Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [41]
So, with the £4,000 early-retirement cash, he bought Mum a lovely attic flat in a four-storey townhouse in Telscombe Cliffs, about twelve miles from Preston Park.
‘You should be safe here.’
That was the plan. And that was where I was taken when I emerged from my month in care. It’s possible Mum had to agree to move house and try to sort herself out before I would be allowed out. I don’t know. All I can say is that she really made an effort. For a month or two everything was just about perfect.
The flat had one large bedroom, a little kitchen, a bathroom and a nice lounge in the eaves, with criss-crossing support beams. I was eight years old by now and Mushka the cat was probably older, but we both loved running in and out of the rafters. Granny gave me a ball on a piece of string and the cat and I would hare around, with her trying everything to catch that ball. Looking back, it’s staggering to think of the bounce-backability of children. After everything I’d been through, every horror I’d witnessed, it took no effort at all to revert to a normal child, happy to waste hours on the most innocent of games.
Just when I thought I’d exhausted the possibilities of the flat, I discovered the cupboards leading out into the thinnest points of the roof. They were so dark and so deep – and so full of treasure! The previous tenants hadn’t cleared everything out, so I spent a day dragging what they’d left behind out and sorting through it. Most of it was rubbish, but in amongst it all was the prize I’d been hoping for. A toy.
It was a car and about four feet of plastic track. I worked out that if you assembled it all properly, the car would whizz down the track and loop the loop like Evel Knievel. What a fantastic game – and something else the cat tried to play with!
I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been any happier. For a while it really felt like we were living inside a bubble, free from the outside pressures of the world. When I wasn’t exploring every inch of our flat, I’d be out in the cold, playing on my odd-wheeled bike. With the saddle and handlebars extended, it was still the right size for me. We found another hall that sometimes showed Saturday morning films, like in the old days. I even enrolled for the Brownies, which I really liked, and I joined the church choir with Granny. Most staggering of all, one day I found myself dressed in a little blue jumper, grey skirt, white blouse, knee-high socks and round-toed shoes and was introduced to a tall, thin woman.
‘Hello, Cathy, I’m going to be your teacher.’
After eight years I was at school. I admit, it was hard. I liked being around all the other children, but keeping quiet was a strain. I wasn’t used to sitting still much either. Most of my days had been spent keeping busy, busy, busy, cooking, playing, cleaning and looking after Mum. The shift in gear was incredibly difficult to get used to. From the teacher’s point of view, she’d been handed a girl who’d been in and out of care, had seen things no child should ever be subjected to and had become almost totally self-sufficient. Finding a way to connect with me was as taxing for her as the whole experience was for me.
And then there were the actual lessons themselves. Apart from a few happy months at the Rainbow Nursery, I’d never had anything close to a day’s schooling in my life. Suddenly I was being confronted by books and exercise pads and pens and black boards. Until that day, it had never occurred to me that I couldn’t read or write. All the other kids could recognize their own names and write them, as well as other words. For the first time, I got a genuine sense that my life might not have been as normal as I’d assumed.
Like so many children, I enjoyed my first day at school, but this was mainly because of the novelty value. When Mum said I had to go back the following day, I tried to fight her. It just wouldn’t sink in that I should be attending every day. In the end, the only argument that persuaded me was coated in threat.
‘If you don’t go to school the social worker will take you away again.