Time To Play

by KA Richardson

  He’d thought he understood at first, figured by teaching them pain that they would go on to survive and be stronger. But he’d never actually let them go so they could even try to survive. He’d played God, decided when things weren’t going so well. He alone had made them cry and weep with pain and anguish, had terrified them every time he’d entered this forsaken room. He’d even had the forethought and planning to soundproof the walls. And he’d decided when to clasp his hands round their throats and squeeze every inch of life from them. Except for Nita – she’d been the exception.

  James knew he deserved everything he was going to get.

  His whole life had turned to shit. It had happened so gradually he hadn’t even seen it coming, hadn’t noticed its approach. How could he fuck everything up so royally?

  He didn’t even deserve to be on this earth. He was utterly useless, a waste of space and time.

  Fred had told him often enough, always rubbing it in as he’d slunk into the whorehouse to pick out his latest girl.

  He should have stopped ages ago, not given Fred the satisfaction of seeing him return time after time. Shouldn’t have let his own brother see just how low he’d become.

  For some reason, Fred had always seen himself as better than him, had bigged it up even as a kid when his knobbly knees knocked together as he ran through the fields they’d called home. And James Maynard had always just put up with the bullying, never moaned when he knew that it was Fred who had killed Stinky, didn’t grass him up when their dad had found weed in the bedroom they shared so had ended up getting the blame as the oldest, and had coped with Fred kicking and punching him out of utter meanness.

  When he’d met Sheila, he thought he’d found redemption. He barely spoke to Fred any more unless he’d turned up at the house unexpectedly. It hadn’t been a hard decision to move to the north-east.

  And then they’d found they couldn’t have kids. His worthless body refusing to give Sheila the sperm she needed. She’d been completely and utterly devastated. Fred had a couple of kids, not that he saw them, but James had been jealous. It started to cause problems in his marriage; him being so desolate that he believed Sheila needed to find someone else.

  He’d all but pushed Sheila into Fred’s arms, practically begging the pair to make the child his beloved wife so desperately wanted. And she’d been so happy when she’d fallen pregnant, and all the heartache had seemed worth it.

  When Connor had been born, he thought he’d have felt a niggle of unease, a shred of envy that the boy wasn’t his, but Sheila had made sure that where he might’ve had doubts, she was there to bolster him up. They’d recovered, slowly, and finally he’d started to feel like a man again.

  Then Sheila had told him she was pregnant again.

  He hadn’t even realised that she’d still been shagging his brother, had thought that with Connor, they had everything they needed together.

  He’d left then, for a long while. Did some things he was ashamed of. Fred had hooked him up with some of his girls, hell, he’d been classed as a regular for a while. He’d lost his way, smoking dope and ending up high every chance he got, and always with a girl on his arm. A girl he’d paid for with money he should’ve been spending on Connor. Then Sheila had called him from the hospital to tell him Marie had been born and, curious, he’d had to visit. The tiny little girl had grabbed his fingers with hers, and he’d been completely and utterly lost. He’d moved home the next night, stopped smoking and getting hammered, hadn’t stopped the girls though. He’d still been somewhat regular at the brothel. Not that Sheila ever found out.

  He’d begged Sheila then to stop seeing Fred, pleaded with her to be happy with two children so they could be a family, and she’d agreed.

  They’d said they would never tell the kids, would bring them both up as though none of the shit from the past had any impact.

  And it hadn’t.

  Until now.

  Sobs suddenly broke free from his body. All that pain, years and years of bottling it all up and never letting it out, years of coping now with the way Sheila was, all flooded to the surface and escaped. It wasn’t right. None of it was right.

  He’d had enough.

  All the girls he’d tried to teach to cope with pain, and it was all for jack shit. It meant nothing.

  All he’d done was inflict pain on other people. It was all he’d done for his entire life. His son now couldn’t even bear to look at him. He’d watched earlier when he’d been round the house. Watched as Connor had made Sheila a cup of coffee, then sat on the sofa, his agony resounding around the room in a silent echo.

  And James had finally understood.

  Pain was normal.

  Everyone had it in their lives. It had been wrong to pretend otherwise. But most people didn’t pick girls out from a line-up like cattle, beat the crap out of them with bare hands. Normal people didn’t do that. He already knew he wasn’t normal, had struggled hiding it from Sheila as he’d visited the seediest of places and done things with the girls that she’d never have let him do in a million years. But he’d always at least thought he wasn’t crazy. That he could cope with his own life.

  But the deeper into her Alzheimer’s Sheila had got, the worse his behaviour had become.

  He sat in the chair and sobbed until there were no more tears. His body eventually stopped shaking, and he felt physically exhausted.

  Standing, he turned on the lamp on the workbench and pulled out the notebook and pen from his pocket. He wouldn’t back out this time. He couldn’t live with who he had become, and he needed to make sure that Connor and Marie understood.

  Putting the pen to the paper, he started writing.

  Dear Connor and Marie,

  I know you won’t understand any of this, but it’s how it has to be. I had to do this; it was the only way. I’ve done such terrible things.

  When your mum was diagnosed with her Alzheimer’s, I was stupid and thought it would take ages to take hold, and that we’d been together so long that she’d never, ever be able to forget me. But she did, and at times it felt, and still feels, like my heart was being pulled out from my chest.

  I thought that if I took in some girls in trouble, that I could help them understand pain so that it would be easier for them, easier than it had been for me and you both at any rate. I thought they’d learn to handle pain, and then I’d let them go and they would just get it, you know? I never meant to strangle them. I never meant to keep going back to Fred and getting more. There were seven in total. I only took them so they could learn.

  But I couldn’t teach them anything but pain and fear. I couldn’t even let them go to see if they could survive. They’d seen me, you see, knew my face. They would have ruined our whole family. As it turns out, it wasn’t them that ruined us, it was me.

  I’m so sorry I hit you, Connor, and I can’t even describe how I feel about you both finding out that I’m not your dad. It was never meant to be like this. I loved you both so much from the second you were born. The nurse placed you in my arms and it didn’t matter who had got your mum pregnant, it just didn’t matter anymore. You were both the children of my heart, and I was there for every football game, every dance recital, every school play.

  I know this is the coward’s way out, and I know you’ll both be upset. But it really is the only way – without me you will both continue with your lives; your mum will go in the home you both want and maybe even she’ll be happier.

  All I know is I fucked everything up. I wish…well, wishing doesn’t do any good really, does it? I’ve said what I wanted to say. I hope it’s neither of you who find me, and I’m so sorry for everything. Look after your mother, and each other. And always remember that none of this is your fault.

  My love always,

  Your Dad

  This was it – the sum total of his achievements was in this room. And it amounted to nothing.

  Calm now, he reached for the rope he’d rigged above the door and wrapped it round his neck
. The note was on the worktop; the pen placed neatly beside it.

  Having the rope round his neck didn’t feel like he’d thought it would.

  He’d thought that when his oxygen was cut off, he’d feel panic, put the weight back onto his legs to relieve the constriction at his throat – but he didn’t.

  As the rope tightened further around his neck, he felt his lungs struggle for oxygen, and he felt calmer than he had ever felt in his life.

  And when the darkness finally claimed him, for the first time in his whole life, he felt completely at peace.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ali’s Flat, Sunderland – 17 November

  E lvie watched as the minutes ticked over on the clock in the bedroom. Agnes, Ali’s mum, was curled up next to her and was snoring softly. But Elvie couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was going to go wrong.

  She knew she’d have to face immigration, and she was struggling with the part of her that wanted to stay here where the people had been so warm and welcoming, and the part that wanted to go back home where everything was familiar. She knew how to act at home, what to say and who to trust.

  If they sent her home, her great-aunt would be asked to care for her, and Elvie knew in her heart that that wouldn’t happen. The old crone would just throw her out on the street and expect her to fend for herself. Noni had always told her not to trust her sister, and she’d never given any reason to be trusted, always envious of Noni and the life she’d chosen to lead. If she was chucked out on the street, Elvie didn’t know how she’d survive. She’d had dreams of going to college, one of the big ones in Manila, but if she was sent back it would never happen. She’d have to work to pay her own way.

  If she stayed here and was granted asylum, she didn’t really understand what would happen. Agnes had tried to explain that the UK don’t send people back if there’s a danger to their lives, or for various other reasons, but even she didn’t know what would happen if Elvie stayed. And Elvie hadn’t been able to ask Marlo or Ali as they’d both been out at work all day.

  She smiled in the dark as she remembered visiting Cass and Alex with Agnes. Their child, Izzy, had stolen her heart. She’d sat quietly while Elvie had haltingly read a fairy tale. The child had sucked her dummy, content that someone was devoting their attention to her. Elvie had had experience babysitting for some of the women back home: it was expected with so many of the women having to work, so when Izzy had fallen asleep, she’d carefully lowered her into the crib. Elvie had stood for ages watching the child’s eyelids flutter, envying her the innocent knowledge that her world was safe enough to keep her in deep slumber.

  Elvie had found herself wondering what it would be like to have a little sister, someone who she could care for and look after. And then she’d realised that she couldn’t even take care of herself right now. Everything was so uncertain, and it had been for weeks. She didn’t know if she was coming or going, didn’t know what would happen from one day to the next. And it scared her.

  Once again, she was unable to stop the silent tears as they fell from her eyes, defeating her feeble attempts to wipe them away with the back of her hand. For the hundredth time in recent weeks, she wished for someone to tell her it was all OK, longed for her Noni’s comforting touch, and wondered what would happen tomorrow.

  As the hands passed 4 a.m. she finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Marlo’s Flat – 17 November

  Ali stirred as Marlo jerked in her sleep beside him. The couch was only normal width, and she was right in front of him so there was no avoiding the sharp jab of her elbow to his ribs. He gasped and raised himself up on one arm, wincing at the force with which she’d hit him.

  ‘Marlo?’ he asked, touching her arm with his hand.

  She didn’t respond, her body twitching as mumbled words escaped from her mouth.

  ‘No, let me go. It wasn’t my fault. Let me go!’

  Her head moved suddenly, the top impacting with his jaw causing his teeth to crash together loudly. Cursing softly, he pulled as far back as the couch would allow.

  ‘Marlo, wake up,’ he said, more firmly this time, gently shaking her shoulder.

  She thrashed again, mumbling incoherently. Whatever she was dreaming about, she was deep asleep. Ali remembered reading somewhere that you were supposed to ease someone out of a nightmare, not just wake them abruptly as it could do – well what it did he couldn’t quite remember, but it did something.

  ‘Come on now, love, it’s time to wake up,’ he said, rubbing her arm a notch above gentle with his hand. Feeling her gather momentum for another struggle, he had no choice but to pin her with his weight otherwise she’d end up headbutting or elbow-jabbing him again. ‘Marlo, wake up dammit!’ Ali noticed his voice getting louder – how the heck was he supposed to wake her? Slap her face like they used to in the old films? He couldn’t do that.

  Suddenly she stilled beneath him, and her eyes opened slowly, still full of remembered pain from her nightmare.

  ‘Easy sweetheart, it’s just me. You had me worried. You wouldn’t wake up.’ He slid from on top of her to beside and she turned her head towards him.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, her eyes downcast and filled with anguish.

  ‘Wanna tell me about it?’ he asked.

  ‘I can’t,’ she whispered, glancing up at him.

  ‘Sure you can, it’s easy. Just open your mouth and let the words fall out. It’ll do you good to open up.’

  ‘Like you do, you mean?’ she snapped, surprising him. ‘Every time you’re anywhere near the water, you freeze up, stare into space. Your skin goes pale like water’s the worst thing on earth, but that’s not it is it? It’s not just the water. Whatever it is, is what you don’t open up about.’

  Her cheeks had flushed red, and Ali realised she’d snapped through self-preservation rather than as a direct dig against him. Besides, she was right. How could he get her to trust him when he didn’t do the same? Breathing deeply, he opted for the direct approach.

  ‘You’re right. I don’t open up easily. I find it so hard to talk about it that I just block it all out and try to forget. But I never really forget, it’s always hovering at the edge of my mind. I was on the dive team in Edinburgh. Everything was going great. I had the job I wanted, the girl I loved.

  ‘I’d booked a RIB from a hire place, took her out on the Forth despite her not really liking water. Champagne, nibbles, and the diamond ring in my pocket. I was building up the courage when the rain came – and I’m not talking a squall – massive heavy streaks of rain that stabbed like needles.

  ‘The engine stalled, and I stood to try to get it to work again. I rocked the RIB, and I didn’t hear the splash over the rain. When I got the engine running a couple of seconds later, Tina just wasn’t in the RIB any more. I dived in, cried her name every time I came up for air, but – I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t save her. All my training and I couldn’t—’ Ali broke off, tears filling his eyes.

  ‘I was pulled out by a fisherman half an hour later. I still hadn’t found her. She washed up a few miles upstream a few days later. I never should have taken her out.’

  Marlo looked stricken. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Ali. I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have pushed. But it wasn’t your fault. Tina chose to go out on the river with you. You couldn’t have known what would happen. I’m really sorry.’

  Ali took in a shaky breath – it had been so long since he’d let himself remember. It was almost like he was there again. He could smell the salt in the air, feel the sting of the rain, and he could see Tina in front of him, her brown hair blowing in the wind. Giving himself a mental shake, he said, ‘It was a long time ago. Kinda felt good telling someone about her, I guess. She’s been inside so long. I won’t push, Marlo. If you don’t want to tell me it’s OK.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just, I’ve never told anyone before. It’s too horrible.’

  She took a deep breath and followe
d his lead. ‘You know about my mum, right? Well, being an uneducated, rough four-year-old wasn’t something that was appealing to adopters. I was pushed from foster care to group home more times than I can remember when I was young. Anyway, when I was ten, I was placed with a lady called Ann. She seemed OK, helped me with my homework and made sure I was fed. I’d been there three weeks when her boyfriend, Chris, came home from the oil rigs. It was my eleventh birthday, and for the first time I allowed myself to get a little excited, thought maybe I might get a present or a cake. Other kids got all that, but I never had a birthday cake, not once.

  ‘Chris creeped me out. He had greasy hair and breath that smelt like stale fags. I didn’t want to go anywhere near him, but Ann pushed me onto his knee and told me to sit there while she went and made tea. At first it was OK, he just stroked my leg, but then his hand went under my dressing gown. I didn’t know what to do. When Ann came back in, I thought he’d stop, but he didn’t. He touched me, and I started crying. I ran to the bathroom and threw up.’

  Marlo paused, lost in her thoughts for a moment.

  ‘I was so afraid he would come for me when I fell asleep that I forced myself to stay awake until I heard them go to bed. And I lit the candle – Chris said I wasn’t allowed to put lights on, so Ann had given me a candle in case I got scared. I crept downstairs, and I remember stopping on each stair to make sure they didn’t wake up. I didn’t want him to follow me, so I took the keys off the hall table.’

  Marlo’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘I crept out of the back door. I realised after I’d got outside that I’d left the candle in the kitchen. It was so dark outside. I was petrified of the dark anyway and I didn’t know what to do. So, I hid in the shed. I didn’t even realise anything was wrong until I saw the orange glow in the kitchen and smelt the smoke coming from inside. I tried to go inside, to shout for Ann, but the fire was too hot. And then I heard them screaming. They couldn’t get out. I’d taken the front door keys and they couldn’t get the door open. I could hear banging, like they were throwing something, and Ann was screaming and screaming. The firemen found me in the shed once the fire was out. Chris had told them that Ann must have left the candle on in the kitchen. He knew though. I think he thought I did it on purpose. They sent me back to the home the next day. I didn’t get any more foster parents after that.’