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‘You’re staying home, you’re not well enough,’ she’d say.
But it seemed we were well enough to do the household chores. I was cutting the grass, collecting the eggs, doing the ironing, scrubbing the floors, cleaning the toilet – and all the while longing to be with Miss Nickerson, making a beautiful picture. I wanted to sit on the carpet and read books, or sing round the piano. Instead I was cleaning out the hens’ poo or scrubbing dirty shirt collars.
Two major things happened then that changed my life for ever. After the painting incident, Barbara kept me home from school for ages and ages and told me every day that I wasn’t well enough to go in. The pining for Miss Nickerson, nice Mr James and my friend with the big teeth, the milk and biscuits and all the lovely food was unbearable now. Then one morning Barbara stood over me at breakfast and said, ‘You’re going to a new school.’
I burst into tears.
‘I don’t want any backchat. You need discipline,’ was all she said.
I sobbed and sobbed uncontrollably and was sent to my room with a whack across the shoulders with the newspaper.
‘Shut up. You’ll do as you’re told. Beggars can’t be choosers.’
I didn’t even care; my heart was broken. Barbara soon gave me my new uniform, which was scratchy, grey and horrible. Of course I had second-hand clothes, nothing new.
This new primary school was much further away, near a rough estate. It was a very different kind of school: regimented, strict, unfriendly and tough. The first day there, Barbara dropped me by the back gate and I had to make my way across the playground, terrified. I was stared at by parents and children alike as I walked in with my odd hand-me-down clothes, looking dirty and dishevelled. I must have looked so out of place in my old-lady shoes. Everyone else had Kickers or plimsolls but I had proper women’s shoes, brown with a heel and buckle. They were too big and I looked really silly. Barbara knitted my grey and green tie, and I was laughed at. Always different; always sticking out like a sore thumb.
From day one I was picked on by a big boy called Spencer, who followed me around, taunted me and made my life a misery. He cornered me and pushed me up against the wall, wanting to see in my bag. I ducked out from under his arm but he pursued me every day. Barbara was often late coming to pick me up after school, so I would stand in the corner of the playground, waiting, back against the wall by the gate, looking out, feeling utterly lost. She might be a whole hour late. Or more. Spencer would shout across the playground, ‘Nobody wants you, then!’ and his mates would laugh.
Barbara would eventually appear in her white Ford Escort and shout through the window to ‘Get in!’ as if I’d been keeping her waiting all that time. There was never any explanation. Worse was to come. Not only was I at a new school that I didn’t like at all, but something terrible was about to happen – something of which I had no warning at all.
One morning, while getting up for breakfast, we were both told we were being kept home from school. ‘You’re ill and you’re staying,’ is all Barbara said. The usual. I hated my new school, but I hated staying home even more. I wasn’t ill, nor was William, but we were told we had to go back to our bedroom. I hated being in there all day, as there was absolutely nothing to do. We looked at each other, made a face and shrugged. We occupied ourselves by playing made-up games of ‘mums and dads’ – our favourite. Then William got bored and went to lie on the floor, kicking the wall. So I opened my bedside drawer, went over and sat next to him and showed him the dead flies in my matchbox. He always liked to look at them, so he sat up again. We seldom talked but we both knew we were willing the flies to come back to life. He looked at me and we both grinned; it was our little secret.
Then I heard a car on the gravel. The doorbell rang, followed by voices in the hall.
‘William, come here,’ was shouted up the stairs by Barbara.
He scrambled to his feet and disappeared. I sat for a moment, listening to the voices. I didn’t recognise them and couldn’t make out what they were saying. I was puzzled and scared. I didn’t know what was going on. After a few minutes I took a deep breath, checked the coast was clear, crept out onto the landing and sat huddled at the top of the stairs, my knees under my chin, my arms round my legs. I licked my knees, which was something I often did when I needed to feel better. At the
bottom of the stairs, in the hall, I could see Barbara’s navy-blue tartan travel bag. I thought she must be going away. That would be fantastic. Peace at last!
The kitchen door was shut and I could hear voices behind it – a woman’s high voice and a man’s deep voice mixed with the occasional unmistakeable sound of Barbara. But I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I knew William had been in trouble at school: he’d had to go to the headmaster’s office several times recently, and he wasn’t doing well. He could never concentrate and would get up and walk around in class, which annoyed the teachers. Maybe it was something about that?
I bit my lip. I felt I had a huge rock in my stomach, a pebble in my throat. Then the kitchen door opened and there was the top of William’s head, his red hair sticking up as always like a giant toothbrush. He was in his school blazer now but I couldn’t see his face. There was a woman in a coat standing next to him, and a man next to Barbara. No one was speaking. They all walked towards the front door and went out. The travel bag was gone.
I had a sudden panic. What was happening? I had to know. I was not allowed downstairs into the ‘best’ front room, with the red velvet curtains, but I tiptoed down as fast as I could, opened the door and crept in. It faced the drive. I snuck to the window. There was a green car parked out front, and I suddenly saw William in the back with his head down, his hands holding his face. The man and the woman were getting in the car. I wanted to scream: ‘Noooooo!’ What was happening? Where was he going? I put my hands on the window and pressed my nose up against the pane. ‘William,’ I wanted to scream. ‘William, where are you going?’ The car was turning now and the indicator was sticking out, a little orange arm, pointing to the right. What was to the right? I racked my brains. That was the way to Oxford.
I didn’t hear Barbara come in behind me, as I was crying and sobbing and tears were streaming down my face, palms stuck to the window. She grabbed me by the hair and pulled me away from the window with such violence that I fell back against the dining table and chairs, knocking one over. Whack! She slapped me round the face.
‘I told you to stay in your room, you little bitch.’ I was distraught, beside myself, sobbing hysterically.
‘William…’ was all I could get out between sobs.
‘He’s going somewhere you’ll go to if you don’t do as you’re bloody told,’ she shouted at me. I looked at her, wild-eyed, absolutely terrified.
‘He wasn’t your blood, he wasn’t your brother, you weren’t related, so stop bloody whining.’ She stopped and looked at me crying in a heap on the carpet. ‘Go to your room. You won’t come out until you stop.’
And that was it. William was gone.
6
Cold Comfort Home
My heart is broken. I’m lying on my bed face down, howling into my pillow. I was sent up here hours ago. She’s forgotten I’m here and I don’t care; I don’t care about anything. It’s cold and grey outside and there isn’t much daylight. But I howl and howl into my pillow, wanting the pain in my stomach to stop. When I stop howling I see William’s red toothbrush hair sticking up in the back of the car – his head is down, in his hands. The indicator is sticking out to the right. The car is going, going, going, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Then he’s gone.
She says, ‘He’s gone.’ That’s it. I howl again, long, painful groans, but I have to keep the noise down as I know too much noise will bring her up. I don’t want that. I don’t want to see her ever again. She’s evil. Why does she hate us so much, or rather, why does she hate me? She said I would be sent away. I want to be sent away! I want to be with William! If he has gone somewhere else, why can’t I go too? I sit up in the murky daylight and look at the dingy net curtains. Why? is all my numb brain can think. Why? Why? Why? Why didn’t they take me too? How could they leave me behind? How could they leave me with her? With them?
I lie back down, facing the ceiling this time. Snot is running down my face. My eyes are swollen and I can hardly breathe with so much crying. I stare at the ceiling and look at the familiar cracks and the same old white plastic lampshade. Everything is the same. But it’s not the same. Behind the partition there is silence. I get up slowly and walk to the end of the partition – William’s side of the room. It looks horribly empty. I go to the little chest of drawers at the end of the room: an old wooden one with shiny knobs on. I pull open the top drawer. Empty. This had William’s worn-out grey socks and grimy white underwear in it. Nothing. The next drawer – his shorts and shirts: empty. I pull the next two out: empty, empty. A huge well of fear opens in my tummy. Where are his little brown shorts? His grey jumper? His funny old brown shoes? Gone, gone, gone.
