by Gayle Curtis
Breaking the moment, Cecelia pulled his fingers to her mouth and kissed them hard, letting him know how much he meant to her, how loved he was, despite all that had happened.
CHAPTER FOUR
There was something in the kisses Cecelia planted on Sebastian’s fingers, a knowing, a guilt almost; as though she was stamping words into his hand that she couldn’t say, even if she had been able to speak. It was a strange feeling, so odd because she’d never kept anything from him before as far as he was aware. He began to wonder if she knew what he was hiding, what he’d seen on the farm the previous day, but he couldn’t work out how she could possibly know.
‘Is everything all right, Mouse?’
Cecelia nodded and put her finger to her lips. She was staring past him, towards the door, her hearing far more acute than his – possibly heightened as she’d lost her voice. A couple of seconds later the noise of the large door scraping on the concrete startled them. Roger stood there with a rifle in his hand. It always amazed Sebastian how quiet he was when he wanted to be, lurking everywhere, unseen most of the time.
‘What’s going on in here?’
‘Cecelia was sleepwalking. I followed her to make sure she was all right.’ Sebastian immediately dashed to his sister’s defence.
‘I don’t need you to talk for her. She can tell me herself.’ Roger stepped closer to Cecelia, his face distorted in the dawn light from outside and the torch, which was shining away from him.
Sebastian looked at the rifle and then at Cecelia as she opened and closed her mouth, the words evaporating in her throat.
‘I heard talking in here, so I know she can speak. Come on, what have you got to say for yourself?’
‘It was me, I was talking, not Cece.’
‘Shut up, boy. I know what I heard.’ Roger turned the rifle he was holding, nudging Cecelia’s legs with the butt. ‘Come on, speak up.’
Sebastian wanted to grab his father but memories of his mother laying under the kitchen table snapped into his mind, leaving him fearful of what Roger might do to them both. The twins had always been able to gauge his moods, know his limits. However bad things were, there was an imaginary line Roger would never cross, or so they had thought until yesterday.
This moment, right now, was turning nasty and he had no way of knowing how to diffuse it. Cecelia was helpless and her silence was making matters worse and he knew that soon she’d get angry and things would escalate.
‘I can’t hear you!’ Roger said, almost lyrically, as he shoved Cecelia again, causing her to pull her knees up, tucking herself into a ball.
‘Only talking when you feel like it? Sleepwalking? Bollocks! You got away with it before, when Yvonne was here, but not now. If you don’t speak up, I’ll send you and your brother straight into those fields and you can spend the day potato riddling.’
Sebastian looked at Cecelia and she at him as they waited for the punishment to unfold.
‘In the cold . . . until you’ve finished . . . in your night clothes . . . if it takes you until tomorrow, so be it.’
There was a shake, a weakness in Roger’s voice that Sebastian knew Cecelia had detected too. This was a minor punishment compared to what they normally had to suffer. Most of the fields had been harvested by the labourers employed on the farm and they knew that between them it wouldn’t take long to finish the small field that was left. If it meant a day off school to spend with each other, Sebastian didn’t care.
‘Just because your mother’s not here, don’t think I’m going to be lenient with either of you.’ Roger stepped closer to Cecelia, pushing his face into hers. Sebastian held his breath – he knew what was coming, a last attempt to force some noise from his sister.
Roger grabbed Cecelia’s hair and pulled her head back. She opened her mouth but still no sound escaped. Sebastian stood up, getting ready to defend his sister before her temper got the better of her, but her eyes were now pools of water and she put up her hand, signalling him not to. If they were to get away with no punishment other than potato riddling for the day, this time they needed to let Roger finish asserting the power he thought he had over them.
One day, Sebastian thought to himself, he would find an opportunity to take that rifle his father was so attached to and blast him across the farm with it. He would never let anyone else touch his Cecelia, not ever.
CHAPTER FIVE
About a week later, Cecelia arrived home from school to find Roger sitting at the table with two women she didn’t recognise.
‘Here’s my girl!’ He beckoned her over with his long arms as though she was five years old, and she reluctantly moved towards him, slinging her bag on the floor, trying to be casual but frantically going over Roger’s words in her head.
‘Say hello, Cecelia. These ladies are from social services. They’ve come to see how you and your brother are.’ He squeezed her tightly, willing her to speak, to be OK, as he always did in front of visitors.
Both ladies smiled, waiting for Cecelia’s response.
‘Don’t be rude, Cecelia. Say hello.’
There was silence. Even if Cecelia had wanted to speak, she still couldn’t. She had never been mute for this length of time before and it was as though someone had crept into her room the first night her mother had disappeared and stolen her voice box.
The awkward silence ensued as Roger squeezed Cecelia even harder, willing her to behave, begging her with his presence to say something. At one point, Cecelia thought he was going to pull her onto his lap – he always acted weird in front of strangers. He was weird, she thought to herself.
‘Cat’s got her tongue since Yvonne left. Trauma of it, I should expect.’ Roger winked, adding conviction to what he was saying.
The two women nodded as they made more notes. Roger began to ramble nervously, filling the space where he’d wanted Cecelia to speak. She stared at the table and watched the little words wander aimlessly around. Some of them slid into the split in the veneer and settled there ready for her to ponder later.
A sharp pinch on the side of her arm brought her back into the room. Roger thought he was safe to administer a little pain to his mute daughter, but her flinch hadn’t gone unnoticed by one of the women.
‘Have you taken Cecelia or Sebastian to see their GP since all this happened?’
‘I didn’t see the need . . . They’ve got me and who knows, she might come back. There’s no telling with Yvonne.’
‘So, she’s done this before?’ The woman who noticed Cecelia flinch spoke up for the first time.
‘Oh yes, many times. We never know when she might go off on one of her jaunts, do we, Cecelia?’ Roger attempted to tickle her, a false smile wavering on his lips.
Cecelia turned to look at him, astounded at the lies dripping from his mouth like warm grease. They slid down his sweaty, dirt-stained shirt and landed on the kitchen floor with a plop. Their mother had only left a couple of times before and it was never for long, but Cecelia’s mouth just opened and closed like a small fish gasping for oxygen. It was probably better that she couldn’t speak.
Their reactions were observed, causing another awkward silence to descend on the small group. Movement from the corner of Cecelia’s eye caused her to look up from the table. It was Sebastian looking at them all through the glass in the door. Ever so briefly, she caught a glimpse of what she thought was hope in his face as he looked at first one woman and then the other. She knew he’d thought one of them was their mother and a heavy sadness pulled at her shoulders as she remembered what happened that day last week. It was the first secret she’d ever kept from her brother.
For all his complaining about how depressing their mother was, she knew most of it was to keep Roger happy. Sebastian adored Yvonne, but tried to keep Roger placid so that neither he nor Cecelia would suffer as much. Roger was very up and down with Sebastian – sometimes he’d love him, but other times he’d hate him – but Sebastian just went along with the moods.
Roger had
tried to instigate the same see-saw relationship with Cecelia, but she never treated him any differently, whatever his mood. He’d gradually relented in his game of picking her up and discarding her, knowing she wouldn’t submit like her brother. Sebastian often reminded Cecelia of the farm dogs, desperate to please Roger however badly they were treated. His sycophantic ways made her feel quite nauseous as she knew how he really felt. Cecelia always found it difficult to control her temper and would lash out at her father; for every slap he inflicted, she gave him one back until he restrained her.
‘Who are they?’ Sebastian nodded towards the two women as he walked in and dropped his school bag on the floor beside Cecelia’s.
Roger chuckled nervously. ‘Don’t be rude, Sebastian. They’re from social services. They’ve come to see what’s going on with Yvonne . . . your mother. Nothing to worry about, son.’
The two women were visibly baffled at the reference to the twins’ mother by her Christian name but Roger had only noticed enough to correct himself.
‘We’re all right with our dad, aren’t we, Mouse?’ Sebastian looked at Cecelia pointedly, pleading with her to agree.
Cecelia stood frozen to the spot, unable to speak but knowing if she didn’t make some positive gesture towards the women, there would be a backlash after they’d gone. She nodded enthusiastically, her heart tugging at her to stop. Being taken away could mean being separated from Sebastian, and neither of them wanted that, however bad everything was at home.
‘Well, I think we have enough information to be going on with now. We’ll call back in a few weeks.’
There was a brief silence as Roger started to speak, but then thought better of it.
‘You know where we are, you can come anytime . . . Can I ask who sent you? What I mean is, how did you know Yvonne had left?’
‘Somebody from the school told us,’ one of the women sternly replied. ‘But we aren’t at liberty to reveal who.’
They thanked Roger and left. Cecelia had followed them to the door, hovering, willing herself to speak so she could reassure them that everything was normal but nothing came out and nobody noticed her struggle except Sebastian.
As soon as they were out of the door, Roger grabbed Cecelia by the back of her arm and pinched her skin so hard she winced, tears immediately springing to her eyes as she tried to pull herself free from his grip. She begged herself not to retaliate. Roger relied on Cecelia losing her temper to justify his punishments.
‘Been tittle-tattling to the teachers again! You’re such a little bitch, just like your mother!’
Cecelia opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
‘She didn’t, Dad . . . Roger, she can’t speak . . .’
Roger held up his hand to silence Sebastian, pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down. Cecelia desperately needed the toilet but she was too scared to move.
‘What’s all this about, Cece? Did you tell one of the teachers something at school?’ His voice was calm, overly nice, patronising and she knew she was in trouble. She opened her mouth to defend herself but still there was no sound. Her eyes were stinging with tears and she was desperately willing herself not to cry because she knew that would be followed by her wetting herself, a childish act for someone of her age, but something she’d not been able to grow out of with the fear that Roger instilled in her.
‘You need to tell me what happened or I’m going to have to issue you with a punishment. I know it’s been difficult with everything that’s happened with Yvonne but you can’t be allowed to get away with this behaviour, Cecelia.’
‘I did it, Roger. One of the teachers asked if Mum could make it to parents’ evening and I told them she’d left . . .’ Sebastian was stammering, making the lie obvious. ‘Just like you told us to if anyone asked.’
Cecelia glared at Sebastian, tears now tipping over the rims of her eyes. She wanted to shout out, protect her brother but she knew her muteness was still blanketing her.
‘Have you been talking at school?’
Cecelia nodded her head. She wasn’t going to see Sebastian suffer – it pained her more than her own suffering and his punishments were worse because he was a boy. Before she realised what she was doing, defiance and anger caused her foot to come out and she kicked her father straight in the shin. She bit her bottom lip and stared him square in the face. He barely moved at the impact.
‘What did you do that for?!’ Sebastian shouted at her.
‘Come with me.’ Roger held out his hand for her to take.
She stood still, fixed to the spot. She was suddenly hit with the realisation that this time her mother wasn’t there to defend her or to offer some sort of comfort later on and it was all her fault. Fear stuck like glue to the bottoms of her feet. The care her mother had always given her after Roger’s punishments had been something to focus on while she endured whatever he lined up for her. Sebastian wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near her after a punishment without Yvonne around. The thought caused an empty, icy coldness to seep through the pores of her skin.
Sebastian was watching as Roger stared at Cecelia. She fixed her eyes on the floor, not wanting to see her brother’s look of despair. A warm sensation began to make its way down the tops of her legs, then she heard the slight trickle of water from her tights onto the unforgiving linoleum-covered floor, cutting through the silence in the stark room.
She looked up to see Roger’s expression turn to repulsion. The stillness of the room was suddenly fast-forwarded and Cecelia was grabbed by the arm and dragged through the back door and out into the cold, damp, dusky October night.
‘No!’ Sebastian ran forward and grabbed his father’s arm but Roger shook him off.
‘Don’t get involved, boy, you know what will happen.’
Cecelia tripped over the steps as he pulled her after him, scuffing her new shoes. She couldn’t help thinking how disappointed her mother would be. And then she remembered and the thought sent a jolt through her insides.
The wetness on her tights had already turned cold and her skin pricked with goosebumps as the frosty late afternoon air hit her. She was tearful and exhausted and the thought of having to endure this punishment without her mother was all too much to bear. She sobbed and stumbled as Roger pulled her along, striding forcefully across the yard, his lengthy steps too large for her little frame. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
The large hangar loomed up ahead. She could hear the doors scraping across the concrete before they’d even been opened, the echoic sound trapped in her memory. In her panic she tried to turn her head and bite Roger’s arm but this just caused him to stop mid-stride and shake her like a dog with a rabbit.
She caught her breath when he dragged her beyond the barn and towards the fields. The wind howled across the farm and Cecelia’s heart sunk even lower in her chest, feeling as though it might disappear altogether.
She tried to twist her arm free from his tight grip but he only squeezed harder. They reached the edge of the field near to the first ditch and he swung her round to face him. It was almost dark and she could barely see him. He looked like the cloaked figure she always saw in her dreams. Tears streamed down her chapped face as she begged him with her eyes not to punish her.
‘You are disgusting. Take your shoes off and hand them to me.’
Cecelia tried to catch her breath and calm down; she’d cried so much she was gasping. Bile reached her throat and she desperately tried to swallow it, knowing her punishment would be even greater if she was sick as well.
‘Come on. Don’t make a fuss, just do it.’
Bending forward she took off her shoes, making sure she undid each one instead of slipping them off as she usually did when he wasn’t watching.
‘Get in.’ Roger pushed her towards the ditch.
Cecelia stared at the narrow dyke that was filled with silty orange water, the wind whipping her hair and stinging her eyes.
‘You chose your punishment, Cecelia. Yo
u want to be dirty and wet then you can stand in the ditch until I tell you to get out.’
It was dark, she hated the dark and even though she despised Roger, she desperately wanted to beg him not to leave her there alone. Yvonne wouldn’t have allowed this – the hangar, yes, but not this. She at least had had some influence over Roger, however small.
Defeated, she moved towards the narrow ditch and crouched down to the ground, not quite sure of how she would get in. Although it was deep, the water thankfully looked shallow.
She felt a thump on her side and for a few moments it was as though someone had turned the world upside down, as she fell into the muddy pit. She stood up unsteadily, realising Roger had kicked her in.
‘Head up, back straight. I’ll come and get you when I think you’re ready.’
Cecelia stood up, shakily. With gritted teeth she felt her fists clenching and unclenching by her sides, as though they didn’t belong to her.
The dull ache caused by the cold water had started immediately and was gradually making its way up her calves. She opened her mouth to speak but the small cavern was empty and still. Her heart pounded as she moved her feet slowly up and down in the shockingly cold water. Her sodden tights were barely offering her any extra protection or warmth. As soon as Roger was out of sight, she sat on the embankment and lifted her now heavy legs from the water. The cold air seemed to bite at her toes and she was unsure which was better, to stand in the freezing water or hold her feet out of it.
Determined to concentrate on something else, she stared into the dusky night sky and watched the stars appear like little fireflies. It momentarily helped her take her mind off the pain in her legs. She frequently glanced across at the farmhouse, knowing Roger would turn on the porch light when he was on his way back. If he ever returned. This thought circled her ever-numbing brain and she began to wonder what she would do, where she could go if he didn’t. She sighed heavily and watched her breath float out into the cold air, reassuring her that she was still alive. She moved her arms further into the sockets of her sweater, desperately trying to keep warm. Goosebumps covered her body. She wished she’d listened to her mother’s constant nagging about wearing a thermal vest. Her legs and feet were so cold that they ached, so she tried to move around but they were becoming too numb and heavy to lift – she couldn’t have run away if she’d wanted to. She gave up trying to move around and, getting her arms back into her sweater, she edged her way up the dyke. She managed to carefully and slowly put each numb foot either side of the small ditch. Eventually, she manoeuvred herself round to sitting, the smell of urine and murky stagnant water filling her nostrils. Pulling her arms back into her clothes, she grabbed whatever time she could to get warm.
