by C R Martens
“‘I didn’t,’ I said, shocked, looking at my teachers. ‘You’ve seen it.’
“‘Well, the point here is that there is really nothing more we can do about it,’ my maths teacher said, his arms raised and palms up in our direction to indicate it was out of their hands.
“‘So, what exactly do you propose that we do?” asked Mum. She was getting frustrated at their non-answers.
“They told me to conform, try to be normal and then the other students might accept me. Then they told me I wasn’t good enough at school, and that they really didn’t have the time to deal with all my questions. I should just listen and concentrate. It was my own entire fault – the bullying, not learning fast enough – just being there was causing them a lot of problems. As we sat there in the badly-lit office, I found myself drifting away. All their voices flooded out, becoming distant murmurs. I left the room and I never came back, I was away with my dreams. Dreams of a different life, a different me. It felt like hours had passed when all of a sudden Mum grabbed me by the arm and stormed out of the room. She was furious after that meeting and I was ashamed. Ultimately the bullying just ended up getting worse, so I would stop telling my mum about it altogether. I’d keep it all locked in.” Eve held her breath for a few seconds.
“So, that’s where you learnt to blend in.” He didn’t ask, he was just repeating his notes out loud.
“You could say that. But I rather think that it’s what made me aware of myself around others,” she said. “I think I found comfort in being invisible, if only I could have stayed invisible throughout my school years.”
“Right,” he said. Eve was starting to get why he had been hired by FIA – he was so blank that they could mould him into anything they wanted. He was definitely beige.
She had started her therapeutic journey finding the psychologist highly annoying – he was an obstacle for her work in the field. Then she started to hate him, resent him for trying to deceive her, but now he was just boring. She started to feel that urge, an urge for a challenge.
***
It was winter still, right on the edge of spring. A new year was well underway; Eve was nine and a half years old. She stood outside of school waiting for her dad to come pick her up for the weekend. They had built up a good relationship again. It had taken Eve almost two years to forgive him and to trust him enough to go stay with him, but six months earlier she had felt confident enough in her dad to take the leap. School had finished 40 minutes earlier and the schoolyard was now completely empty, most of the children had gone to the kids’ club in the building right across the schoolyard. Eve could hear them playing inside.
“Eve?” came a voice from the clubhouse. “What are you doing out here alone?” It was Ally, one of the adults at the club.
“I’m waiting for my dad,” Eve shouted back.
“Well, why don’t you come inside and wait for him?” Ally shouted back. “It’s freezing outside.”
“I’m fine,” Eve said. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Okay, but if you get cold, come in,” she said, closing the door. It was almost quarter to three in the afternoon so he was definitely late. He was supposed to have been there at 2 pm. But Eve didn’t think about it – her mum was often late picking her up and she always blamed the traffic so it was probably just that. Ally walked by the door a couple of times making sure Eve was fine. The fourth time she walked by she saw a man walking towards Eve. He didn’t seem all right so Ally stopped to observe the situation.
“Eve!” the man shouted.
“Hi, Dad,” Eve said, turning around, recognising his voice.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Eve’s face dropped when she saw her dad; he wasn’t well. Not well at all.
“You’re drunk,” said the nine-year-old girl.
“No,” he said, trying to take her backpack off her, stumbling a little. “I’ve had one beer so I’m fine. I have it under control.”
“I don’t want to go with you,” Eve said, feeling sad. “I want Mum.”
“Well, you are not going home, you are coming with me.” He reached to grab her.
“No!” Eve said firmly. She felt her cheeks getting warm with fury. Eve’s dad took her by the hand, trying to get her to go with him.
“Hey!” Ally shouted, running towards Eve. “What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry. I’m Eve’s dad,” he said. “We’re just leaving.” He reached out to get Eve to go with him, but she stepped out of his reach and he lost his balance a little, steadying himself with one hand on the ground. Eve saw Keith approaching, the supervisor of the kids’ club, and then she saw all the children watching through the windows. She felt mortified that they would all see the situation and she was angry with her dad for putting her through this again.
“What’s going on?” Keith asked.
“This is Eve’s dad,” Ally started, “but I don’t think he is fit to take her home.”
Keith looked at Eve’s dad, who was swaying back and forth, smelling of alcohol.
“This isn’t how you want Eve to see you,” Keith said, calmly stepping in between Eve and her dad. “I can’t let you take Eve when I can see you are intoxicated.”
“That is none of your business,” Eve’s dad said, getting annoyed. “Eve, let’s go.”
“I don’t want to,” she said, hiding behind Ally.
“Go call Eve’s mum,” Keith told Ally, who at a slight run went to the clubhouse.
“Don’t call her, it’s not her weekend,” Eve’s dad said. He kept trying to convince Keith he was fine and that Eve should go with him. Half an hour later, Ruth came running up the lane from the car park. It had gotten dark and the streetlights were on. It was past four in the afternoon and Eve was feeling the cold air more harshly now. She had been standing outside for two hours and was starting to shiver a little.
“Thank you for calling,” Ruth said, going over to Eve and putting her arm around her. “Hi, Rick.”
“Are you alright for us to leave?” asked Keith. Ruth nodded and thanked them for their help. She tried to usher Rick down towards the parking lot and away from all the prying eyes. But he wasn’t exactly compliant. Eve walked behind her mother who was slowly pushing her dad in the right direction.
“Stop doing that,” he said loudly. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You are at your daughter’s school drunk!” Eve’s mum was angry. It was clear from both her voice and her body language. “That is not nothing! Not to me and definitely not to her.”
“I’m sorry, Eve.” He leaned down towards her but Eve walked away; she didn’t like the smell of him when he was drunk. And she didn’t care to hear his undoubtedly-bad excuse.
“How did you get here?” Ruth asked looking around. “Did you drive?”
“Yes.” He was embarrassed, he knew what would have happened if the childminders hadn’t intervened.
“You were going to get in a car in that state with your daughter?” Eve’s mum said. She didn’t shout but you could feel her anger and hurt that he would put their child at risk. She was right in his face looking for the answer. An answer to why he would have done something so dangerous.
“I don’t even care if you drive home right now or if you drive yourself off the road. But, fortunately for you, I do care if some innocent bystander gets hurt by your incomprehensible stupidity. So, give me your car keys.”
“I’ll get better,” he said. “I’m getting help from a counsellor.”
“Please. Nine years of this, who exactly are you trying to fool?” she said. “This has to stop, you have a child that needs you. How can I ever trust you with her, if you can’t even take care of yourself?” Ruth said.
“You do know it’s not a real problem,” he said looking up. “I don’t have to drink. I can fix it.”
“Just give me the keys, before I call the police.” Mum was so disappointed.
Fearing she’d actually call the police if he drove off, he gave her the keys. Ev
e and her mum walked away, leaving Eve’s dad to find his own way home. Eve looked back at him standing there alone. Always alone. She thought back on that one time when he did drive while drunk and she was in the back seat. And then he disappeared out of her life, again. Every time it happened, Eve could feel her heart breaking a little bit and the world weighed a little heavier on her small shoulders.
The Monday following Friday’s commotion was a torturous day – her dad had given her bullies ample ammunition. She walked home crying, drying her eyes just before she walked through the front door of their new home.
***
“I guess I learnt to adapt to a lot of different situations from a young age,” Eve answered.
“Yes, it’s quite remarkable,” the psychologist said, scribbling away.
“So, while I was waiting for life to begin and learning to be alone, I discovered a dream world I could disappear into. I could spend an entire school day staring out of the window, and no one would question it. At least then I wasn’t asking the teachers stupid, time-wasting questions. And then I could live up to the teachers’ expectations. In their eyes I was a nobody, and by being that, I could blend into the background and disappear. I thought that by being invisible I wouldn’t get bullied as much. Or so I hoped, but my trick didn’t help. The more I withdrew, the bigger the target I became and the more I got bullied. The struggles were never-ending,” Eve finished.
“Excellent,” he said, in a fashion she didn’t expect from a normal psychologist when listening to sad memories.
“Excellent?” she asked, thinking it was a poor choice of word. “I would have imagined this to be an important breakthrough?
“Sorry, I mean, great progress,” he said, clearly not meaning it. “It’s very important work we are doing here. However, I have to go now, so…same time next week.”
He left her sitting there thinking she was too loyal to the firm. Why were they trawling through her life? What were they looking for? She knew the beige man sitting in front of her was just a puppet whose strings were being pulled, but she wanted to know who was at the other end of the camera in this room. She had laid low for months, she had done what had been asked of her, trying to get this target off her back and yet they were still pursuing her. They obviously hadn’t got the information they wanted out of her, so she might as well make it worth their while and tell them everything. If they wanted her life story, then she was going to bury them in it.
7.
When you are an adult, you have the words and the tools to defend yourself. I remember the powerlessness I felt as a child not being able to defend myself against my bullies. As an adult, I often go back to the moments that hurt the most, think up the best comeback a child could give. I imagine the bullies crumbling into nothing and slithering cowardly away. It’s almost self-torture that I keep going back. Because there is nothing that can undo it.
It was a Friday night when Eve finally had had enough. It was a night Eve had looked forward to for two weeks. The after-school teen club was having a party for all the children over 13-years-old. Eve had had her outfit all picked out and ready for about a week. She was even allowed to put on a little lip gloss and mascara. Having been ready for the past three hours, she hurried through her dinner and sat anxiously waiting for Henry and her mum to finish. They were now well settled in a two-bedroom rented terraced house, which they had been living in for three years since leaving the women’s shelter.
“Eve, do you want some more?” her mum asked.
“No!” Eve was impatient and she wanted to go.
“Eve, if we go now,” her mum started, “there won’t be anyone there and you really don’t want to be the first at a party.”
Eve thought about this for a second. Eve had been to five of these discos during the last six months. But this one would be the tipping point for Eve’s endurance. An hour after her mother had dropped her off, Eve called her to come pick her up. “I can’t take any more,” the 13-year-old girl cried through the club’s phone. “Come get me.” Eve had snuck into the office of the youth club’s head teacher to use it, even though kids weren’t allowed in there.
“I’m coming right back, darling.” Her mum was fast out of the door but it was still a ten-minute drive away. Eve stood on a dark corner outside. Some 30 meters away from the party, she could feel the music beat in her chest. She stood there in the cold March night-time air, her thin spring jacket wrapped tightly around her but she didn’t feel cold; the only cold she felt was in her mind and the pain from her broken heart. She thought she had made friends with them this past week, they had let her in, but it was all fake, just a ploy to humiliate her when she got to the party where all the girls ridiculed her in the toilets. They cornered Eve, mocking her clothes, pulling at them, calling her a slut, laughing at the fact Eve thought they were friends. When she had tried to escape the toilets, two of the girls pushed her back into the wall, but one of the girls had kept a hold of Eve’s top and it had ripped open. She stood there with her body exposed listening to the laughter and torment. They shouted at her and splashed water on her trousers to make it appear like Eve had wet herself. Why did no one come to her defence? The humiliation was all consuming as she stood there in the dark evening tightly wrapping the jacket around her to hide the extent of the bullying; Eve’s desperation was complete. When her mum finally arrived, Eve got in the car.
“I want to change schools,” Eve said.
“Okay,” her mum replied. “We have the weekend to start the search for a new school.” They sat in silence on their way home as they usually did when something bad had happened. Eve sat thinking about all the things she should have done. If only she had been an evil person, someone who could make them suffer and regret their hatefulness, but she wasn’t. Eve spent eight and a half years at that school, being told she wasn’t good enough and that she wasn’t intelligent enough, being put down by teachers and pushed and shoved around by pupils. Every day it felt like she entered the school with her head held high and every day she crawled back home feeling beaten down and rejected. But though she didn’t feel it in the moment, she grew a little tougher and became more resilient with every bullying word that was flung at her.
***
“You seem far away today,” the psychologist said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Its work,” Eve said. “So, nothing I can relay to you.”
“I have clearance,” he said with a smirk.
“Not for this you don’t,” she said, smirking back.
“You can trust me to keep it confidential,” he said, trying again.
“It’s been a while since I last trusted anyone,” Eve said. “And I wouldn’t start with you.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, clearly not wanting to be on the outside of the information exchange.
“Stop asking,” she said in an assertive voice.
“You can just start,” he said, timidly with a hint of annoyance. “Whenever you feel like it.”
“As a small child, I loved being the centre of attention, I could talk and talk until ears fell off, and if everyone was looking at me, well, that was just a bonus. I had all these plans for the future – a storm chaser in the USA, an archaeologist in Egypt digging for mummies, a fashion designer in Paris. I had a lot of escape plans, even back then I didn’t want to be there, at home, in Denmark. As a child, you’re expected to have a wild imagination, but the older you get, people tell you that it will disappear and that will be normal. But as an adult, you don’t have the time for daydreaming and all of a sudden, it’ll have vanished completely. For me, it didn’t go away; on the contrary, the older I got the more vivid my imagination got, the more of an escape it became for me. What had started as a way to escape the sounds of my mother getting beaten was now so deeply integrated in my mind that I sometimes couldn’t see what was real and what wasn’t. I started to make small scripts and with a disposable camera I would create a story through pictures. From the age of 11 I would beg and plead my
mother every chance I got about getting a proper camera. It would be five more years of begging before I finally got my wish.
“‘Please, Mum!’ I pleaded. ‘“This is all I want in life. I don’t need a Christmas present this year if I just get a camera, or next Christmas or my next birthday.’
“‘Eve, you are 16-years-old, yes?’ Mum’s face said no. ‘How long have I been paying you an allowance?’
“‘Since I was ten, I guess,’ I said. This was a losing battle, she had her mum face on.
“‘And for how long have you had your job?’ Mum was serious.
“‘For a year and a half, I suppose,’ I said, knowing there was nothing I could say to convince her to get me the camera.
“‘If I do a quick math calculation in my head,’ Mum said. “Over six years of allowance and a year and a half of work, I am pretty sure you could have saved up the money for a camera. You probably could have bought a couple of cameras. You could have saved a lot of energy from all the begging you have done.’ Mum made a good argument. ‘So, honey, start saving some money and you can get the exact camera you want.’
“‘Argh, I am a child, I shouldn’t have to be responsible like that.’ I hated to lose an argument, and I hated it even more when Mum was right. But I felt I was owed, like I was entitled to everything I wanted, because of all the sacrifices I had made. ‘Alright, well, thank you, Mum, for the financial advice, I will take it under advisement.’
“‘You’re welcome, Eve.’ Mum smiled, she knew she’d won the battle. ‘Now, don’t you have school to go to?’
“Life wasn’t easy for a single mum though. She had a good job, but rent, car upkeep, utilities and food quickly ate up the budget, leaving not a lot left for extravagance. It was my final year of school before college, and now I didn’t mind going to school. Mainly because Mum had pulled me out of my old school a year and a half earlier and put me into a private school. I learnt that school didn’t have to be a lonely place and that some teachers have the capability and patience to pass on their knowledge. Money was tighter, with me in private school, but Mum worked hard and though I could be your typical teenager, I was still dealing with the aftermath of our troubled past.
