Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [15]
Children just assume adults have their best interests at heart, don’t they? Granny and Grandpa had caused me a lot more pain than that by telling me off, so I just got comfortable and ignored him.
I feel sick looking back and more than a bit apprehensive about even mentioning it. My life had been one round of surprises followed by another. Mum was always finding new ways of pulling the rug out from underneath me. So, if you like, I was conditioned to accept weird things as normal. Even when a man I barely knew flicked my little pants aside and pushed his fingers inside me.
I didn’t cry, I didn’t scream. I don’t even remember fighting him off. I’m ashamed to admit that I just sat there, watching television and trying not to pay him any attention.
As young as I was, I knew I wasn’t being hurt. He was gentle with me, like he’d always been when we messed around. He never shouted or hurt me or really told me off. In every other way, as far as I was concerned, he was looking out for me. Yes, I thought what he was doing to me was odd, but, as I say, my life so far had been a series of odd events lined up next to each other.
When the programme finished, or when it was time to go, I jumped off his lap and that was it. No awkward words, no silences, no recriminations. In fact, when I returned the next day, he did exactly the same thing. And the next day, and the next, and the next. Every time I saw him, in fact, Paul would do that.
Another sign that I thought it was ‘normal’ is that I never told Mum. It wasn’t like I was too scared to or I didn’t think she’d care. It was just something that happened during my day, as regular as afternoon naps and cleaning my teeth after lunch. By the time I was at home with her, it didn’t even register as an event.
By normalizing it, like Paul did, I wasn’t even aware a crime was being committed. And that, I suppose, is how people get away with it for so long.
I wonder if Mum should have picked up on any change in my personality at that time. Apparently an abused child will give off signals, if you know where to look. I doubt Mum noticed anything untoward. For a start, as I said, I wasn’t even aware I was being violated. And, more importantly, looking back, I’m amazed she even remembered my name sometimes.
The longer Mum worked at AmEx, the less active she seemed to get at home. When she wasn’t out, she would spend a lot of time in bed. Once I asked her if she was going out as usual on Saturday. Imagine how my heart leapt when she replied, ‘No, not this time.’
I had visions of us skipping through the park, paddling along the seafront or visiting our favourite café – maybe even all three. In the end we did exactly none of them.
Mum was as good as her word. She didn’t go out Saturday night. But she didn’t go out Saturday morning or afternoon either. In fact, I don’t recall her getting out of bed except to visit the loo or have a cigarette.
Of course I was disappointed, but mainly I was worried. For Mum to stay in bed all day, she was obviously ill. I think I learnt how to make coffee that day – too young, I realize now, to be handling boiling water. And I was in charge of lunch as well. I managed to rustle up a sandwich.
By the time Monday morning came round Mum was right as rain again and it was back to our weekly routine. Or so I thought. By the middle of the week she was starting to slow down again. After a night out on Friday she once more retired to her bed. Saturday came and went. Sunday too. The only difference this time was that she didn’t get up on Monday – not early enough for work, anyway.
I don’t know if it was related, but Mum’s job with AmEx ended soon after that. Granny was really disappointed, but Mum took it quite well.
‘What will you do now?’ Granny asked her.
Mum just shrugged.
‘Find something else.’
But she never did.
Hearing that Mum wasn’t working anymore was like going to bed on Christmas Eve. I was too excited to sleep, knowing all the fun we were going to have the next day. Yet again, it didn’t quite pan out the way I envisaged.
Mum spent