The babies cried on and I thought I ought to sing to them. Searching for a tune, I found only despair.
One day he would go too far and I would die too. I could see it coming, a juggernaut rolling fast towards me and I knew I couldn’t let that happen, not before I’d lived at least a fraction of my life. I crawled over to the window and pulled myself up to the sill to peer out. He hadn’t thought to put on bars or even a lock – I could still open that window and leap out if I wanted to badly enough. Oh, I wanted to. But I was too weak and the fall would finish me off. I knew he wanted to break me so that I would stay here, a slave and a sycophant for the rest of my life.
I won’t. I won’t.
The week faded, grey and black and brown. The sky outside the window was concrete, as hard as heartbreak. I wondered where the summer had gone; perhaps the sun had died too. My room began to stink after only a couple of days. Headaches came and went and I drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes it was light and sometimes it was night and the longer I went with such a small amount of food and water the more I knew I couldn’t get out of the window. If only I could have heard something, listened out for noises downstairs and known that I hadn’t been abandoned. I wondered where Mrs Sparks was, or the postman perhaps; there was a chance that he might miss me, wasn’t there? I wondered if the whole village had perished and I was the only survivor of some terrible holocaust. Crawling to the door, I tried the handle. It was still locked. I could rot here, be gnawed to pieces by rats, and no one would ever come to find out
what had happened to the girl with a face like fear.
Long ago in the past, far away from his madness, I’d understood for the first time what I really was. We’d been at our gran’s and we’d helped her to make a cake and then played skipping outside, taking it in turns to turn the rope for one another. Hephzi had got it straight away, her plaits flying, her cheeks pink with air and fun. It had taken me longer and I stumbled over the rope, clumsy and stupid, but Granny had been patient and in the end I managed five skips in a row.
It was growing dusky and a little chilly so Granny took
us indoors and settled us on the sofa with hot chocolate and slices of the cake we’d helped to bake.
‘I’ll just be a minute, girls, doing the tea. You sit tight and do this little job for me.’
She handed us a huge book, heavy and thick, its pages crackled and rustled when we opened it. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘find a fresh page and see if you can’t stick these in for me, there’s good girls.’
‘What is it?’ I asked Hephzi, who’d immediately snatched the bundle. She crowed with delight.
‘Pictures! Pictures of us, look!’ She thrust the first one under my nose. ‘Look how pretty I am! And in this one!’
She scattered them everywhere, those pictures of us, photographs Granny must have taken on our trips out with her, some at the farm, some at the park. I smiled in all of them, big ugly grins, and I recognized at last what they all saw so clearly. My six-year-old self picked up those pictures and started to rip. I tore and I scrumpled, I scrunched and I threw. Hephzi started to shout and then to scream as I shredded the evidence of what I was.
‘Granny! Granny! Come quick, Rebecca’s tearing it all up. Granny!’
Granny came running and scooped me up like I weighed nothing at all and at once I stilled my flailing hands and let her hold me safe.
‘Why did you do that, love?’ she asked me later, quietly so that Hephzi wouldn’t wake.
I couldn’t answer her and shook my head.
‘You mustn’t destroy things, you know, those were my special photos of my special girls.’
‘No,’ I muttered.
‘What?’
‘No. You can see in the pictures, you shouldn’t look at them. I’m a bad girl.’
‘No, you’re not. Now, don’t be silly.’
I didn’t answer and she understood.
‘You’re perfect, my love, different but perfect nevertheless, you can’t help how you look, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me, Rebecca? Do you understand what I’m saying?’
She told me I had a syndrome. I asked if you could catch it, like a cold, and if it went away when you got bigger.
‘No,’ she said, sadly. ‘No, I’m sorry, my love.’ She said that it was called Treacher Collins. That the bones in my face hadn’t formed properly when I was in my mother’s womb and that’s why I looked a little bit different.
‘But Hephzi’s my twin. She doesn’t look like me. Why don’t I look like Hephzi? We should be the same.’
I waited patiently on her knee for an explanation. She couldn’t even begin to unravel the mystery for me; I was too little to follow what she said. All I knew was that I’d never change.
‘But you’re still perfect, you’re still a wonderful little girl. Do you understand?’
Even if I did, it didn’t matter. Even though she’d explained what was wrong with me and given it a name, even though she said I wasn’t the only one, The Parents had decided who I was and I wore their loathing like a badge.
After that weekend, back when we’d been six and Granny had told me all about myself, I’d heard Granny try to threaten him. She said she’d call Social Services and have them take me away. She said she’d take me away herself. It was four years before they let us see her again.
Now, in my room, locked up and slowly dissolving, I traced my face with my fingers and felt it grow wet with my tears.
I woke another day to find sunlight flickering in at the window and I crawled over and peered out to see that the tree was still green after all, it was still growing. It reminded me of life and I wanted mine. I watched the drive, straining to see round the corner of the house and up the long gravelled path that led to the front door.
I knew that I was fading. I knew that I could not linger forever, waiting to be saved. But I did not want The Father to have his wish and I held fast to what was left. It was too soon to die. Another five days must have gone by, perhaps June was becoming July, before I spotted movement at last. A figure was coming up the drive. I couldn’t see more than that but I knew it wasn’t The Parents. The walk was different and I started to hope. My mouth formed the word
Danny
and maybe I breathed it into the silence as if
it might grow and run out to meet him. I placed my palms on the glass and wondered.
After the figure retreated, a few minutes later, I realized what I should have done. I should have opened the window and called out, hollered for help. How stupid I was. I didn’t need Hephzi to remind me.
I waited for Danny to return, watching at the window, determined not to miss my chance again. No one came. Then on Sunday they unlocked the door as if to let me out but pushed me into the bath and blasted the cold water from the shower on to my skin, which was to be disinfected and cleansed. The bottles stood ready. The Mother averted her eyes as she scrubbed and he looked on, intoning his sinful prayers. I screamed and she hesitated. He grabbed my head and plunged it under the water. Again and again and again.
Granny had told me never to hate. If you hate, you lose who you are. You mustn’t hate the children who stare or the adults who point, the sneerers and sniggerers, the gawpers and grinners.
They’re just ignorant, love, and not worth your tears
. I believed her then. Now I didn’t know if I could help myself. I wanted to hate them so much it hurt more than anything else.
They gave me a pair of old pyjamas, too small for me and falling to pieces, second-hand cast-offs not even good enough for the charity bag. They’d taken everything else. My teeth clattered in my head and I wrapped my arms tight round myself as the sound of my own screams and the screams coming at me from the walls grew into a
cacophony of fear. I backed away, into a corner and stared in horror at the bubbling and groaning paper behind where Hephzi’s bed had stood, I saw it balloon and stretch and felt the end of something approach.
And then I saw Hephzi. She was there, suddenly, just for a moment, a dancing shadow at the window.
It’s time
, she says.
Run now. The door is open, run for your life, my sister. Run!
Before
When you tell someone you love them, aren’t they supposed to say it back? I guess not. In those books Rebecca reads I suppose it doesn’t always happen like that, but I thought I’d be different, lucky. I thought Craig felt the same.
He doesn’t show up at college until Thursday and the week is agony. I don’t eat or sleep thinking about what I’ve done and wondering what he thinks of me now. Maybe he thinks I’m a slag, that’s what everyone says about girls who sleep around, but I’ve only been with Craig. I pray he hasn’t told anyone but I imagine people are looking at me and talking behind my back. Rebecca tells me not to be stupid when I ask her if people are whispering about me. Of course, I haven’t told her what happened, although she’ll have guessed. I know she’s worked it out. The look on her face on Sunday morning said it all. I might as well have written it across my forehead.
When Craig finally slopes into the common room at break on Thursday I ignore him, even though my heart judders like it’s about to break down. It’s hard to look cool
when you’re sitting on your own so I pretend to be reading my Chemistry textbook and hold my breath waiting for him to come over and make it all better. But Daisy grabs him as he’s walking by the lockers and I can see out of the corner of my eye that she’s got her arm tucked in his and is tossing her hair and smiling with all her teeth. Stuffing my book into my bag I gather up my things and walk out. It’s supposed to be a dignified exit but I don’t reckon I’ve pulled it off, I’m sure I hear someone snigger as I leave.
Stupid me. I thought I could escape, I thought there was a chance for me and I’d make it out. I hide in the toilets for the afternoon, staring and staring at the wall until I think my eyeballs might explode.
Rebecca waits for me after college and we walk home. She sees my red eyes but says nothing the whole way, playing the sphinx.
Later that night, after we’ve gone through the charade of dinner with our parents and are supposedly studying in our room, I sit at the window wondering if I should sneak out and go and confront him. It’s a cold and rainy November night and the wind’s whipping up the tree, its branches are thrashing like it’s in pain and the leaves are falling fast. I open the window and lean out to let the rain trickle on to my face. I lean so far that half my body’s hanging over the sill. If I just let myself fall then all this would be over.
‘What are you doing?’
I ignore my sister. I wish she’d disappear, she’s constantly pushing at me, trying to get in my head, wanting to know.
‘Shut the window. I’m freezing.’
‘No.’
Rebecca comes over and tries to pull me in and we struggle for a bit before I give in. The window slams shut, only just missing my head, and I push Rebecca over and she looks at me like I’m nuts.
‘What’s the matter with you? Have you fallen out with that boy or something?’
She hates saying his name. She’s such a cow.
‘No. Why would I?’
‘Well, why else are you so miserable?’
‘I can be miserable if I like. Mind your own business.’
I sit on my bed and wish I had my own bedroom and my own space. I wish I were anywhere but here.
‘You should get over it. Or make it up with him. I can’t bear this.’
I think about what Rebecca says and wonder why we have fallen out. I haven’t done anything, I’ve given him what I thought he wanted. The problem is mine, I realize. It’s because he didn’t say he loved me and that’s what I thought the deal was. I thought if I had sex with him the result would be that he’d love me, but it didn’t add up like that and I’ve been blaming him ever since. He doesn’t realize how urgent it is that he loves me, how soon I need him to say it so we can move on and move in together. I
get up and open the window again. If I don’t go now I might lose him for good.
By the time I get to Craig’s I’m like a drowned rat. Pam opens the door and stares at me as if I’m crazy before ushering me inside and grabbing towels and a dry jumper and jeans.
‘Is Craig home?’ I stutter through my chattering teeth.
‘No, love, but I’ll ring him on his mobile. See when he’ll be back. Have you two had a falling out, then?’
I shake my head, then nod, not at all sure, before I start to blub like a baby. Pam hugs me like my mother never has and I wonder if I need Craig at all; Pam could just adopt me, that’d be enough. Craig would have all the time he needed to fall in love with me then.
I hear her whispering on the phone in the kitchen and hope she’s not saying something bad. Maybe she’s telling him I’m a loser and that he should dump me. I dunno.
She comes back into the living room with a cup of hot chocolate. I drink it fast, it is delicious, the nicest thing I’ve ever drunk. When every bit is gone and I’ve licked the mug clean I realize she’s been staring at me, a bit bemused. I laugh and run my fingers through my straggly damp hair.
‘Sorry, I was thirsty.’ I don’t tell her it’s the first time since I was twelve that I’ve had hot chocolate and that it was always my favourite. Granny made it with marshmallows and whipped cream.
‘D’you want some more?’
I nod. This time I sip more slowly, trying not to look like I’ve just landed from Mars.
‘Craig’s on his way back, love. He won’t be long.’
‘Where is he?’
She looks uncomfortable for a moment then turns on the telly. We sit watching
EastEnders
together, and I’m so engrossed I barely notice when Craig walks in.
‘All right?’
He stands in the doorway looking at me. Straight away Pam jumps up and leaves us to it. I give him a smile, although it’s a watery one, I can still taste rain and tears on my lips and Craig sort of smiles back.
‘What’s up?’
He’s too nonchalant and still just standing there. This isn’t how it used to be. Last week he would have hugged me and kissed me and told me I looked nice even if I were a mess. Taking a huge breath I speak.
‘I thought I’d come over.’ He cocks an eyebrow, waiting, so I try again. ‘I missed you,’ I say.