Terrified

by Angela Hart

Vicky was sitting statue-still and unblinking when Carol returned with a tray containing three large mugs of tea and Lorraine’s glass of water.

  ‘You sure I can’t get you a glass of water or anything, Vicky?’ Carol said, trying to catch her attention. ‘Or we’ve got Coke or squash?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jonathan interjected. ‘As Angela was just saying to Vincent, Vicky goes very quiet like this sometimes.’

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry.’

  Carol looked again at Vicky, and we all followed her gaze. Vicky was white, deathly still and her eyes were glazed and unblinking.

  ‘Can I do anything to help? Are you sure she’s all right? I’m a nurse, as I think Vincent has told Vicky in one of the letters. Shall I check her over?’

  ‘Honestly, she’ll be all right,’ I said. ‘It happens from time to time. I think it’s probably best to let her come round herself.’

  When I’d finished speaking Vincent let out a loud sigh and then he held his head in his hands.

  ‘Christ! What have I done to my girl?’ he said.

  I looked at him in alarm. His outburst was unexpected, and I wanted to say, Please don’t blame yourself, but the words wouldn’t leave my lips.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Lorraine suddenly said. ‘It was our mum who did this. She did this to Vicky, not you.’

  Vicky’s began to click her head towards Lorraine in the machine-like fashion I’d witnessed several times before.

  At the same time Carol went to Vincent’s side and put her arm around him.

  ‘Don’t go getting yourself all upset, babe,’ she said. ‘You know it’s not good for you.’

  When Carol spoke those words a penny dropped and I realised why Vincent didn’t look the same in real life as he did in his photograph. It was the expression deep in his face that made him look so different. The glossy picture he sent had captured him with a twinkle in his eye, but in the flesh he had a slightly haunted look about him; the type I’d seen before in soldiers who’d served in places like Northern Ireland.

  Oh my God, I thought, he could be just as traumatised as Vicky.

  ‘How do you know?’ Vicky said quietly to Lorraine. She spoke so softly Lorraine had trouble hearing her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How do you know it was Mum’s fault?’

  ‘Are you defending her?’ Lorraine replied, sounding shocked.

  ‘No. I just want to know the whole story. I want to know the other side.’

  I gave Vicky a reassuring look.

  ‘As you can imagine,’ I said to Vincent. ‘Vicky has lots of questions.’

  ‘Let me tell you, so have I,’ he said, wiping a tear from his eye.

  Before we knew it, Vincent had launched into an astonishing monologue that had us all on the edge of our seats.

  ‘I want you to know the full story, Vicky. It’s what you deserve, no more no less. I’d want to know the full story if it were me, I surely would. So here we go, here’s what happened.

  ‘When I met your mother I was fresh out of the Army. Didn’t know where my life was going, what I was going to do with myself. Matty was a wee bairn, and his mammy buggered off and left me. Couldn’t cope with a “cripple”. Aye, that’s what she called me. A cripple! I’d served for Queen and country in Belfast, for Christ’s sake! I could have died. I was bloody lucky to only lose a leg. Anyway, she upped and left and there I was, in a wheelchair, with one leg and a wee lad to look after. I was living in your neck of the woods then, and thank God the local authority gave me a flat and some home help. That’s how I met your mother. She was friendly with one of the lasses who helped me out. I met the pair of them in the pub one night, when Matty was with a babysitter. Bam! That was that. She was a proper livewire, your mammy, I’ll give her that. She was singing in the pub. I don’t mean entertaining; she was just having a good sing song and a knees up with her mates, and towards the end of the night she came over and chatted me up. “You look like a fella who needs showing a good time,” she said.’

  Vincent paused for breath for the very first time since he’d started telling his story and I cut in. It was a gut reaction.

  ‘Are you sure it’s appropriate for Vicky to hear all this,’ I interjected, as I was concerned about what was coming next.

  Vincent completely ignored me and Vicky didn’t tear her eyes off her father to even glance in my direction. I looked at Jonathan as if to say, ‘What are we going to do?’ and he shrugged half-heartedly as Vincent cleared his throat, took a deep breath and began another monologue.

  ‘And show me a good time she did! She was a bloody good laugh, and a real tonic; just what I needed. She didn’t even care that I only had one leg – how lucky was I? It wasn’t long before your mam was staying over at my flat all the time, as it was hard for me to get out, with Matty being such a young bairn and me being in the wheelchair. Anyhow, we’d only been together for a couple of months when your mother told me she was expecting. Was I over the moon? You bet your life I was! I felt like I’d been given a second chance in life.

  ‘Your mammy was no saint, mind you. I thought she’d change her ways with a wee one on the way, but she didn’t. No, not Brenda. She seemed to get wilder, going out every night and drinking and smoking as much as she always had. I should have realised she wasn’t the best mother in the world, what with you, Lorraine, living with your daddy. Brenda had told me she had shared custody with her ex, but if that was true she never did her half. I never even met you, Lorraine, the whole time I was with your mother.

  ‘As the pregnancy went on we started arguing over her drinking but Brenda wouldn’t change her ways, oh no! I hoped things would get better once the baby came along, but I’m sorry to say it didn’t. She would prop you up in my arms with a bottle of milk, Vicky, and go out to the pub, coming in at all hours, steaming drunk. This went on for a couple of months, and then one night I left her in the flat with you and Matty while I called round to see the bloke next door. He was into fishing, and he was going to take me over to the local lakes. I’d gone round to make some plans. I was only out for twenty minutes but when I got back Matty was roaming around in a dirty nappy and you, Vicky, well, it breaks my heart to say it, but you were screaming blue murder in your cot. There was no sign of Brenda until the early hours of the next morning, when she fell in the door stinking of booze again.

  ‘That was it. I told her we were over and I was going to apply for custody of you, but she went nuts. She told me she had found a new fella who had his own house, and that I stood no chance of winning custody, being on my own and disabled as I was. We weren’t even married and so she was right; everything was stacked against me. I didn’t give up though, Vicky. I want you to know this. I tried to get custody. I tried as hard as I possibly could, but I was turned down flat. Even then I didn’t give up. I asked Social Services to put you on the “at risk” register, and I said that if ever there was a problem they must contact me, as I would take you in. Nobody ever contacted me, though, which I figured was a mixed blessing. I assumed Brenda must have sorted herself out, or I would have known about it. That’s what I told myself for year after year. My Vicky is all right. She has to be, or Social Services would have been knocking on my door.’

  There was a long pause, and you could have heard a pin drop.

  ‘Now I’m told there were no records anywhere about my fight for custody, or my request to put you on the “at risk” register. It’s absolutely criminal! I’ve spent the last fourteen years thinking you were all right; you had to be all right. If you weren’t Social Services would have got in touch, right? That’s what I’ve always believed, always. Now I find out my paperwork must have been lost or thrown away like old chip paper! I might as well have not existed! Social Services might as well have not existed! And we’ve lost all these years . . .’

  Vincent dissolved into floods of tears, and his loud sobs reverberated around the room. We all sat silently, as if out of respect for Vincent’s feelings, and to mourn the loss he was clearly feeling.


  ‘Fourteen years!’ he repeated, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Fourteen years!’

  As he said ‘fourteen years’ for the third or fourth time, a gangly teenager appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Er, everything all right? I, er, thought I’d better pop in and say hello.’

  ‘This is Matty, everyone,’ Carol said.

  ‘Hello, Matty,’ myself, Jonathan and Lorraine said politely.

  Vicky just stared at him. She looked like she’d just stepped off the biggest, scariest roller coaster you could imagine, and was feeling disorientated, nauseous and slightly shell-shocked.

  ‘Your dad’s just been filling everyone in,’ Carol said to Matty. ‘Obviously, it’s quite emotional.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, looking Vicky up and down. ‘Well, it’s good to meet you all. I’ll, er, come back down when the food’s ready.’

  ‘He seems like a lovely lad!’ I remarked, trying to lighten the atmosphere but cringing to myself at how crass this probably sounded.

  ‘So I was right, we’d never met,’ Lorraine muttered. ‘I knew I would have remembered.’

  Piecing everything together, Lorraine was aghast at Vincent’s story, and she turned to me and asked in an irritated manner, ‘How could Social Services not have kept records?’

  ‘We’ll never know exactly what happened,’ I said. ‘Perhaps they did and they got accidentally lost or destroyed . . .’

  ‘I think that’s a generous viewpoint, Angela,’ Jonathan said, which took me by surprise. ‘It wasn’t as if it was one phone call that wasn’t logged, or a tip-off from a stranger that was mishandled or overlooked. This was Vicky’s father making a clear request.’

  It was unlike Jonathan to find it hard to bite his tongue, but he clearly couldn’t help himself. I caught his eye and gave him a ‘that’s enough’ look, and saw him button his lips together.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ I said to Vicky.

  She nodded very slowly.

  ‘Are you all right, Dad?’ she said, looking over at Vincent.

  His head shot up and he looked at Vicky with a look of love and relief on his face.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What’s done is done, I suppose. What’s the expression? No use crying over spilt milk?’

  His bravado in the light of what we’d just heard reminded me of the way Vicky behaved at times, pulling herself together with impressive speed. It was humbling, and I glanced towards Vincent’s medal on the mantelpiece. Carol saw me.

  ‘Commendation,’ she said. ‘Vincent is a very brave man indeed. He doesn’t like talking about it.’ She paused then added pointedly, ‘He went through a lot, you know.’

  ‘You wouldn’t guess I was brave, would you?’ he said, attempting a smile. ‘Can you get me a tissue, baby?’

  Carol fetched some tissues from the kitchen.

  ‘Anyone else?’ she said, passing them round as if they were a box of chocolates. We all took one and dabbed our eyes or blew our noses. It had been a very moving reunion indeed.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re all ready to eat something?’ Carol said, clasping her hands together and looking at us hopefully. ‘I’ve made a huge potato salad, there are two types of quiches, plenty of cold meats and we’ve got rhubarb and apple crumble for pudding.’

  Vicky looked at me with a look of amusement on her face, which I was very glad to see.

  ‘Ah, Vicky’s a dab hand at making rhubarb crumble,’ I said.

  ‘No way!’ Vincent exclaimed. ‘Crumbles are my signature dish. I love them.’

  ‘No way!’ Vicky echoed. ‘With custard not cream?’

  ‘Of course! Custard every time!’

  Carol showed us through to the dining room and the meal was a great success. The food was delicious and our hosts had clearly gone to a lot of trouble. The conversation shifted to the usual kind of chatter you’d expect when new groups of people meet. We found out Vincent was a keen fisherman and worked part time doing administration work for the British Legion, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Carol was an auxiliary nurse at the local hospital, and they’d met when Vincent was undergoing physiotherapy there. She had no children of her own and was in her early forties, the same age as Vincent. Matty didn’t say much but he politely answered the few questions directed at him and excused himself as soon as he possibly could after the main course, explaining that he wasn’t into puddings.

  ‘I’m off to the gym soon,’ he said, ‘so I’ll leave you all to it. Nice to have met you.’

  As soon as Matty left the room Vincent asked Vicky if she was going to stay for the week.

  ‘Yes, I think I’d like that,’ she said without hesitation, which I wasn’t prepared for. I could sense that Jonathan and Lorraine were as surprised, pleased and reticent as I was.

  ‘Great!’ he said. ‘I’d like to spend more time with you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.’

  Vicky smiled. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m glad I found you.’

  17

  ‘It’s not fair! It’s torture!’

  ‘I think I’ll just phone up and make sure she’s feeling all right,’ Lorraine said.

  We’d pulled over for fuel and Lorraine was making a beeline for the telephone box near the petrol station.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said.

  Jonathan nodded. ‘Send her my love.’

  We’d only left Vicky forty minutes earlier, but it felt like days. My heart was aching for her. She’d looked happy – excited, even – as we’d said our goodbyes, but I wondered how she was feeling now, once she was at her dad’s alone, in a strange town, staying for a whole week with a family she had only just met. Lorraine had started crying in the back of the car as soon as we turned out of Vincent’s estate. It was such a bleak-looking place, and despite the fact Vincent and Carol had been so welcoming and their home was warm and comfortable, it really didn’t help matters that their neighbourhood was so uninviting.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Lorraine had sniffed. ‘What have we done? We can’t leave her there, can we?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ I said, holding back the tears. ‘And I’ve told her that we will collect her any time she likes if she wants to come home early. She just has to pick up the phone.’

  This was true, but I was really struggling to come to terms with the situation myself, and I knew my words gave none of us any comfort.

  Listening to Vincent’s story had been shocking. He could have been reunited with Vicky so much earlier, if only records had been kept and warnings heeded. What was it going to do to Vicky when she’d had chance to digest all this information? To know she could have escaped the terrible life she had with her mother if only a few basic files and pieces of paperwork had been dealt with properly would be extremely difficult to cope with. The very thought of it made me burn with sorrow and regret, but how was it going to affect Vicky? She had been the one put out in the cold in her nightie and sent out dressed in ill-fitting, second-hand clothes. She had been the one living with a drunken mother who was seemingly more concerned with her pills and alcohol and her ‘gentleman callers’ than her daughter’s wellbeing. And it was Vicky who was knocked about and had a sore head, the details of which I had yet to uncover.

  ‘Vic! Are you all right?’

  Lorraine had obviously got through to her sister and I was standing outside the phone box, holding the door ajar so I could hear half the conversation.

  ‘Oh that’s good. I’m glad about that . . . What’s that? Oh that’s nice. Really? Oh that’s good too. Now just remember what Angela said. Ring us any time, you, d’you hear? . . . All right, Vic. Look after yourself. There’s the pips. Bye . . . And you. Bye. Bye.’

  ‘She’s fine,’ Lorraine nodded to me, hanging up the receiver.

  ‘Of course she is!’ I said bravely.

  ‘Oh Angela!’

  Lorraine hugged me and sobbed into my shoulder.

  ‘Now don’t go setting me off!’ I said. ‘Come on! She’s absolutely fine. What did she say?
’

  ‘Nothing really. They’ve got a cat called Hugo who doesn’t like visitors, but she’s just met him and says he’s lovely. He’s got different coloured eyes apparently, like David Bowie.’

  ‘Oh that’s good. She’ll love that.’

  ‘Also, Vincent has got a pigeon loft in the back garden. He likes birds, like Vicky. Funny that, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is! It certainly is!’

  When we set off again Lorraine eventually had a snooze in the back of the car, and I inevitably found myself picking over Vincent’s words, and the way he had told his story.

  ‘Do you think Vincent’s had some kind of therapy?’ I whispered to Jonathan after mulling things over in my mind for a while.

  ‘What, because of losing his leg?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I was thinking more in terms of what he must have gone through, mentally.’

  ‘You mean psychotherapy, or something like that?’

  ‘Well I don’t know what they call it. It was just a bit unusual, the way he got everything off his chest in one fell swoop like he did. It was like he’s used to doing it; a lot of people would be tongue-tied, but he was the opposite. It was quite astonishing, really, wasn’t it, the way he just rattled it all off, hardly pausing for breath?’

  ‘Mmm, I think you might have a point, Miss Marple!’ Jonathan smiled thoughtfully. ‘We have to be careful though. We don’t know exactly what he went through, do we? Or what he was like before the . . . before he lost his leg.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to criticise him, but I wonder if he thought of the effect it would have on Vicky, to have everything told to her like that? I mean, I found it shocking enough. What about Vicky?’

  Jonathan flicked me a glance and nodded. ‘I’m not sure he considered that, or he would have taken things slower, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘I think so. And Carol definitely made a point of mentioning his commendation, and saying he’d gone through a lot. I think that was her way of telling me that Vincent’s way of doing things needs a little bit of understanding.’

  I phoned Vicky every day, and to my relief she seemed to be having a whale of a time. Her dad had shown her pictures of himself in his Army uniform which she was very impressed with, she loved playing with Hugo the cat, and Carol had driven them to the local country park, where they’d walked around a lake and Vicky had pushed her dad in his wheelchair and fed the ducks.