Hush, Little Bird

by Nicole Trope

  That hot summer’s day I sat down on the back step with a can of Diet Coke and watched my daughter play in the sunshine. Me and Mum still lived in the shitbox, but it wasn’t really a shitbox. After we moved away from the big house, Mum got a job working in a shop selling clothes. ‘Who knew I would have such a flair for fashion,’ she said every day when she came home. She liked the shop and she liked Mrs Rahal who ran the shop. Mrs Rahal was very nice and she let Mum come in after she had taken me and Lila to school.

  Lila was in preschool and I was in primary school but we could see each other through the fence. At lunchtime I would go over to the fence and watch her playing with all her friends. I wanted to be with her, but primary school children weren’t allowed in the preschool. I used to sit and watch her and eat my lunch and then I didn’t mind that I was eating lunch alone because it didn’t feel like I was alone. I was with Lila.

  Mrs Han from next door would fetch us from school and take care of us until Mum came home and told us about her flair for fashion. It took a long time for Mum to stop being angry and crying, but eventually she did. She was a better mum in the shitbox. She didn’t talk about my dad anymore and how he had a whole new family. She didn’t mention him at all. We all pretended that he wasn’t real. Lila and I got bigger and bigger and I stayed light so that I could run fast and fly away if I needed to, but I never needed to. When Lila was fourteen she said to Mum, ‘Are you going to get married again?’, and Mum said, ‘Not a chance. I’m never going to put myself in that place again.’ Sometimes Mum went out with her friend Mr Michaels, but we never got to meet him. One day Mum came home and said, ‘well that’s that—I’m really done with men now,’ and after that she didn’t go out with Mr Michaels anymore. I don’t think she had other boyfriends, but she may have just kept them a secret. It’s funny to think about Mum keeping secrets.

  After a long time I didn’t think about Mr Winslow anymore. He used to come into my dreams at night and tell me about the finches and I would try to run away from him and then I would see that I was locked inside the aviary and I couldn’t get away. But after I got bigger and bigger he didn’t even come into my dreams.

  Sometimes I would think that Mr Winslow was part of my imagination and that he had never tap-tapped on my private place. Mum didn’t talk about Mr Winslow at all. It was like we had never lived next door to him. We didn’t even watch him on television, because Mum liked the other channel. Mum fixed up the shitbox. Aunty Violet sent us some money from London. Some men came and took away the sticky grey carpet and they fixed the windows and the cupboards. After that Mum fixed the bathroom and the kitchen and I loved the shitbox, only we didn’t call it that anymore. We just called it home.

  After Isabel was born, Mum stopped working at the shop with Mrs Rahal and she stayed home to take care of Isabel so that I could keep working at the fruit shop. She was a good grandmother to Isabel. I know that.

  That hot afternoon I was tired from being a good cashier and concentrating hard so that I didn’t make mistakes, but when I looked at Isabel I still felt filled with joy.

  ‘Time to go inside, little girl,’ said Mum, and I stood up and got the towel to wrap Isabel in. She didn’t like cuddles anymore, and that made me sad, but she let me wrap her in a towel and pick her up.

  ‘I have a little sausage girl,’ I said, and Isabel laughed.

  ‘Don’t eat me, don’t eat me.’

  I put my mouth near her ear and blew and she laughed and wriggled. ‘Put me down, Mum,’ she said as soon as I sat down in the kitchen.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I need to eat another piece of little girl.’ I put my lips on her neck and blew raspberries and made eating noises and her giggles filled the air.

  ‘No . . . no,’ she said, ‘down now.’

  I put her down because her voice was strong. I liked that she could say what she wanted. ‘Put on your PJs,’ I said.

  ‘She hasn’t had a bath,’ said Mum.

  ‘It’s too hot for a bath,’ said Isabel. Mum looked unhappy because she didn’t like it when Isabel was bossy.

  ‘It’s fine, Mum,’ I said. ‘Off you go, Isabel.’

  ‘Is Lester coming to dinner?’ Mum asked me.

  I took out my mobile to check, but Lester hadn’t sent a text. He always sent a text when he was coming to dinner. He wasn’t allowed to stay over, because Mum said that wasn’t right, but he was allowed to be in my room until late.

  ‘I don’t think he’s coming. Let’s have macaroni and cheese.’ Lester didn’t like macaroni and cheese. I didn’t mind that he wasn’t coming over. I knew that Mum liked him, but sometimes I just wanted it to be me and Isabel and Mum.

  ‘I think he’s going to ask you to marry him soon,’ said Mum.

  I didn’t say anything. Lester had already asked me and I said, ‘I’ll think about it,’ because that’s what Lila had told me to say. ‘Give yourself a few days, Fliss, and really think about what you want. Don’t worry about Mum. She just wants to see one of us married. It doesn’t mean you have to be with Lester forever.’

  Lester had asked and I was thinking about it. Thinking and thinking.

  ‘I don’t like Lester’s tickles,’ said Isabel.

  She was standing in the kitchen doorway, dressed in her pyjamas. Her pyjamas also had Dora the Explorer on them. She loved Dora more than anything in the world. She had a Dora lunchbox and a Dora backpack and Dora sheets. Now that she’s older she likes ponies. She started to like ponies after I was sent to prison. I’m sad that I missed her liking ponies instead of Dora. Lila has bought her lots of ponies.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. I was stirring the macaroni in the water. I wasn’t really listening, so I heard what she said but I didn’t hear what she said.

  ‘I don’t like his tickles,’ she said again and she used a loud voice. She was making sure that I heard her. I know that my mum was worried about me being a good mum. I know that she thought I wouldn’t be able to take care of a baby because I needed to hear things again and again until I remembered them, but I know I’m a good mum. I know I’m a good mum because when Isabel says something, I really listen. My mum didn’t listen even though she is clever like Lila. I heard what Isabel said. I heard it loud and clear. I stopped stirring, because my hands didn’t want to work.

  ‘Why don’t you like them?’ I said. I felt heavy even though I had only had Diet Coke all day long. I thought I was going to sink into the floor. When I think about it now I know that I didn’t know what she was going to say but somewhere inside me I knew everything.

  ‘I don’t like them and when I say stop he doesn’t stop,’ she said. ‘His fingers hurt and it doesn’t feel like tickles.’

  I walked over to Isabel and crouched down next to her. She was so little and so pretty. My legs felt heavy, so heavy.

  ‘Isabel,’ I said, and my voice felt like it was too loud in the kitchen, ‘where does Lester tickle you?’

  She shook her head and put her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘You can tell me, sweetie,’ I said.‘You can tell me anything.’

  ‘Lester says you’ll shout at me,’ she said.

  ‘He’s wrong about that. You’re my little girl. You’re my number one. I only shout when you won’t go to bed.’

  ‘Or when I don’t eat my banana.’ She twirled her hair with her finger. She was tired.

  ‘Yep, or when you don’t eat your banana, because bananas are good for you.’

  ‘Filled with vitamins,’ she said around the thumb in her mouth.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. I’m not going to shout if you show me where Lester tickles you.’

  Isabel took her thumb out of her mouth and ran her hand across her chest and down her stomach and into her pyjama pants.

  I took a deep breath and stood up. ‘Thank you for telling me, Isabel. That was very brave of you. I’m very proud of you because you told me the truth. Lester won’t tickle you anymore. I’ll make sure of that. If you don’t like what someone is doing, you tell them
and then you tell me. No one is allowed to touch you when you don’t want to be touched. Okay? And if someone tells you that I will be angry with you, you say, “Oh no, my mum will only be angry with you!”’

  ‘Lester said you would be really cross because he was being nice to me and he got me an ice cream.’

  ‘Lester is wrong about that. Mummies don’t get cross with little girls when they tell the truth. Now, what would you like for fruit?’

  ‘Not banana,’ said Isabel.

  ‘No, not banana,’ I said. I dragged my body to the fridge and got an apple for Isabel. I was very good at acting like everything was okay. I felt like I was back in the big house and Mr Winslow was waiting for me next door—only he wasn’t waiting for me, he was waiting for Isabel.

  I cut up Isabel’s apple and put it on the kitchen table for her and then I got out the small pot to make the white sauce. I watched my hands pour the milk and put in the butter and I tried to breathe slowly. I was good at making macaroni and cheese because I learned how to do it at school. Mrs Brown was my teacher in food technology and she showed me over and over again how to make it.

  Mum looked at me and I looked at her. She shook her head. She had heard what Isabel said, and even though she didn’t say anything to me, I knew that she was going to find a way to make the things Isabel said be not said.

  ‘Oh, Isabel,’ said Mum, and she used a light voice as if to say that everything was just a joke and there was nothing to be bothered about, ‘Lester was just being friendly. I’m sure he didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe you made a mistake. Are you really sure about his tickles? You shouldn’t say things you’re not sure about. You don’t want to cause a fight between Lester and Mummy by saying something silly, do you?’

  And that’s when I hit her.

  My body was heavy but my arm was light and quick and it moved so fast that I didn’t know what had happened until it was over. I was still holding the small pot. I didn’t just hit Mum with my hand, I hit her with the pot, but she didn’t tell that to the policeman and the policewoman when they came to our house. She was quiet about that. It’s because I hit her with the pot that there was so much blood, but even though the policeman asked her again and again, she just said, ‘No, only with her hand.’ Even Lila doesn’t know the truth.

  After I hit Mum with the small pot there was blood, and Isabel was screaming and crying and Mum was moaning. I feel bad about hurting Mum, and I also feel bad about scaring Isabel. Little girls should not have to be scared of their mums. I never want Isabel to be scared of me again. When she came to visit me at the Farm for the first time, she cried because she didn’t know she was going to see me, but she also cried a little even when she did see me because I had scared her when I hit Mum. The first time she came to visit I told her over and over again that I was sorry, and I talked quietly and I was very nice to her so she would know that I was still a good mum. She still asks about it every time she comes, but I don’t mind answering her question over and over again about me hitting Mum. Sometimes even smart people need to hear things more than once.

  On that bad day Mum was moaning and Isabel was screaming and I could hear my heart going thump, thump in my ears and I had to think fast even though I’m not good at thinking fast. I grabbed a dishcloth and gave it to Mum and then I picked up Isabel and put her in her room with her apple.

  When I came back, Mum had called the police on the phone.

  She had also taken the pot and put it in the dishwasher and she was cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. The milk and butter had gone everywhere. The whole kitchen was covered in splatters of milk and butter and blood. It looked like all my anger had come out and covered the kitchen in red and yellow. I helped Mum clean up. I didn’t like seeing what I’d done. Mum was holding the bloody dishcloth over her face and I tried to take it away from her but she wouldn’t let me touch her. Her mouth was bleeding and her nose was bleeding. The blood kept coming out of Mum and I cleaned and cleaned but I couldn’t clean it all up.

  I heard the siren of the police car.

  Mum said something but I couldn’t understand her because she couldn’t talk properly. ‘What did you say?’ I said.

  ‘I said oh God!’ she shouted. ‘I called the police, Felicity.’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘Yes, yes, the police. Call Lila, call Lila right now.’

  ‘What did you hit your mother with?’ asked the policewoman. She talked to me and the policeman talked to Mum.

  ‘Her hand,’ shouted Mum, and then she nodded at me. It sounded like mum had a bad cold but I understood her.

  ‘My hand,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to. I just got angry.’

  ‘This wasn’t caused by just a hand,’ said the policewoman. ‘This kind of trauma is caused by an object. Your hand couldn’t have done this much damage.’ The policewoman had small round eyes. I thought she could see the truth. The dishwasher washed everything clean and the policewoman waited for me to tell her the truth.

  Then Lila called on the phone. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell them anything.’

  ‘I’m not allowed to talk to you,’ I told the policewoman.

  The ambulance came and took Mum away, and then Isabel and I waited for Lila. ‘You can have a sleepover with Aunty Lila,’ I told Isabel, because I knew I would have to go to the police station.

  ‘I just panicked,’ Mum told me afterwards when she called me from the hospital. ‘I thought you’d gone mad.’

  I think that I hadn’t gone mad. I think I’d gone sane.

  But they sent me to prison anyway.

  ‘Don’t tell them about the pot,’ Mum told me on the phone before I went to court, and I nodded my head and Lila had to take the phone and tell her that I wasn’t speaking to her. I didn’t want to speak to her ever again.

  ‘I hate going to see the finches,’ I told Mum when I was seven and we lived in the big house.

  ‘Oh, Felicity, no you don’t. Mr Winslow says you love them. He lets you help take care of them. Just go next door and play. Lila’s having her nap and I need some peace and quiet.’

  ‘I’ll be quiet. I don’t want to go and see the finches. I hate them and I hate him. I’m too old for his nonsense.’

  ‘Why are you always trying to cause trouble? Mr Winslow has been very nice to us. He even gave me some money so the bloody bank would give us time to sell the house. He likes you to visit, so go next door now!’

  Adults like to tell children what they think and what they feel, but that’s not right. I was only little but I knew what I thought and I knew what I felt.

  Mum heard what I said but she never heard me at all. She could see me but not see me. I wasn’t going to be like that with Isabel. I heard her and I saw her, and when Mum tried to make her not heard and not seen, my arm moved by itself. I won’t ever tell Henrietta this or anyone else, but I don’t wish I hadn’t hit Mum. I just wish I hadn’t been holding the pot.

  ‘Okay, Birdy, we’ll leave it at that,’ says Henrietta after a few minutes. ‘I really hope you keep going to therapy when you leave here and that you’ll try to talk to your mother. You’ll need her help with Isabel. She loves you and she misses Isabel and she has no idea what she did wrong.’

  ‘No,’ I say, ‘she has no idea.’

  Henrietta looks at me for a long time and then she says, ‘I’ll see you next week, and we’ll try some more breathing and meditation, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  I shouldn’t have hit Mum. I should have breathed in and out and waited until I was calm and then I should have explained. I’m an adult and adults need to explain why they are angry. But sometimes I think about Mr Winslow and I feel like I am seven again. I can breathe and breathe and breathe and I will still never feel calm.

  I think that when I’m done with Rose and she is sorry for not saving me then I will be able to breathe and calm down and explain.

  But only then.

  Chapter Twenty

  My body is used to t
he work in the garden now. It means I sleep less and dream more. The first few weeks I was here I would sink immediately into a dark dreamless hole only to wake when the alarm went off at six in the morning so we could drag ourselves out of the unit and onto the little veranda, waiting to be ticked off the list. Now when the lights are out I lie in bed and think, and when I do finally fall asleep my dreams are waiting for me. Simon is waiting for me. ‘Just leave me alone!’ I want to scream. Before I came here I could block him out with pills and alcohol. There are no buffers here, just you and your nightmares.

  In the hours before sleep claims me, I think about my last days with Simon, especially the final day. I try to wish it away, to pretend it never happened. I close my eyes and tell myself that when I open them again I will be in my own bed enveloped by the aroma of brewed coffee, listening to his tread on the stairs, waiting for the door to open so I can watch him walk in and place my cup next to me. Even when things were almost unbearable and we could not be in the same room together for too long, he never stopped bringing me my coffee. I miss him. I love him. I hate him.

  I am too old to believe in wishes.

  It was only twelve months ago, but already it feels like another lifetime. But then it also feels like it was only twelve days ago, only twelve minutes ago.

  I was making dinner when he called down to me from his study. Dinner was just about the only thing I could concentrate on by then. Some days, if neither Rosalind nor Portia had been over and I ran out of something, I would have to make do with whatever was left in the fridge. It is unimaginable to think you can be denied the simple pleasure of a quick trip to the shops, but I was unable to go out. I have been sentenced to three years in jail, but I was already serving a kind of sentence in my home. The press were outside, camped on the nature strip, talking and throwing paper coffee cups everywhere. The neighbours were leaving rude messages in the letterbox asking us to move out so they could get back to their peaceful lives. Eric was calling on an hourly basis to check how we were and to update Simon on things that were being said on the internet. There were nuisance phone calls from people saying vile things about how Simon should be locked up or how he should have his penis cut off or simply that he should die.