A Lesser Evil - Lesley Pearse [43]
The child started, uncovering her face. ‘Nothin’,’ she said.
But it wasn’t nothing. She had been punched; the flesh around her eye was so livid and swollen that her eye had all but disappeared.
Fifi assumed it had been done by another child, and that was why no one else was playing there. Remembering times when she’d been bullied as a child herself, she felt she had to do something, if only offer some sympathy.
She went back to the place where the fence had been broken down completely. ‘Who did that to you?’ she asked as she cautiously picked her way over the smashed-up fence panels.
The child’s sharp features, the pallor of her skin, tangled dull hair, missing front teeth and dirty clothes made her an unappealing sight at the best of times, but with this injury to her eye she looked utterly pathetic. As Fifi came closer she started to get up as if intending to flee.
‘Do you know who I am?’ Fifi asked, assuming Angela was frightened at being approached and questioned by a stranger. ‘I live opposite you at number four, my name’s Fifi Reynolds, my husband is called Dan.’
The child nodded. ‘I’ve seen you,’ she whispered. ‘You were painting the walls.’
Fifi felt that meant Angela had watched her from an upper window late in the evening. ‘I used to watch people when I was a little girl,’ she said in an effort to win the child’s trust. ‘I used to make up things about them. Nice things mostly, like they were princesses or ballet dancers. Do you do that?’
Angela made a kind of half-nod.
‘So what did you make up about me?’ Fifi asked.
There was no response, but that was hardly surprising given that Angela’s injury had to be hurting a great deal. ‘Come on,’ Fifi insisted. ‘It’s just a game. I’d like to hear what you made up.’
‘That you were my big sister,’ Angela replied, hanging her head.
At that unexpected and touching admission a lump came up in Fifi’s throat. She could guess where that little fantasy had taken the girl. A place of safety across the street, where there were no fights or rows. A place where everything was clean and bright, perhaps with a big sister washing and brushing her hair for her. Did she imagine someone there who cared enough to cuddle her and make a fuss of her?
‘Who hit you, Angela?’ she asked.
The child shrugged, as if it didn’t matter who was responsible.
‘You must tell me. If you let children carry on being bullies they just get worse and worse. I could talk to their mothers about it.’
‘It weren’t another kid,’ Angela mumbled.
‘Well, who was it then? Was it your mum or your dad?’
‘Dad,’ the child whispered, looking fearfully at Fifi. ‘But don’t you go saying nothin’ or he’ll lay into me twice as bad.’
A surge of anger welled up in Fifi. It was hideous that a grown man could punch a helpless child.
She faltered for a few moments. Her heart told her to take Angela home with her, put some ice on the swelling and get Dan to call the police and report Alfie Muckle. But she was afraid of the repercussions.
‘Why did your dad hit you?’ she asked.
‘Cos I spilt a cuppa tea on ’im,’ Angela said glumly. ‘I couldn’t ’elp it, ’e was in bed, see, I tripped up in the dark.’
Fifi got a nasty mental picture of Alfie lying there in his fetid bedroom, too lazy to work for a living, but energetic enough to lash out at a little girl. She knew then that she had to show Angela not everyone in this world was as uncaring. ‘Come home with me and I’ll bathe your eye,’ she said impulsively.
‘I can’t do that! Dad might see me going in your ’ouse,’ Angela said in horror. ‘’E’ll ’urt you.’
‘If he tries to do that, he’ll be sorry,’ Fifi said more calmly than she felt.
‘You don’t know what ’e’s like.’E wouldn’t just come and ’it you, ’e’d do something sneaky. That’s ’is way.’
Fifi was appalled that such a young child could already be so aware that her father was a devious thug. ‘You let me worry about