!” Dad followed me. “Go away!” I screamed, but I soon relented and melted, sobbing, into his arms.
I couldn’t resist him as he stroked my hair saying, “You’re scared, it brings back all that bad stuff, of course you don’t have to go, I’ll tell them you’re not ready, she’s got to realise just how she’s hurt you. It’s okay, if Jonty wants to go, Aunty Nicky will take him.” He tucked me up in bed, reassuring me that he would keep me safe.
Next Saturday afternoon, Jonty went off with Aunty Nicky to see Mum. I was in a really bad mood. “Traitor,” I whispered to him. “How can you want to see her after what she’s done to Dad?” After they had left, I felt an enormous pang of regret, why had I said that? Why had I said I didn’t want to see her; when I did? Yes, of course I did. But being with Dad, how could I see Mum too? I tried to convince myself – Dad’s right, she really is horrible, she caused all the rows like Dad said and all this is her fault and yes, I do hate her, I do, I do, I do. But deep down, I had this nagging, nagging doubt. No, I couldn’t go there, it was easier just to hate her, to blame her and to love my dad, my special, wonderful dad.
I didn’t want to talk to Jonty when he came home. Of course, he was eager to tell me how exciting it had been to see Mum and if I’m honest, I was curious. He had a big stack of Pokémon cards to swap with his mates and a Lego Star Wars model to make. “She said she’ll give you something when she sees you,” he told me. He looked anxiously at me sensing I guess that I would be expecting something from her.
“I don’t want anything from her!” I screamed back at him. My anger was the only way I could hide the enormous sense of disappointment that washed over me.
I couldn’t believe there was nothing for me from Mum, I heard Dad and Aunty Nicky talking in the kitchen a bit later on. “It’s typical. Blackmailing the kid like that, not sending anything with Jonty for her. Typical. Rotten cow.” Dad’s anger shocked me. Once we’d left home, angry, raised voices had been a thing of the past and now Dad’s hatred for Mum hit me with a jolt and made me all the more determined not to like her. Then Dad would really see how special he was and he would never stop loving me.
It confused me later that evening when Dad made a point of saying to me, “Of course if you do want to see your mum, that’s okay by me, of course it is, just let me know when you fancy doing it and I’ll make the arrangements for you.” A big smile on his face, but somehow a smile that didn’t make his eyes sparkle. What was that message supposed to mean? It wasn’t true. Of course, he didn’t want me to see her. Why was he pretending that he did? I know, it’s just Dad trying to be nice to me, well I’ll show him that I really don’t want to see her. I really do hate her. Then he’ll love me forever.
We settled in to a pattern. Every two weeks, Jonty would go off and spend a couple of hours with Mum at the centre. Dad would try and keep me amused whilst he was gone. I could see that he was getting increasingly frustrated by my moodiness and lack of enthusiasm for anything he suggested. On Jonty’s return, I would try my hardest not to be interested but each time there was the same sinking feeling that there was nothing from Mum for me. I would vehemently deny that I wanted anything to do with her but the deep-seated longing just never really went away. Didn’t she love me anymore? Did she just love Jonty?
No one really took any interest in Jonty’s accounts of his meetings with Mum so he simply stopped saying anything. Invariably, the conversation would be, “Had a good time then, Jonty?”
“Yeah, okay.” That would be it. Dad didn’t make any attempt to encourage Jonty, or bring up the possibility of me seeing Mum, not after that first time. At the time, I just didn’t realise that I needed Dad’s encouragement and it seemed to make it easier just to let her slip out of my mind. I got pretty good at doing that.
I remember though that around that time, I started falling out with my friends at school. I got jealous when Jilly went off with Suzie and then when Suzie had tea with Georgina. Suzie had always been my special friend and now even she was deserting me. I started to believe that nobody really liked me and perhaps worst of all, I started not to like myself. I had always been a bit of a daredevil, wanting to try new things. But somehow, I started to doubt my own ability. I didn’t really want to try anything new. I lost confidence in myself. I wanted my dad with me just when everyone else was starting to broaden their horizons without their mum or dad in tow. I still had plenty of friends but I was sort of on the fringe, no longer a leading light. I opted out of the auditions for the school’s production of Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat and little things like jumping off the top board at the swimming pool. I just didn’t want to do it any more, my confidence, my belief in myself, they just slowly ebbed away. I know now that I quickly became a shell of my former self.
Sadly though, Dad just didn’t seem to notice it. It’s clear to me now that he was so wrapped up in his hatred of Mum that he couldn’t see what was happening to me or to Jonty, maybe he didn’t care. His overriding preoccupation seemed to be his need to punish and humiliate the woman who had dared to stand up to him. It’s as clear as a bell, now, but when I was a child, I was oblivious and only saw Dad my super hero and my mum as the bad one just as he intended.
Parents’ Evening loomed up and I remember making excuses to my friends why Mum wouldn’t be coming. It was then that Suzie suddenly turned and said to me, “Hetty, what is going
on at home? It’s just that it’s really weird, you never mention your mum any more. You don’t ask any of us to come over. I am your best friend. Tell me, what’s going on?” At first, I panicked. I just didn’t want anybody to know. Dad had drummed it into us, this was our business, nothing to do with anybody else. I sort of felt ashamed, ashamed of Mum. I burst into tears. Suzie put her arms around me.
We found a quiet place to talk and I told her how Dad had saved me and Jonty; that we were living with my aunty and that Mum was really horrible and caused all the rows with Dad which frightened us and I just didn’t see her any more. Suzie looked horrified. “I can’t imagine not seeing my mum any more. Couldn’t you see her as well as your dad?” I vehemently shook my head.
“No, it’s just not safe. Dad knows how to keep us safe and protect us from her. I just don’t want anything more to do with her.” Suzie was wise beyond her years and I know she didn’t believe me.
She just stood shaking her head. “That just can’t be true, Het.” But nevertheless, she reassured me that she would always be there for me, we high fived and went off to lessons.
I made the usual appointments with teachers for the Parents’ Evening and went along with Dad. No one said anything particularly negative about me but there seemed to be this underlying suggestion that I just didn’t have my heart in my work anymore.
“She just doesn’t show any enthusiasm,” Mr Hayley, our science teacher, said.
“I could always rely on Hetty asking probing questions encouraging everybody’s interest,” said Miss Bloomfield, the history teacher.
Then there was my form teacher. “I just wonder, is everything all right at home?” she said to Dad and me.
I glanced nervously across at Dad as he explained, “Well yes, there have been a few problems and the children and I are living with my sister for a while just to give us all a break.” He made it sound all so plausible, the most natural thing in the world to no longer live with our mum. Mrs Goddard looked puzzled but then smiled and reassured me that if there was anything that was worrying me, I could always talk to her. But I needed to concentrate on my work and at times, she thought that I wasn’t really keeping up the standards that I had set myself. I felt mortified, especially as I knew how important top grades were to my dad.
I could tell that Dad was annoyed. He hardly spoke as we drove back to Aunty Nicky’s. There were so many questions that I wanted to ask him but I just couldn’t. Instead, I heard myself reassuring him that I trusted in him implicitly and I knew that he had made the right decision to leave Mum and although she didn’t deserve it, he was giving her a chance to, as he so often said, “Sort herself out.” I reinforced my insistence that I didn’t want to see her. That I was his ‘good girl’. I loved it when he praised me telling me, “I’m proud of you being able to say how you feel.” That put an end to that conversation – my questions never asked, answers never given.
Suzie didn’t let the matter drop. I shall always be grateful to her for the fact that she continued to probe and dig. She’d seen Mum and me together so many times; she’d seen the close bond between us and now she couldn’t believe what I was saying. She encouraged me to think about seeing my mum again. “It wouldn’t hurt to go along with Jonty, just for a little while. What harm could it do? You’ll probably start getting loads of stuff.” I was tempted, well more than tempted. I did want to see Mum but I couldn’t tell Dad that. How could I? My head was bursting with confusion and nothing made sense except when I was snuggled up to my dad each evening. Then I felt warm and safe in his arms until this niggling ache for my mum reared its stubborn head again. Yes, I did want to see her, maybe just a bit wouldn’t hurt, would it? That wouldn’t stop Dad loving me, would it?
I made several attempts to talk to Dad over the next couple of weeks. Then one night when he was tucking me up in bed, I formulated exactly what I was going to say. ‘I tell you what, next time Jonty goes to see Mum…’ But I just didn’t manage it, so instead I hatched a plan with Suzie. She came for tea and it was she who said to Dad, “Mr Taylor, Hetty and I have been talking and you know she really wants to see her mum again at the Contact Centre with Jonty.”
It all came rushing out. Dad looked in amazement and turned to me and said, “Is that true? Do you really want to?”
I could feel myself blushing, my cheeks blazing like beacons. I couldn’t look at him and sort of mumbled, “Yes, I reckon I do.”
“Fine, I’ll arrange it, you can go on Saturday with Jonty.” And that was it. When Saturday came, all my confidence had ebbed away.
“You don’t have to go you know,” said Dad. “It’s entirely up to you, your decision. I’m keeping out of it.”
Chapter 4
In spite of that, I went. I remember walking across the cobbled yard and through the big front doors of the Convent in the centre of Shrewsbury and saying goodbye to Dad in the hallway and being greeted by a smiling lady and a man who showed us where Mum was sitting at the far side of the room opposite the wide-open door. Mum stood up with a big smile on her face, her arms outstretched. Jonty ran to her. She looked up and smiled at me and held her arms out. I wasn’t having any of that but then I looked at her and I just couldn’t help myself. I ran to her and she put her arms around me and Jonty together and held us both. Thoughts were whirring around my head. A little voice nagging away ‘you’re not supposed to want to see her, Dad won’t like it. Dad’s your hero, Mum’s bad, you know she is, she’ll hurt you, you know she will Dad said so’. But equally insistent was ‘you used to love being with your mum – go on, she’s waiting for you, she loves you’.
Mum had brought Jonty’s favourite game of pick up sticks and suggested that we all joined in the fun. She had also brought a huge bunch of black grapes and bottles of apple juice and a packet of our favourite chocolate orange biscuits. I was relieved that she didn’t ask me loads of questions. She just simply let me say what I wanted to say. I guess I was fairly quiet. I kept wanting her to hug me and hold me close. I had forgotten how soft and gentle her hands were and what it felt like when she stroked my hair. She jumped at the opportunity to put my hair up in a French pleat. Aunty Nicky tried but really anything beyond a ponytail was too much for her. I could do that myself, but Mum had a special way with hair. I was so proud when she had finished doing it.
Our two hours together went quickly and one of the ladies came across to remind us that it was time to say goodbye. Mum gave us both a book and then ‘see you again’. I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. She just squeezed my hand and gave me a big kiss. Jonty and I walked back together to Dad waiting in the hallway. He caught my hand as we got there and suddenly it was like old times again. Jonty and me together. Me, Jonty’s big sister.
I thought Dad would just want to know if we had had a good time. His endless questions took me by surprise. He asked about how she’d been, what she’d said, what she wanted to know, what she told me and what I had told her. “She’s even forced you to have your hair up – she’s always forcing her views on you, Het. I’m surprised the supervisors didn’t stop her.” My eyes filled with tears but I kept silent. How could I say how much I loved her doing my hair? He and Aunty Nicky were hopeless at hair. I wanted the questions to stop so that I could keep everything separate. Dad and Mum, not get them all muddled up together in one huge mess.
That night in bed, I cried. Everything was so difficult. I loved my dad so much I just didn’t want to hurt him, disappoint him, make him cross, but seeing Mum again had stirred up all those feelings I had for her. That night, I woke up screaming. Dad rushed in and held me close. “It’s seeing Mum again, isn’t it my love? It brought it all back to you, I’m so, so sorry. I pushed you in to it.” Did he really believe that? Of course he didn’t, but as always, he jumped at every opportunity to undermine my relationship with Mum. Oh how I wish I’d had the ability to see that then.
Two weeks later, I didn’t go with Jonty to see Mum. I can’t explain why I suddenly didn’t want to go
any more. Dad had let her know and said that it was just too difficult for me. That was true, but not because I was scared of her. I just didn’t want to lose my dad too. When Jonty got home, he had an envelope addressed to me from Mum. As he was passing it to me, Dad took it. “Better to let me have it first, I don’t want you getting upset again.” He shoved it in his pocket. As usual, Jonty’s visit to see Mum wasn’t mentioned and on Sunday, Aunty Nicky took us to the cinema. I was able to push the thoughts of Mum and the letter to the back of my mind.
Aunty Nicky picked us up from school the next day and as usual, I rushed upstairs as soon as I arrived home. As I went past his room, I could hear Dad’s raised voice. He sounded angry and I stopped. Of course, I was twelve years old and I wanted to know what was going on. He sounded really angry. At first, I couldn’t make out what he was saying but then, “When will you get it into your fucking head, they’re not your kids any more, not after what you’ve done, can’t you see they hate you.” My heart was thumping as I ran into my room. I slammed the door and threw myself on the bed, hot tears springing to my eyes. With fists clenched, heart pounding, clutching at the duvet, I tried to make sense of what I had heard. So, Dad must have been right, he wouldn’t get angry unless Mum was really bad. Of course if she was that bad, I couldn’t love her and Jonty shouldn’t either. I had to stop him, I had to stop him going to see her, it just wasn’t fair on me or on Dad. Dad was only protecting us, doing what was best for us. I had to work it out. I had to work out a strategy of how I could convince Jonty he shouldn’t be going on Saturdays to see Mum. Not any more, not now.
