Chapter Twenty-Five
We lived in fear as children.
Because they threatened us all the time, telling us we’d be taken away if we told anyone the truth. And as dark and unpredictable as our house could be, somehow the risk of being taken away always felt that much scarier than if we were forced to stay.
Because we knew what would happen if they took us.
We’d heard all the stories a thousand times.
About the kind of people who would harm us. All the things they’d do to us.
We could never let that happen.
So, we did everything we could to hide the truth from anyone on the outside world.
Spending hours helping our mother and father to hide all our secrets. Cleaning the house immaculately anytime we knew we were expecting a visitor: a social worker, a teacher, our landlord. We worked tirelessly for hours before we started school, my sister and I. Down on our hands and knees scrubbing the floors or carrying the empty bottles of alcohol out to hide them in the shed. And my mother was good at hiding things. Often concealing smashed mirrors in the house with a random throw and some cheap fairy lights they’d used one year at Christmas, to try make the destruction look as if it was some kind of decorative feature.
Only there were some things we couldn’t hide.
Like the stained, threadbare carpet. Or the thick black mould that spanned its way up most of the walls.
But being poor wasn’t punishable.
As long as we appeared like a normal family, as long as we kept our secret hidden. What could anyone in authority really do?
I remember once how we were nearly caught out.
Our mother had said they’d done it on purpose, turning up unannounced. She said they must know.
She’d still managed to put on a stellar performance. Pretending to be an attentive, loving mother to us. Putting on a playful, fake voice that we’d never heard before.
She’d put on a good show.
Yet, she’d been on edge, and she was careless that day, not quite quick enough to hide the ripe, blackened bruise that peeped out from the bottom of her sleeve as she reached for a cup to make the social worker some tea.
We all saw it; how the woman’s expression had quickly changed. How that look of suspicion had lingered, concern gleaming out like a beacon from her eyes.
And there was a sudden change in questioning, from her earlier enquires about how me and my sister were doing at school. If we had any interests outside of the house, or any friends, as she asked my mother if everything was all right. If she needed help.
I remember how we stayed so silent, sitting on the bottom step in the hallway, watching the scene play out through the crack in the kitchen door. Like rabbits caught in the headlights, huddled close together, wide eyed, and full of trepidation, both thinking the same thoughts.
This was it. This is when they’ll find out about us. This is when we’d get taken away.
But my mother was ready. Quickly composed with her ready-made excuses, extinguishing any suspicions the woman might have.
She was so clumsy, so accident prone. She’d fallen.
Her words were followed by that godawful cackle.
And some days, that’s what I hated her for the most.
For laughing.
For never giving us away.
For not so much as hinting at the truth.
Because of that we suffered greatly, all of us.
Yeah, she was always such a great actress, my mother.
The best.
And for a long time, she had all of us fooled.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Rebecca Dawson. I’m Doctor Westly.’ The man behind the desk stands up, introducing himself as Rebecca lingers awkwardly just inside the doorway.
Stepping towards her, he holds out his hand for her to shake, which she does, nervously as she glances warily around his office, her eyes resting on the pile of paperwork that sits next to his notebook.
Full of notes about her, no doubt. She wonders what they say.
He holds out his hand to emphasise the welcoming gesture, ushering her into the small room, as Marlene leaves, closing the door behind her. ‘Please, get comfortable, take a seat.’
Rebecca crosses the room and sits down on the empty chair opposite the doctor. She’s feeling nervous now and she’s not sure why. This was supposed to be the moment she’d been waiting for. When she gets to explain everything that’s been happening, the moment she clears her name, so that the doctor will allow her to go home.
Home to Ella.
Instead she feels vulnerable and awkward, as if she’s about to be placed underneath a microscope. Because she knows that everything – her freedom and ability to get back home to her baby girl – depends on what is said between these four walls.
‘How are you feeling this morning, Rebecca? I understand that you had a very disturbing evening last night. Shall we talk about that?’
His expression and body language are neutral, Rebecca notes. Just like the rest of the staff here, he’s hard to read. He gives nothing away.
‘I’m feeling…’ She starts to speak, but her mouth feels suddenly dry, and there’s a lump in her throat. It’s silly, she knows, but before she’s even managed a whole sentence, she already feels judged, as if the odds are already stacked up against her.
She’d just spent the past twenty minutes reciting to herself what she was going to say to this doctor to make him realise she shouldn’t be here, but now she is here, in front of him, she’s lost for words.
‘I don’t really know how I’m feeling, to be honest. I guess, I’m a bit overwhelmed…’ she says finally, breaking off mid-sentence.
Breathe. Keep eye contact. ACT NORMAL, she tells herself.
Whatever the fuck ‘normal’ is anymore. Rebecca’s not even sure.
‘I know that you probably hear this all the time, but there has been a genuine mistake. I shouldn’t be here.’ She keeps her voice slow and steady, choosing each word carefully before she speaks, despite the surge of panic that ripples through her, knowing that everything is hanging on this one conversation. As she speaks, she tries hard to keep her voice neutral, fully aware that the doctor would have already heard accounts of last night from the police and from Jamie. That his mind might have already been made up about her.
And what if he doesn’t believe that she’s telling the truth? What then?
‘It’s normal to feel overwhelmed. Our priority is to make sure that you’re well, Rebecca. What you went through last night, and indeed, the past few weeks, must have been a terrifying experience for you. So, why don’t you talk me through what’s been happening?’ He nods, encouraging her to continue talking as he sits there poised, ready with his notepad and pen.
Rebecca doesn’t really know where to start. Scared to tell him the truth. Scared to admit how she’s been feeling so overwhelmed. But what if the doctor just thought she was mad, that she was a danger to Ella?
What then?
She thinks about lying. Concealing her real feelings, so that she appears strong and capable instead.
But he’d only see through all that, surely?
So she opens up, giving him a detailed account of everything she can remember about last night and about the last few weeks leading up to it. She tells him about all the other things that have been bothering and tormenting her. About the constant feeling of paranoia, that someone is following her, watching her.
She’s not sure how long she’s been talking, but when she finally stops, she feels exhausted. As if the words have just spewed from her mouth.