Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [35]
Mostly the men did leave me out of it. Mostly.
As I went to close the bedroom door one night, I felt the handle lift back up. Someone was trying to come in.
‘Mum!’
But it wasn’t. It was one of the men. Brian.
‘What do you want?’ I asked him. ‘I’ve got my tablet.’
I held it up to prove it. In fact, eager for him to go away, I swallowed it down, no water.
‘I’m not here for that. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.’
This isn’t good.
I closed my eyes and willed the sleeping tablet to do its work, but my senses were on red alert. I couldn’t switch off. I was so intent on listening that I didn’t even dare breathe. Then I felt the mattress sag with the weight of someone sitting down next to me on the edge of the bed.
My last thought as I passed out a few minutes later was Why is Brian touching me there?
It was my old foster parent’s behaviour all over again. Outside, I heard my mother scream.
Violence was slowly becoming a way of life – no longer was there just the threat of it. And the worst was still to come.
I didn’t know what I’d done to offend them, or what Mum had done, but there was a distinct change in attitude. Some of the men had virtually ignored me at first. Now they seemed to go out of their way to throw insults in my direction. One or two occasionally held me in ways I didn’t like.
‘Come on, Cathy, sit over here. Keep me company.’
I knew that if I did I’d be fighting off wandering hands, but, as much as I hated it, I always thought, If they’re hurting me, they won’t be hurting Mum. But it didn’t always work like that.
Sometimes the men weren’t interested in parties and making me sleep. Not immediately. Sometimes they wanted food. Mum never cooked for the two of us, but Mark or Brian insisted that she fix them something. I offered to do it instead.
‘Jenny’s all right, aren’t you?’ Mark laughed unpleasantly.
‘I’m fine,’ Mum said.
They made me leave the kitchen, but as soon as I heard raised voices I was back. I don’t know what had been asked of her, but Mum was adamant she wasn’t going to do it.
‘You will,’ Mark was saying.
‘No, I will not!’ Mum virtually spat the words into his face and ran towards the door. She was quick – but Mark was quicker. He grabbed her long blonde hair, the hair she was so proud of, the hair I loved to sit and brush for her, and tugged it hard, stopping Mum in her tracks. It must have hurt because she screamed the place down. Instinctively I screamed too. My reaction was fear. Hers was pain. Mum was on her knees, but he was still holding her hair.
Why hasn’t he let her go?
Stupidly, she went to move again, but he jerked her head back, like he was yanking on a dog’s lead. Mum swore at him and he did it again, but this time dragging her backwards across the floor.
I couldn’t stand it anymore. I flew over to Mark and started beating his chest with my angry little fists. I wanted to hurt him, but mainly I just wanted him to let Mum go. He didn’t want either of those things.
Still holding Mum’s hair so tightly that her head was tipped right back, he waved his other hand in my direction and knocked me clean to the floor. My ear was buzzing where he’d caught me. I went to get up again, but he started swearing at me, so I sat still, crying, and begged him to let Mum go.
If only Mum had begged as well. She might have stood a chance. But she wasn’t having a bit of it. I didn’t understand half the words that were pouring from her mouth, but I knew they weren’t complimentary. What happened next will stay with me forever.
Reaching over to the cooker, Mark flicked one of the gas hobs on. Still Mum kept screaming at him, and still he kept swearing at her to shut up and behave. I honestly had no clue what he was doing with the hob – until