by Jacqui Rose
‘They ain’t nice. They ain’t.’
Dr Berry grabbed hold of Bronwin’s arm and shook her hard, his face red with anger. ‘I’m warning you, Bronwin.’
Bronwin didn’t say anything. She didn’t even know why she was here and all she wanted to do was to go home. She curled up tighter in her sadness as she listened to Dr Berry continue to rant. ‘And you know what’s happened now, don’t you?’
Bronwin shook her head.
‘Now everybody thinks you’re a liar. The police, the courts, even your mum does. That’s why they were found not guilty.’
Hearing the psychiatrist mention her mother, Bronwin sat up, her face scrunched up in a mixture of hurt and anger.
‘No she don’t! She never said that!’
‘Bronwin, I don’t tell lies because I know it’s wrong.’
Rubbing away a tear with the back of her sleeve, Bronwin yelled, ‘You’re a big fat liar.’
Dr Berry slapped Bronwin hard across her face, causing an angry welt to appear on her cheek. Taking his glasses off to wipe them with the corner of his starched white doctor’s coat, Dr Berry didn’t bother to look at Bronwin as he spoke.
‘That’s why she hasn’t been to see you, Bronwin, because she doesn’t like liars. She told me she didn’t want you to come home. No one is ever going to believe a word you say. No one trusts you, Bronwin, which means no one’s ever going to believe you when you tell them what happened in the woods.’
At the word woods, Bronwin covered her ears.
‘It’s no good doing that, Bronwin. The only way to change this is by telling the truth and stopping these silly lies.’
‘But I keep telling you, it ain’t a lie. I want to go home. I want to see me mum and me sister.’
‘Bronwin, I’ve told you this before. Your sister is dead.’ Bronwin immediately began to scream. Her wail was fearful and high pitched; an adult’s cry within a child’s body. The scream resonated through her and began to take possession of her body as it started to shake, convulsing her into a fit. Dr Berry pressed a button and a moment later a white-gowned nurse entered the room.
‘Give her fifty millilitres, nurse.’
The nurse picked up a full syringe from the silver drugs trolley nestling in the corner of the room, then quickly and expertly administrated the powerful drug into Bronwin’s leg. Almost immediately, Bronwin’s eyes began to roll back. Her shoulders began to slump and her mouth gently opened to one side as she lay on the bed in the tiny whitewashed room.
After a couple of minutes, Bronwin’s eyes slowly regained focus and she sat staring ahead at nothing but the blank wall.
Today was her seventh birthday.
In the next room, Bronwin’s mother sat nervously pulling down the grey nylon skirt she’d bought from Roman Road Market the day before. She’d wanted to look presentable and it was only now she was realising that the skirt might be too short. Perhaps she should’ve got the other one, the longer one, but it’d been a fiver more and she’d needed the fiver for the electricity key. Taking off her jacket, she placed it over her knees.
She was nervous. Her hands were sweating and she could feel a prickly heat rash beginning to develop on her chest. She knew what these people were like. Knew how they judged; Christ, she’d been dealing with them since she was a kid herself, and now they had their hands on her daughter.
Week after week she’d called up to see Bronwin, but they’d told her she couldn’t. She’d even turned up a few times, hoping someone would show a bit of compassion, but she’d been turned away, not even being allowed to step foot into the children’s facility. All she’d been told was that social services and the doctors thought it was best for Bronwin to be taken into temporary care. That wasn’t going to stop her though; she was going to get her daughter back and bring her home where she belonged. Today was the first time she was able to see the doctor in charge and, as her nan used to say, she was shitting bricks.
Gazing around the room made her feel even more nervous. There were paintings of men in gilded frames on the wall, looking superior and mocking. It surprised her to see the doctor’s office void of any medical books, but instead filled with trinkets and thank you cards. She jumped as the glass door opened.
‘Hello, I’m Dr Berry, we’ve spoken many times on the phone. Thank you for coming.’
Refusing to take the outstretched hand, Bronwin’s mum thought the doctor looked like he should’ve retired years ago. His white hair and stooped shoulders made her feel as if she was paying a visit to her granddad rather than a child shrink.
‘I’ve been trying to come for a while now, but then you’d already know that, wouldn’t you? What I want to know is when can I take Bronwin home?’
‘Well, that might be a problem. Bronwin doesn’t want to come home. She’s a very troubled little girl.’
Bronwin’s mother flinched. ‘I don’t want to hear about bleedin’ problems mate. I just want to take her home where she belongs. She’s my daughter, not yours, and I don’t believe she don’t want to come home. I want to see her.’
Dr Berry went round to the other side of his desk. He pulled out his chair slowly, staring moodily over his rimless glasses. ‘How do you feel about your other daughter’s death? Kathleen, wasn’t it?’
‘I ain’t here to talk about me other daughter. In fact, I ain’t here to answer any questions at all. Just give me Bronwin so we can get out of here.’
As was his habit and his arrogance, the doctor ignored the interjection and continued to talk. ‘Do you feel responsible for your daughter’s death?’
Bronwin’s mother stared ahead, painful, angry tears about to fall. She didn’t know if it was her imagination or not but she was sure she could see a tiny smirk on Dr Berry’s face as he asked about Kathleen.
She was pleased to hear her voice was steady as she made a concerted effort to stay calm. Her words punctuated the air. ‘I’m not responsible for her death. It wasn’t me who killed her.’
‘But you were the one who let your daughters out. Surely you must hold some sort of guilt?’
Bronwin’s mother blinked away the tears as she felt them burning. She bent forward, holding her stomach, and whispered almost inaudibly as her gaze found the window. ‘Of course I do. Of course I do.’
‘Then let us help you. You do want some help, don’t you?’
Bronwin’s mum nodded, trance-like.
‘I still don’t really know why she’s here.’
Dr Berry’s expression was patronising. ‘I think you do, but if you need reminding again, why, I’ll tell you. Myself and social services thought it was for the best, especially in the light of your past history with children’s services. It’s our job to make sure children are safe from harm. You know Bronwin is still very confused with what happened and who was there that night in the woods. Like I said before, she’s a very troubled little girl. She insists on telling these lies.’
‘Bronwin ain’t a liar. That’s one thing she’s never done is lie. If she’s telling you something then it must be true.’
‘That’s as maybe, but she’s a child and all children lie.’
‘She don’t.’
Dr Berry sighed. ‘Do you want us to help her and at the same time help you?’
‘Of course!’
‘I had another meeting with her social workers and they’re in agreement with me that it’s probably best for all of us, you as well, if Bronwin stays here with us. Permanently.’
Bronwin’s mother stood up. Her body shook with fear and fury. ‘Oh no you don’t. You ain’t going to mess my little girl up.’
‘We won’t be doing that; what we’ll be doing is untangling the mess that has already been put there in her short life.’
‘That ain’t going to happen. You ain’t going to take my daughter.’
‘Of course not. That’s why I’m asking you to sign these papers.’
‘I’m not signing nothing. I want my daughter and I want her now.’
; ‘I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. We’ve had an extension of the interim care, which means you can’t take her.’
The shock and hurt on Bronwin’s mum’s face was naked. Dr Berry turned away quickly as the shouting began.
‘You bastards. You fucking bastards.’
‘We’re not doing this to upset you, we’re doing this for Bronwin’s benefit. You’ll be able to get on with your life, knowing Bronwin is getting the help she needs. She’ll thank you in the end, I know she will. You can give her what you didn’t have yourself. You can give her a chance and a start in life.’
‘But I’m her mother. She should be with me.’
‘Yes, but only if it’s right for her – and at the moment, it isn’t right.’
Bronwin’s mother headed for the door, catching Dr Berry raising his eyebrows at her skirt. She pulled it down quickly.
‘Well I’m sorry, but no way. I would never hand my child over to the likes of you. I might not be what you think a good mother should be, and I’m not saying I haven’t got my faults, but I love Bronwin. I loved both my kids.’
Dr Berry’s face was twisted with cruelty. ‘Fight us? Fight me and you’ll lose – and then you’ll never see Bronwin again. Do it this way and you’ll be able to see her. It’s your choice.’
‘You … you can’t do that.’
‘We can and we will. Do you really think the courts will agree to you keeping her after both myself and the social workers give evidence of you being unstable and incapable of giving Bronwin what’s needed?’
‘I love her. Ain’t that enough?’
‘In an ideal world it is, but then we’re not in an ideal world, are we? Can you excuse me one moment?’
Not waiting for any sort of reply, Dr Berry picked up the phone on his desk. He spoke quietly into it. ‘Would you mind coming in now?’
A moment later the glass door opened. The man who walked in didn’t bother to introduce himself. He stood with a frozen frown on his face as Bronwin’s mum stared at him. ‘Who’s he?’
Once more, Dr Berry chose to ignore a question he saw as irrelevant. He walked over to Bronwin’s mum, picking up the papers as he passed his desk, then reached out with the pen that was always kept in his breast coat pocket.
‘Sign them. It’s for the best. If you say you love her, which I believe you do, you’ll listen to me. No one’s the enemy here.’
Bronwin’s mother took in the doctor’s face. Deep entrenched lines circled his eyes and cold small green eyes stared back at her. ‘You’ll let me see Bronwin?’
Dr Berry pushed the pen and papers forward. ‘She’ll be in good hands. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.’
Taking the papers, Bronwin’s mother grabbed at the pen and hurriedly scrawled her name on the papers. Next, Dr Berry passed the papers to the other man, talking as he did so. ‘We need another signature, you see, so that’s why this gentleman’s here. You’ll get a copy of this for yourself.’
The other man took out his own pen. Bronwin’s mother watched, loathing etched on her face as her eyes traced the flamboyantly written signature.
Dr Berry smiled, his tone overly jovial for the sentiment of the occasion and his clichéd remark inappropriate.
‘Right then, that’s all done and dusted.’
‘Now take me to see my daughter.’
‘You’ve done the right thing.’
‘So why doesn’t it feel like it?’
Staring through the glass pane of the door, Bronwin’s mother wiped away her tears before opening it. Quietly, she walked into the room, feeling the air of hush as she entered. She stared at her daughter. So tiny. So elf-like. So beautiful.
‘Bron. Bron, it’s me.’
Bronwin’s eyes stayed closed.
Dr Berry crept up silently behind her. ‘It’s all right, she’s had some medicine to calm her down. She’s just in a heavy sleep.’
‘Can I wake her up?’
‘It’s best to leave her. She needs all the rest she can get.’
Leaning forward, Bronwin’s mother swept her daughter’s mass of blonde hair away from her forehead. She kissed her head before speaking to her sleeping child. ‘Bron, Mummy’s got to go now. But always remember I love you and I’ll see you soon, and Bron … I’m sorry.’
Turning to the doctor, Bronwin’s mum stood up and went into the pocket of her torn jacket. ‘Can you give her this? It’s her birthday card.’
‘Yes, of course. The nurse will see you out. The social workers will be in touch in the morning to sort the other details out.’
Once Bronwin’s mother had left, Dr Berry took a quick glance at the card before throwing it into the bin in the corner. Deep in thought, he stood observing Bronwin as she began to stir.
The door opened, jarring him from his thoughts. He smiled at the entering visitor and reaching out his hand with a welcoming greeting. ‘Thanks for signing those papers, by the way. I thought for a moment the mother was going to be difficult and start making a noise about her parental rights. I’ll just wake her up for you.’
Walking across to Bronwin, Dr Berry gently nudged her. He spoke quietly. ‘Bronwin? Bronwin? Hey birthday girl, you’ve got a visitor. Someone’s here to see you.’
Bronwin slowly opened her eyes before rubbing them gently. She sat up, then screamed. It was the man from the woods with the black shiny shoes.
‘She’s all yours, come and find me when you’ve finished. Oh, and have fun.’ Dr Berry chuckled unpleasantly, tapping the man on his back as he left the room, leaving him sitting on Bronwin’s bed as he began to unbutton his shirt.
Nine years later
The bed was hard and the chair was too. Sparse and unwelcoming. And Bronwin didn’t know why she couldn’t go home, instead of having to stay in a house where she didn’t want to be and didn’t know anyone. It was the same recurring thought she’d had each time they sent her somewhere new.
She’d been in more care and foster homes than she could possibly remember and over time she’d developed a sixth sense. Knowing when people really wanted her or when all they really wanted was the few hundred quid caring allowance they got for taking in the likes of her.
How long had it been now? Eight years, nine even. Nine years of going from one home to another.
She no longer wanted to be, or to feel like, the unwanted teenager. The problem child. Hard to place. Hard to love. She didn’t want to become bitter; hardened to life before she’d reached eighteen.
She was determined to change it. To take control. And as Bronwin stared out of the window at the rainy night she made a decision. The time was right. She was old enough not to have to listen to a bunch of jumped-up social workers telling her what to do. All they really did anyway was to find her a roof over her head – the rest of it was left to her.
Bronwin stuffed her clothes and the bedraggled Mr Hinkles, her childhood teddy bear, back into her bag, then opened the window. She felt the chill of the evening air and the spray of the rain on her face, blown in by the wind. Making sure no one could hear her, Bronwin shuffled onto the ledge. It wasn’t so far down. Seven feet perhaps, maybe eight. Eight feet to freedom.
After a count of three in her head and then another one of five, Bronwin jumped, hitting the ground hard. She rolled on the grass and felt a sharp pain in her ankle, shooting pains up the outside of her leg, but she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was that she was out. Out of the care system that had never cared for her and out of the system that had taken away her mother, the one person she’d cared about.
Getting up from the wet ground, Bronwin ignored the pain. She quickly picked up her bag, making sure no one in the house had seen her. The rain hit down hard on her but instead of it feeling cold, it felt warm, invigorating. She was free. She was finally free. Today was her sixteenth birthday.
PRESENT DAY
SOHO – LONDON
1
Bunny Barker lay back on the silk pillows and smiled. She stretched her long tann
ed athletic body out, enjoying the feel of her nakedness in the heat of the day. Her natural blonde hair cascaded over the side of the bed, almost reaching the expensive cream carpet that had just been laid.
It was only early July, yet the stifling Soho air made it necessary to have all the windows open, along with the three chrome fans switched to high. It was almost two o’clock, which meant she had another client in less than an hour, although she’d make this her last one of the day. That was the beauty of being her own boss.
No one to tell her what to do or when to do it. Though it hadn’t always been like that. When she was younger she’d worked the streets along with the other girls. Night after night, freezing her ass off whilst fighting off punters, fighting off pimps, even fighting off the other Toms in the street who hadn’t taken kindly to her being around. Then, fortune had come her way and everything had changed.
In the past seven years her life had become unrecognisable, bringing her things she’d never imagined possible. She had almost everything she could’ve wished for. Almost. Because Bunny knew there was one thing missing in her life. One thing life hadn’t ever brought her. And that one thing was trust. Trust was something Bunny had never had.
She wasn’t ever going to take her eyes off the ball. It’d taken her almost the whole of her thirty-three years to make something of herself and she wasn’t going to let anything, even love, destroy that.
She knew a lot of people would argue that being a hooker wasn’t making anything of herself, but Bunny had long ago stopped caring what anybody thought.
Looking round her sumptuous room, decorated in cream and gold, Bunny heard a knock on the door.
‘Come in.’
The door opened and Claudia, her all-round helper, stood smiling. What she would do without Claudia, Bunny didn’t know.
‘Your next client’s here, Bun. He’s early; shall I tell him to wait downstairs or do you want to see him now?’
