Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [14]
It was only years later that I questioned what she was doing. That was with the benefit of hindsight. When you’re in the eye of the storm, however, you’re not aware of half the chaos going on around you. As it turned out, I wasn’t aware of any of it.
By the time Mum had been at AmEx a year, we’d settled into a routine. Or rather, we’d settled into several mini-routines. She worked hard all week, picked me up from nursery and we’d either play or she’d drop me at Granny’s and head out for the evening. Then, sometime after my fifth birthday, I stopped going to nursery. Mum said I was too old now and I accepted it. Once again, why wouldn’t I? I knew it was nothing to do with money. After all, lots of my friends had also stopped going. They were too old as well. What I didn’t know, though, was that they all stopped nursery because they had somewhere else to go. School. You don’t miss what you’ve never had.
That was the story of my life. It could have applied to a dad (I don’t remember him as a child at all), to toys, to heating – anything. You name it, I probably didn’t have it. But it’s not in my nature to want what I can’t get. Consequently, even if I heard friends talking about school, it never entered my head that I was missing out. I wasn’t envious. Possibly I was a little curious about where they disappeared to in the days, but not enough to ask Mum if I could go too. And it certainly never once occurred to me that I should be attending.
Because I didn’t go to school, I still needed day care. Granny stepped in for at least a couple of days a week and Mum would drop me off on her way to work. For the rest of the time, she found another solution.
I suddenly found myself being taken to a neighbour’s flat, that of a man who lived alone. He was older than Mum, but was probably only about thirty, certainly no older than forty. Kids are really bad at ages. Everyone looks old to them. I don’t recall ever meeting him before and we certainly weren’t introduced first. It was just up, dressed, shooed out the door as usual – and across the hall into the neighbour’s flat. I really didn’t want to go in. Mum was in a rush though.
‘Be a good girl. I’ll see you later. Love you.’ And she was off.
So there I was, just a few feet from my own home, but it felt like a million miles away.
The man was all right. He made me breakfast and lunch and, best of all, let me watch telly. That was the deal-maker as far as I was concerned. Without that, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend a minute there. Unfortunately, without the telly, I also wouldn’t have been subjected to what he put me through.
Once I got to know our neighbour – let’s call him Paul – I really grew to like him. During the months he looked after me, he was never less than lovely and caring, always trying to make me laugh. He really knew how to make a day fly by. For a five-year-old, that’s half the battle of childcare.
When it came to watching telly, I’d snuggle up to Paul on the sofa. Then, one day, he suggested I move nearer.
‘Come and sit on my lap, Cathy.’
So I did, just as I would have done if it had been Mum, Granny or Grandpa suggesting it.
There was nothing like CBeebies or Milkshake on telly in those days. People were still getting used to having a third channel and BBC2 only really got going in the afternoon. Earlier in the day they would show that famous ‘test card’ of the little girl playing noughts and crosses with her clown doll. Whatever was broadcast was still better than nothing, though, and I lapped it up. Even when I didn’t understand what was being said. And even when I felt Paul’s hands moving over my legs.
I didn’t know how long he’d been doing it. I was just suddenly aware of his hands sliding up my bare legs and underneath my skirt.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, but he just giggled.
‘You mind your own business and watch the telly,’ he ordered.
Okay, I thought. It’s not like you