Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [50]
‘We have decided to accede to your wish.’
Which in English means what?
‘You are now the legal responsibility of Mr and Mrs Beavis.’
Yes!
I’d won the day. But, as we drove home, neither I nor my grandparents really knew what we were letting ourselves in for. All we knew was that our lives would never be the same again.
Before the court case I’d been staying at Tremola Avenue. Now I was living there.
They tried to make me feel comfortable. I was given the room I’d always stayed in with Mum and they brought in her old wardrobe from the flat and her record player and albums. Even though Granny was a dog lover really, she let me put a cardboard box on the floor-mounted boiler, which we lined with a small crocheted blanket and pillow for Mushka. She loved it there. As a treat, they also got hold of a black-and-white portable television, complete with bendy wire aerial. It was great. Just one bed, rather than two. No sharing, no worrying about strange men following me in. My own little sanctuary.
Mushka didn’t seem to mind the change of scenery, but then she had other things to worry about. Barely a fortnight after Mum’s death, I was woken by a wet sensation in my bed. My first instinct was to cry out, ashamed and embarrassed that I’d wet the bed again after so many months of dry nights. Then my eyes adjusted in the half-light. Mushka was on my lap – and she wasn’t alone. Two tiny bundles were mewing and wriggling next to her!
I called Granny and together we sat on my bed for the next few hours, sharing a bar of Dairy Milk, while Mushka had two more adorable little kittens. It was a wonderful night. I’d never felt so close to my grandmother and I had my mum’s old cat to thank for it. Maybe life at Tremola Avenue wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Of course I was happy that I wasn’t sharing a room any more. Then I’d remember why. Mum. That happened so often it began to scare me. I could do so much and then her memory would crash down on me without warning. I loved her and I missed her, but I wished I had greater control over her memory.
It was a sombre household at first. I’d lost my mother and Granny and Grandpa had lost their daughter. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I would bound into the kitchen, eager to get the day off to a good start, and I couldn’t understand why they’d be moping around. I really hope they didn’t find me disrespectful.
I don’t think I ever appreciated the magnitude of my decision that day in court. The clerk had told me what I had to do: ‘Go up there and elect where you want to live.’ That was pretty much it. But I’d moved around so often, I don’t think it really seemed real. In the back of my mind was the idea that, if things didn’t work out, I’d just move on again. Not necessarily to my father’s, just away from Tremola Avenue.
A good while later Granny told me that I’d made the right decision. My father, she’d heard from a solicitor, had intended to put me into care had I chosen to go with him. He didn’t know me, I wasn’t part of his life and I was very young. He was terrified at the prospect of coping. When I met him later he swore this wasn’t true, but those were the facts according to Granny.
I should have been offended, but I wasn’t. I’d already been into care twice. I’d been abused in one residence and looked after well in the other. And on Mum’s watch, as I could never forget, I was subjected to the worst degradation I could imagine. If I’d been put into care with my father in control, then so be it. I would have coped. I always coped.
I guess I took after Grandpa in that respect. Looking back, his reaction to Mum’s death was quiet and personal and very straightforward. He stopped believing in God.
He still went to church, still remained a warden, but the candle of his faith had gone out. Non-religious people won’t understand what a big deal this is for a believer.