by Sarah Hope
‘You monster.’ My voice starts low and quietly rising to an uncontrolled tyrant of screams. ‘You monster. You killed my mum. You killed her. My mum. My mum who would never, ever hurt anyone. My mum who you have beaten black and blue almost every night for years and years. You killed her. She didn’t deserve any of it. Why couldn’t you have just let her be? You killed her. You evil, evil monster.’
Finding his feet he comes at me with such pace and force that he doesn’t even acknowledge Grandmother’s strongest efforts to restrain him, to pull him away from me.
‘Don’t you blame me, girl. She asked for it.’
‘Asked for it? Asked to be killed? You... you, how can you blame her for you killing her? No one’s to blame but you. You did it.’
‘Do you want to know what we were arguing about? You. The conniving cow was trying to slip away. Get me drunk enough so she could get the key off me. She was trying to come to you. That’s what made me do it. If anyone’s to blame it’s you.’ He points his shaking finger at me.
Stumbling back, the cool of the wall against my back, I slip to the floor and cover my head with my arms. Mum. Mum dead. Not my mum, please God, not my mum. Not beautiful, kind Mum. Too stunned to even cry, I start to rock and hum the lullaby Mum always sung to me as a young child, anything to shut the world out. Shut out the din of Grandmother bellowing at Father. I can’t hear this. I can’t listen to her backing him up, blaming Mum and telling him that, yes, it’s all her fault, and mine. Not his.
I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want it to be true. It can’t be. Not Mum. She’ll be here soon. That’s it. I must have just jumped to the wrong conclusion, let my imagination run wild.
Yes, she’ll be coming to get me. I’d better go and pack my things. She’ll have followed Father here. She won’t be long now.
Dazed, I pull myself to standing and begin to make my way out of the kitchen, picking my way over Father’s, once again, sprawling body on the floor and Grandmother’s skeletal frame kneeling next to him.
They don’t notice as I slip up the stairs and pack my few clothes and toothbrush carefully and meticulously away in my small, tattered suitcase. Laying my patchwork quilt that Mum made for me as a baby on top and closing the lid, I take a last look around the room. Yes, that’s it. Nobody would even know I had been here now. All my things are packed.
Lifting my suitcase, I make my way back down the stairs and head towards the door. Mum will be here soon. I’ll meet her at the train station. That’s what I’ll do. Pulling the door open, I’m met with a gust of cold, sharp wind. I don’t remember it being that cold when I checked the lane earlier. Apart from the branches swaying and leaves spiralling down the lane, all is quiet and still; a stark contrast to the drama within.
Stepping outside I’m grateful for the cool air surrounding me. Turning my face skywards, letting the wind whip my hair I feel hope. For the first time in ages, I feel hope. Mum will be sure to meet me at the station and we can get away. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Me and Mum together again. Father’s lying, making all this horrible business up to try and stop me meeting her. Yes. It’s clear now what’s happening. I shouldn’t have even begun to believe him. He’d make anything up to try and keep us apart.
‘What do you think you’re doing girl?’ Starting from my freedom, I turn to see Grandmother’s horrified face in the doorway. ‘Get back in here before anyone see’s you.’
Laughing at her misplaced hysteria, I turn to go down the garden path.
‘Listen to me, get in here now.’
Trying to shake her hands off me, she only grips tighter, her sharp nails digging into the flesh at the top of my arms. It surprises me that she’s quite strong for such a small, frail looking woman. Still, I can pull away from her, she’s not that strong.
‘You heard her, Enid. In here now.’ Father’s bumbling voice booms through the quiet of the outside. As he goes to grab me I pull myself away from him and Grandmother, causing him to lose his drunken footing and stumble against the wall.
‘Look at you. You’re nothing but a drunken mess.’ It makes me laugh, watching him in slow motion as he tries to find his feet and stand up. I back away down the path. Just as I’m turning to start running I feel his heavy hand gripping my arm, yanking me back inside. Pushing me against the hall wall, it’s my turn to lose my footing and I fall onto the hard floor.
Screaming, I push myself to standing. He can’t do this anymore.
‘Don’t even try to get through that door again. I’m warning you, Enid.’
‘Or what Father, you’ll beat me up again? I’m going to meet Mum and there’s nothing you can do about it.’ Lifting my chin as high as I can, I show him I mean it this time. It takes me by surprise as I feel the heavy punch land at the side of my face causing my head to spin and my eyesight to momentarily go for a few seconds, plunging me into a world of darkness. Still, once again I push myself to standing, determined to get out of the door and meet Mum at the station.
‘You’re not going to stop me. Not this time. Me and Mum will run away together. We’ll start a new life. Away from you.’
‘She’s not going anywhere with you, you fool. She’s dead. I told you, she’s dead.’
‘We’ll look after my baby together. We will get a place of our own. Somewhere you won’t be able to find us.’
‘I told you, she’s dead.’
I don’t want to hear it. Shaking my head, I try not to listen. It’ll all be okay when I get to the station. She’ll be there. Mum will be there. She will.
‘You heard your father, girl. Your mum is dead. Your little plan’s not going to happen.’ Staring at Grandmother I can see her mouth moving but can barely hear her words over the ringing in my ears left over from Father’s punch. My vision still swaying, I make my way towards the now closed door again.
‘She’s dead, listen to me. Gone, and you’ll be heading that way too if you dare step outside again.’ I hear Father’s booming voice clearly but can hardly form the words in my head to know what they mean. I must get out. That’s all I can hear, a voice in my head telling me to run.
The door knob feels sticky beneath my hand and I realise it must be Mum’s blood come off from Father’s hand when he slammed the door after he’d dragged me in. Looking up at him, I see his bloodstained clothes as if for the first time. It’s true. Mum’s dead. He has killed Mum. What they’re telling me, Grandmother repeating it over and over in my ear next to me, is true. It’s true. She has gone. She won’t be meeting me at the station. She won’t be meeting me. Ever.
‘You murderer! You killed my mum. You killed her!’ Lunging towards him I strike him on the face, again and again. ‘You killed her. You killed her.’
As he grabs my wrists and pulls me towards him I smell afresh the sheer stench of alcohol on his breath, suffocating my words for a moment.
‘Get off me. Get off me. You can’t do this. Not anymore.’
‘Oh no?’ A cruel jeer creeps across his face as in slow motion I watch him bring his knee up, landing heavily on my belly. Letting go he pushes me onto the floor. I lay where I land in a heap at Grandmother’s feet. The pain is almost instant and hits me right in the centre of my bump. The last thing I see before I black out is Grandmother’s face peering down at me, barking some type of order at my father.
Discharged from hospital, I don’t know where to go. No one has come to meet me. After staying glued to my side in the hospital its odd Grandmother hasn’t come to fetch me, to finish the job. But maybe that was her plan all along, to stay with me until she knew my darling boy had been wrenched from me by his so called new parents. It turns out that the conniving witch had set up the adoption up before Father had even taken me to her house all those months ago, and she wasn’t going to rest until my baby had been snatched from me. Those few precious minutes that angel of a nurse allowed me to have with him was all I got.
Standing in the protection of the hospital porch watching the rain
pelt down outside, I shudder at the memory of the birth; of barely seeing his dear little face as he was delivered from me and straight into the arms of a stranger, a nurse who would take him to the nursery to wait for his new parents. All alone. He spent his first night out of my protective belly all alone in a sterile cot in a stark room they jokingly call a nursery. My poor baby. My poor sweet baby.
I keep reliving it all. Was there anything I could have done to stop it happening? To keep my baby? Could I have done more to protect him? I’m his mother. It’s my job to look after him. There must have been something I could have done to stop this happening. To stop him being ripped from me. If it hadn’t been for that witch of my grandmother glued to my side and dismissing my pleas I’m sure they would have listened to me. I could surely have reasoned with the nurses, with someone. To tell them what a terrible mistake it all was. That it wasn’t my doing. That I didn’t want to give up my beautiful, precious little boy.
I knew my darling baby’s new parents had taken him when Grandmother left two days ago. Since then I have not seen or heard from her.
I wake up shaking, sweat pouring from my forehead. My hand immediately and subconsciously feels for my locket clinging to my drenched chest under my nightdress.
Pushing myself up, I prop myself up in bed and wait until the tears have finished falling. I remind myself that my father cannot hurt me anymore. I try to fight the thought of him laughing and taunting. He may not be able to physically hurt me anymore but what good is that platitude when his past actions, all those years ago, still hurt? The nightmare he plunged me into by taking away my son, by killing Mum, is still continuing today.
After spending the morning at the vets getting Freda’s annual top-up vaccination, I settle down in my chair, Freda curled up on my lap begrudgingly looking for comfort and still sulking from her ordeal. Reaching down I get my notebook and pen. The excitement and apprehension must be coursing through my body because I can already feel a headache brewing, not helped by last night’s bad sleep. Today’s the day I’ve been waiting for all week. Ever since Mandy said she’d help me put a message on one of those adoption forums, my mind has been buzzing.
Typical! Now that I’ve actually picked up pen and paper I can’t remember a thing I’ve been wanting to say. This might be my chance, a real chance at that, for me to get in contact with Peter. He might actually read what I write.
Ten minutes later I still find myself sat staring at a stark, blank page. Even worse I’m grappling for ideas from a blank mind. I have no idea what I can write. How can I put across how much I love him, how much I fiercely regret having him taken from me, how much I fought to keep him? How my life has been desolate without him? Do I write all of this? Or do I just stick to the facts? His date and place of birth?
A hot cup of tea might tickle the brain cells a bit and help me concentrate. Come on Freda, down you jump. Let me get up.
‘Come on now. There’s no need to be grumpy. And don’t look at me with those hard done by eyes of yours. Every cat has to have boosters. Now off you jump and let me get up.’
Heaving myself up out of the armchair it strikes me, not for the first time, how much of an effort everything is at the moment. Even the short walk to the kitchen leaves me breathless. I really must get fit. Maybe I should give up my evening ritual of hot cocoa and shortbread. I’ll start tomorrow.
Right, I’ll have this and hopefully it will loosen my brain cells and then I can get back to writing the most important message of my life.
Oh what’s that? The doorbell. There it goes again. Quick Freda, off you jump again. Goodness is that the time? I must have dropped off.
‘Coming.’ Oh dear, I bet its Lynette come round to remind me about babysitting. I hope I’ve not made her late.
‘Hello, Mandy dear.’
‘Hi Mrs Reynolds. Mum just sent me round to see if you were still okay to come over while she goes on her course?’
‘Yes, yes of course dear. Now hang on two minutes. I’ll just grab my notebook and knitting and I’ll walk back with you.’ Now, where did I put it? I was sat here in my chair. Ah here it is, fallen down the side of the cushion. Knitting, knitting. Aha there we go.
‘Right come on then. Oh, hold on a mo, there’s something I got for you and Charlie from the newsagents on the way back from the vets. Now what was it?’ What was it I got them? It’ll be in the kitchen for sure. Yes there it is, a little choccie bar each.
Pulling the front door to behind me I mentally check I have everything on me. Notebook. Check. Knitting. Check. Chocolate. Check.
‘I’m so sorry, Lynette. I must have dropped off. How silly of me. I hope I’ve not made you late?’
‘No, of course not. Are you sure you don’t mind looking after them? I’m not going to be back until half nine? It’s a late night for you.’
‘It’s my pleasure Lynette. I love spending time with Mandy and Charlie. You take your time.’
‘You do think I’m doing the right thing don’t you?’
‘Absolutely. Now stop checking yourself in the mirror, you look lovely, and be off with you before you really are late.’ Watching Lynette walk down her driveway to her little car I allow myself again to imagine that this is how my life should have turned out; me babysitting Peter’s children, my grandchildren.
Waving at her as she reverses onto the road, I feel just as proud of her had she been my own. We could all learn a thing or two from the way she’s pulling her life back together after that idiot of a cheating husband of hers walked out on her. Going on this teacher refresher course is just the beginning of a new chapter for her. It’s wonderful to see her standing on her own two feet after such a cruel fall.
Shutting the front door, I turn around and allow myself a minute to just listen to the noises of a happy home. Hearing the music and intermittent yelps of ‘yes’s’ coming from the living room, I take an educated guess that Charlie’s on his playerstation thingabob. As for Mandy, I can hear her rummaging in her room. Ah here she is, belting down the stairs clutching her laptop to her chest.
‘Are you ready Mrs Reynolds?’
The flushed excitement on her face makes it impossible for me to tell her the truth. I can’t tell her that I don’t think I’m ready. I don’t even understand myself. I’ve tried to find him ever since he was torn from me, so what’s so different today? Why am I feeling so apprehensive and worried? Maybe it’s because this is the first time anyone else has been involved with my searching. Maybe it’s not just my hopes in jeopardy of being dashed now, its Mandy’s too. And she’s been through so much recently, poor little mite. She doesn’t need another disappointment. An old girl like me is used to disappointment, all my searching so far have led me up the same path. Why would this one be so different? And to set Mandy up for a fall, is it really fair?
‘Hey, you never know this might be the time you actually find him. Statistically you’re reaching out to more people, hundreds, thousands, maybe log on to this forum. What you write will be read by all of them and one of them might be Peter!’ Bless her it’s as though she’s been reading my mind.
Watching her open the laptop and fumble with the power pack, she seems as though she’s on a mission. I just hope for both our sakes that this has a good outcome. Though I mustn’t let myself get too excited. Don’t focus on the outcome, happy or sad, just focus on giving this girl something to do, something to think about besides the breakdown of her parents’ marriage.
‘Cool, shouldn’t take long to boot it up. Yes, here we are. Let me just type in the website address.’
I can feel my palms begin to get sweaty, watching the too quick lap computer’s screen change from the search engine’s homepage to the adoption website doesn’t give time for my brain to catch up.
‘Okay, here we go. Did you figure out what you want to post?’
‘Post? I thought it was all on the World Wide Web? I didn’t think we had to post anything?’
‘Oh no, you don’t.’ The twinkle in her
eye and the twitching of her mouth shows me that she’s trying very hard not to laugh, not that I mind. ‘A post means you’re going to post a message, put a message up in the forum for others to read.’
‘I see.’ Well I do a little anyway. I remember when Mandy thought of the idea she told me a forum is another name for a chat room, though it’s not really a room, just a website you can write to others on. Having thought I was quite computer literate, since meeting Mandy she has proved me quite wrong. The possibilities open to us nowadays thanks to the World Wide Web are quite astonishing.
‘To be honest Mandy, I’ve been having real trouble thinking of what to write. The thought of all these strangers being able to read it makes me quite nervous.’
‘Yes, but remember one of those people might be Peter!’
The confusion in Mandy’s face doesn’t surprise me. After all my feelings are confusing to me, let alone others.
‘I don’t know if that’s what is making it even harder. I mean, I’ve been searching for him ever since he was born, but this feels different, I’ve never been able to talk to so many people at once. What if this doesn’t work? What then? I’d have tried literally everything.’ And that’s it. The reason I’ve been trying to find within myself all day. It’s that this feels like my last chance. What if I can’t reach Peter this way? Game over, there will be nowhere else to turn. At least I’ve always had something else to try when my efforts at finding him have failed.
‘Mrs Reynolds, there’s always hope. There’s always somewhere else to search. If this doesn’t work then we just post a message on another forum.’
