Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [39]
I was so petrified, in fact, that when I saw Brian lose his footing and fall headfirst into a pool of shallow water, I didn’t move. I didn’t help him when I saw he was face down and not moving. I didn’t even ask if he was all right. I just stood there, watching. And then, after about five minutes, I walked back home.
Every day after my walk with Brian I waited for him to come back through our door. I waited for him to hurt me in the privacy of my bedroom. To grab me by the hair and throw me onto one of the spires at St Peter’s. He would exact his revenge, I knew that.
Then I thought, What if he doesn’t come for me? What if he never woke up?
That thought was even more terrifying. Then I really would be killed. Mark and his friends would see to that. They would have to prove I was under control.
A feeling of dread settled in my stomach as the days passed. At times I struggled to breathe. Each footstep I heard in the communal hall sent me running for my room. Every creak of the old house at night had me convinced Brian was coming back for his retribution. But it didn’t happen. And the next time there was a knock at the door it wasn’t the men at all.
It was a social worker and two policemen. And, yes, they’d come to take me away again.
SEVEN
Did You Miss Me?
At my lowest points at Preston Park I admit to occasionally thinking, I would be better off in care.
I never meant it, though. It just seemed a way out, once I realized that Mum’s men friends were using me as a bargaining chip in their game of wills. But I’d felt a lot more uncomfortable under the unyielding regime of the smelly foster parent with the wandering hands than I’d ever felt at home. Because at home I had Mum. We were a team. As far as I was concerned, as long as we were together, the world was all right.
Then I found myself taken into care for the second time. I couldn’t believe how sudden these things were, but Alice, the social worker, claimed Mum had ignored all their correspondence. I didn’t know what to believe. Alice looked honest enough and certainly opening letters wasn’t Mum’s favourite pastime, judging by the bundles by the front door. I did wonder why it had happened now, though.
‘There were a number of factors,’ Alice explained.
‘Like what?’
Alice took a deep breath. ‘Where do I start?’ She then reeled off a list of what she called evidence. For a start, without me knowing, Mum had been picked up by the police a few times recently and taken to the station to cool down. It was usually for shoplifting, Alice said, which had escalated into an argument or fight when she’d been caught. Ever the dutiful child, of course, I denied it was possible – even though I’d seen Mum shoplift plenty of times. But who didn’t do that?
Then there was the fact that council records showed I was still not enrolled at school, which was a serious offence. Finally, the last time Mum had been spotted by the police, they’d noticed her hair. Mum had made up some story, but policemen aren’t stupid. They know the signs of domestic abuse when they see it. And that was when they’d reported it and I’d been removed for my own protection.
When she put it like that, Mum’s life sounded horrible. Mine too, I supposed. And that was without mentioning the men. Even so, I still didn’t want to be taken away. And I certainly didn’t agree with her when she said I’d been ‘rescued’.
I lost track of how long we drove for. Even though I stared glumly out of the car window, I wasn’t taking anything in.
Eventually we stopped outside an ordinary-looking block of flats on a non-descript Brighton street. It could have been anywhere. I would be moving into a flat on the third floor. At first glance it didn’t look anything like as nice as my last foster home – but that place had been hellish the second you stepped through the front door. This one was less imposing on every level. But would it, I wondered, be any better?
The answer, if I’m honest, is yes. I hated being there, of course, but then I would have hated