The Girl Who Couldn't Smile (12 page)

Susan had brought in a sort of graduated series of trays joined together with prettily coloured wire so we could display our cupcake creations for Milandra. There were also Krispie buns, some made with chocolate and some with marshmallow, and ice-cream (vanilla, strawberry and chocolate chip). The party was to happen in the hour before home-time.

‘Jack them up on sugar and send them home to their parents – brilliant!’ Lonnie had said, before bringing the kids outside with Tush so that Susan and I could get the place ready.

‘I have a surprise of my own,’ Susan said, when the food was set out.

‘Yeah?’ I said.

‘I like your idea about the birthdays,’ Susan said. ‘I think we should make it a tradition – these things are important, and for some of our kids, a party here will probably be the only one they get. So, with that in mind …’ She opened a cupboard over the craft table, and brought down a large box, wrapped in shiny pink paper.

‘A present?’ I said.

‘I took the liberty of purchasing something I thought a
five-year-old girl might like,’ Susan said. ‘I had a notion you might find that a bit of a challenge.’

‘Thanks, Susan,’ I said, genuinely pleased. ‘I appreciate your help on this. I know you’ve had some reservations about some of the changes I’ve made, but you’ve always tried to make things work.’

‘We’re all on the same side,’ Susan said. ‘But will you do me one favour in future?’

‘Name it,’ I said.

‘Would you for fuck sake call me Su?’

The kids came back into the room in their usual manner: like a herd of stampeding cattle. They stopped dead in front of the cupcakes on their tiered tray. They did look spectacular – all the different colours and decorative touches Lonnie, Tush and I had used made them quite an impressive sight. With so many cupcakes – there were more than fifty – I thought that single birthday candles might get lost, so I had bought lots shaped as the number ‘5’, and set those about the cakes. With the other treats and a few decorations we had hung about the room, Little Scamps had been transformed into Party Central.

‘Wow!’ Jeffrey said. ‘Look at all de food!’

‘Look at the candles,’ Mitzi cooed. ‘Bright and pretty. Like stars.’

Milandra was standing at the back of the crowd. So far that day she had been uncharacteristically quiet. There had been no angry outbursts, very little invective and no violence to either person or property. Milandra had kept herself to herself, and when we discussed the upcoming birthday celebrations at our breakfast meeting, she had not really got involved in the conversation, although we had been at pains to stress to her that this was
her
birthday, and the effort we had gone to was to honour and value her.

‘What do you think, Milandra?’ I asked, as she stood, mouth open, marvelling at the cakes.

‘That whole pile of cakes is for me?’ she asked, her voice barely audible.

‘It is. Lonnie, Tush and I spent a long time on Saturday making them. I even made some special African ones, just like your dad would have eaten when he was a boy.’

Milandra laughed nervously. ‘Yeah? African cakes like my daddy eats?’

‘Come and see,’ I said.

She walked up to the table.

I showed her the Colour Cakes. ‘They taste of vanilla – ’cause Tush told me that’s what you like – but as you can see, this one is green, and this one is pink, and this one is yellow. We put icing on them.’

Milandra seemed lost for words. She stood, holding my hand, trembling slightly. ‘Them candles is number fives,’ she said. ‘That’s my new age. I’m that age today, see, ’cause it’s my birfday.’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘And this is your party.’

Susan started singing ‘Happy Birthday’ and everyone joined in. Milandra laughed and clapped her hands. The party was off.

We played musical statues and pass-the-parcel (everyone won something), and then Milandra stood on a chair and blew out all her candles, a job that took three attempts.

‘What did ya wish for, M’landra?’ Rufus asked.

‘You can’t tell him ’cause then that wish won’t come true,’ Gus said. ‘That’s what my mammy always says.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ Milandra said, one of her special Colour Cakes clutched in her hand, a candle still attached. ‘I don’ mind tellin’. I wished for a doll for my very own.’

‘A doll?’ Gus said. ‘There’s loads of dolls right here. Why’d you want an old doll?’

‘’Cause none o’ them dolls looks like me,’ Milandra said, and took a big bite of the cake.

Her comment hit me rather as Tammy’s punch had. One of the basic lessons first-year childcare students are taught is to be acutely aware of anti-discriminatory practice, which means that all toys and images should be ethnically appropriate to all the children in your setting. Checking the room at a glance, and doing a mental run-through of the toys and storybooks we had, I realized that not a single one depicted any black children as central figures. I felt like slapping my head in annoyance – was there any wonder Milandra was so angry?

Making a mental note to rectify the omission as soon as possible, I went back to enjoying the party. To my delight, the cakes – even Lonnie’s concoctions – were going down a treat. To my friend’s credit, I tried his anchovy and caper cake, which he had iced with cream cheese and lemon, and it was actually very good.

With twenty minutes to go before the bus arrived, Susan called for quiet.

‘Now, as it’s Milandra’s birthday, we thought it was only fair that she get a present,’ Susan said. ‘So, Milandra my dear, this is from everyone here at Little Scamps.’

Milandra looked as if she could not believe what was happening. Her blue eyes were wide, her mouth in a trembling smile. Susan took down the box, which elicited gasps and comments from everyone.

‘That is one big present,’ Ross said, clacking over on his crutches. ‘D’ya need help openin’ that, M’landra?’

‘No. I can do it,’ Milandra said, her voice high pitched with excitement, tearing at the paper with her nails.

The children had gathered around her in a loose circle, all eyes locked on the slowly emerging box. The wrapping finally came off in one huge swathe, and there, in a big red box with a clear plastic fronting, was Milandra’s wish: a beautiful African doll with cornrowed hair, dressed in denim dungarees and shiny red shoes. I looked over at Susan and mouthed,
Well done!
She was grinning unashamedly.

Milandra opened the box and took the doll out, her eyes glistening, her lower lip trembling. ‘For me?’ she asked, turning to Susan, who had tears in her eyes, too.

‘Yes, sweetie,’ Susan said. ‘Just for you. To show you that we all love you.’

‘You all love me,’ Milandra said, her voice breaking, the doll still clutched before her like some kind of talisman. ‘This is my doll ’cause you all love me.’

I don’t know what happened next. It was like somebody hit a switch and everything changed – changed utterly. One moment we were having one of those special, bitter-sweet moments that make childcare work worthwhile, the next all hell broke loose. Milandra’s face turned into a scowl, she let loose a scream and ripped an arm off the doll with such force she tore the sleeve clean off its denim top. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you all?’ Milandra roared. ‘Why’d you think I’d want a shitty doll like this? You all fucking hate me!’

Susan’s mouth was working, but no words were coming out. I felt for her, but there was no time to offer comfort. Milandra was smashing the doll against the table repeatedly. Bang! Bang! Pop – the head flew off and hit Mitzi in the mouth, smearing the cupcake she had been eating right across her face.

‘You shouldn’t do that, treasure,’ Mitzi said cheerily, and grabbed Milandra by the numerous ends of her cornrows.

The birthday girl was in such a fury she was operating on
pure instinct. Swinging the dismembered body of the doll, she caught Mitzi full in the throat and, amazingly, knocked her flat on her back. The other children were scattering, aware of the danger to life and limb. There was no way Milandra could be allowed to continue her rampage – someone had already been hurt. I came up behind her and wrapped my arms about her, pinning hers to her sides. She thrashed, trying desperately to kick me, but I sat down on the floor, tucked my chin away so it wouldn’t get caught in a head-butt, and tried to relax. With my hands locked, one inside the other, it was impossible for her to get loose, so long as I didn’t move. Which was not as easy as it sounds.

‘Tush, can you stick with me, please?’ I asked.

Tush was hovering nearby, uncertain what she should do. Lonnie had taken the rest of the kids outside, and Susan had gone too, although I didn’t know how much good she’d be. Tush came over and sat cross-legged beside me.

‘I need you to be able to record that I didn’t hurt her or restrain her unnecessarily,’ I explained. ‘A kid should only be held like this as a last resort.’

Tush nodded. ‘I know. I just got a bit … a bit flustered.’

‘That’s not a crime,’ I said. ‘Situations like this can be pretty unnerving. Just sit with me now and keep an eye on things. I need you to be my eyes from outside the restraint, all right?’

She nodded. During this entire conversation, Milandra continued to rage and roar, beating her head against my chest, snapping her teeth in an effort to bite any bit of me she could reach. I realized she still had the doll, what was left of it, clutched in her right hand in a death grip. She had gone beyond language now, her cries just strings of strangled noises: grunts, vocalizations and guttural squawks. Spittle dripped from her lips and ran in rivulets from the corner of her mouth.

‘I can’t see her eyes,’ I said to Tush. ‘Are they open? Can you see anything other than the whites?’ I was concerned the child might be having a seizure brought on by the stress – a convulsion caused by a failure to breathe during the crisis, combined with the huge adrenaline rush she had experienced.

‘I can see her pupils,’ Tush said, coming as close as she dared. ‘They’re hugely dilated, though. I can barely see the iris.’

‘Okay,’ I said, sweat running down my forehead. ‘She’s conscious, at least.’

I could feel Milandra’s rage like an electric hum. She was trembling, literally shaking with the force of her emotion. Usually a tantrum in a child so young will burn out within ten minutes or so. Fifteen had passed, and there was no sign that it was ending.

The other children filtered back in. I heard the bus pull up outside. Susan, her face still pale, ignored me and my noisy cargo. Lonnie came over and squatted next to my ear. ‘You okay there,
amigo
?’

‘I’m holding up,’ I said.

‘She’s one tough little cookie,’ Lonnie observed. ‘How much longer d’you think she can keep it up?’

‘I have no idea,’ I said. ‘How much longer can
I
?’

Lonnie laughed and patted me on the shoulder.

‘Oh, you’re only getting warmed up.’

‘There’s no way we can put her on the bus,’ I said. ‘She’d cause a crash.’

‘So what’s the alternative?’

‘I hold her until she calms down, then Tush and I will bring her home. You all right with that, Tush?’

‘Sure,’ Tush said.

Lonnie nodded. ‘All righty, then. Do I take it that I have custody of Millie tonight?’

I grinned through the strain. ‘I think that might be wise,’ I said. ‘Better to be safe than sorry.’

Lonnie stood. ‘Maybe I should have my lawyer draw up some sort of agreement,’ he said. ‘I think you’re taking advantage of my good nature. You just assume I’ll take her any time you feel like swanning off. It’s not good enough.’

‘You’re such a prima donna,’ I said.

‘I’ll remember you said that, you bitch,’ Lonnie said. ‘See you later.’

It took Milandra an hour to run out of steam. Her bellows fell off into dull moans, and then to a sort of intermittent whimpering. From where I sat I could see the child’s struggles mirrored in Tush’s face – the poor girl seemed to feel every wave of pain Milandra experienced. I admired her for it. Such profound empathy is rare, even among childcare workers.

When Milandra had been silent for five minutes, I felt her sag against me and knew exhaustion had finally taken her. ‘Honey, I’m going to let go,’ I said. ‘But first I want you to promise that you’re not going to attack either me or Tush, and that you’re not going to run away, or try to smash the room up. Do we have a deal?’

There was no response.

‘I know you’re tired, sweetie, but you’re going to have to answer me, or I’m going to keep holding on to you. I don’t want to, but I won’t have a choice.’

‘I’ll be good,’ Milandra whimpered. ‘I won’t try ’n’ hurt nobody. I promise.’

I released my arms, and the little girl slid on to the floor and stayed there. I staggered up and nearly fell over: my legs had gone to sleep. Using the wall I made it to a chair and sat there, massaging the blood back into circulation. Tush went
over to Milandra and stroked her head, talking gently to her. ‘You feel better, baby girl?’ she asked.

‘I feel sick,’ Milandra said.

‘You think you’re going to be sick?’

‘Yeah!’

Milandra rolled over and threw up a brightly complexioned mixture of semi-digested Colour Cake and juice on to the floor. She continued to retch for a few minutes, then seemed to be a little better, so Tush brought her down to the bean bags and made her comfortable, putting a blanket over her.

‘She’s worn herself out,’ Tush said, as we cleaned up the vomit.

‘Her and us too,’ I said.

‘What the hell set her off?’ Tush asked. ‘I mean, I’ve never seen her happier. It was one of the nicest moments we’ve had since I’ve been here. Then – I don’t know what happened. It was like she turned into a different child, like something else took over.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. We went into the kitchen and emptied the bucket of disinfectant-laced water. ‘I’ve worked with kids before who didn’t believe they deserved to be happy. They railed against it, caused things to go wrong in their lives every time situations looked like improving. I wonder if that’s what Milandra does. Today it was as if the idea that she was loved was just too much for her to cope with.’