Living With Evil (15 page)

Her eyes were flashing, and she was dragging furiously on a cigarette. I picked up a doll off the floor and started playing with it absentmindedly.

Mammy started talking to herself, saying something about Daddy ‘playing with himself ’. I didn’t know what she meant, and I didn’t know whether she wanted me to say something, so I sat on the floor and carried on playing with my doll, keeping my head bowed.

‘Dirty bastard!’ she complained. ‘Playing with himself!’ What could she mean? I never saw Daddy play any games. He never played with me, so what game was he playing with himself? I didn’t dare ask.

‘Can’t you hear me, Cynthia? Can’t you hear what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, Mammy,’ I muttered.

‘Your father’s a dirty bastard. He’s playing with himself, didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘I don’t understand, Mammy. Are you cross because he’s playing by himself and he doesn’t play with us?’

‘No, Cynthia, not playing by himself, playing WITH himself.’

She was absolutely furious now. She threw a pile of bedclothes on the floor and started moving her hand up and down dramatically in front of her private parts, to act out what she meant. It reminded me of the way Daddy made me rub him up and down on his private parts, but surely Mammy wasn’t talking about that? I felt hot and embarrassed.

‘Why would he do that?’ I asked, totally at sea.

‘To make stuff come out of him!’ she screeched. I was getting frightened now. ‘Come and look! Come and look at the sheets!’ I trailed to the bed, the doll dangling by one arm at my side, and dutifully looked at the pale stain on the grey sheet. There was blood on the sheet too, and I realized it was my blood, because Daddy hurt me so much sometimes I bled.

I didn’t know what to say. Mammy was livid. She was spitting when she spoke, just like Mother Dorothy did when she caned me, and like Daddy had done once when he couldn’t get the leather belt buckled across my chest.

I said nothing at all and looked at the floor, waiting for the moment to end. Eventually Mammy wore herself out with her ranting and raving and went downstairs swearing and cursing my father.

The next night, I dreaded the moment Granny said, ‘I’ll be off now!’

As soon as the words came out of her lips, I shot to my feet and offered to walk her home. ‘No, Cynthia,’ Mammy glared. ‘You’re to help me with the beds again.’

I started to tremble when I walked up the stairs.

This time Mammy searched the bedclothes and seemed to find nothing. ‘Where is it?’ she said frantically. Then she started rummaging in the chest of drawers by the bed.

‘Is it on his shirt? Dirty bastard! What’s he done with his dirty shirt?’

I felt very scared of Mammy. While she rummaged and cursed, her eyes darted around wildly and her red hair shot out around her like wildfire.

‘I don’t know, Mammy,’ I said, whenever I thought one of her questions was directed at me. I just wanted this to stop.

This frightening routine went on for many weeks. I started to see that if Mammy couldn’t find a stain on the sheets, that was the worst possible thing. She went mad and started clawing through all of Daddy’s shirts saying, ‘I’ll find it! Dirty bastard!’ Whenever she did find a stain, it calmed her immediately.

But on one occasion she found no stain at all, anywhere. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded of me. I sat wide-eyed on the floor, picking at my feet nervously.

I thought back to the night before. Was she asking me if Daddy had made a stain in bed last night? How could I answer? When I told her I didn’t like what Daddy did in bed she told me it was all in my imagination, he was just rolling over drunk, so what could I say? What did she want me to say? A horrible wave of panic crept over me. Was she cross that Daddy hadn’t touched me last night?

Suddenly Mammy was standing over me. My mind panicked and whirled so much, little black patches appeared in front of my eyes. Something was happening I really didn’t like.

I was on the bed now. I had clothes on the top half of my body, but my skirt and knickers had gone. What was happening? I was trembling. What was Mammy doing? What was she looking for?

Her head was between my legs. I looked at her face in horror. There were deep, angry frown lines etched into her forehead.

I let out a shrill cry. Mammy was biting me in between my legs. ‘Mammy, please…’

‘Shut up, you little bitch!’

‘But Mammy I don’t like it.’

She carried on, gnawing at me. I wanted to shrivel up and die. Not Mammy as well. I started to struggle and begged her to stop, but Mammy gripped my hips tight with her fingernails, just like Daddy did sometimes.

‘Lie still, or I will make it hurt! Lie still or I will bite you!’

When she finally left me alone, I tried to get my brain working again. It felt thick and clouded, like it usually did these days. But I thought I had worked it out. If she thought Daddy hadn’t done anything to me the night before, she did that the next day.

It went on for a long time. I started to stagger round like a zombie at school. I mucked about with my friends and had a laugh at break time, putting on little shows and singing Beatles songs I’d heard on the radio, but getting through lessons was a struggle.

In the classroom I felt like I was on another planet. I constantly marvelled at how other girls looked so pretty and loved and cared for, and wondered why I couldn’t be like them. What had I done to be treated so badly by both my parents? And why did Mother Dorothy give out so much steam to me when it wasn’t my fault I was smelly and dirty, and my head always felt so full and sore I couldn’t do my work properly?

At home, I tried to keep out of trouble. I wanted to be as invisible as possible and, thankfully, my parents ignored me whenever it suited them.

However, it meant, whenever they did speak to me, it spelt trouble of one sort or another. I dreaded them talking to me.

‘Cynthia, you’re to come downstairs,’ I heard Daddy call. I had been lying awake in bed as usual when I heard him come in, and had been surprised to hear another man’s voice downstairs too.

Mammy was chatting away brightly, pouring drinks, and I had fallen asleep not long afterwards, feeling relieved Daddy had a ‘friend’ over and was downstairs drinking for once instead of upstairs hurting me.

I had grabbed at the chance of sleep, but now Daddy was calling in my ear, leaning over me and rocking my shoulder.

‘Come downstairs straight away!’ he told me firmly. Daddy seemed quite excited and was pulling me out of the bed. ‘Quickly. In your vest and knickers is fine. Don’t get dressed,’ he ordered.

I wondered what was going on. Normally Mammy never let me back downstairs at night, and it must have been very late, too, if Daddy was in from the pub.

‘I want you to sing the song “Scarlet Ribbons”,’ Daddy said.

I rubbed my sleepy eyes and scampered down the stairs filled with nervous curiosity. I was introduced to the ‘friend’ in the living room, and immediately noticed he seemed to be licking his lips.

I didn’t like that, but I did as I was told and sang the song. I loved singing, and because ‘Scarlet Ribbons’ was one of Daddy’s favourite songs I’d sung it lots of times and knew it well. As soon as I started singing I remembered what had happened at Christmas after I sang it.

I had taken Daddy’s dinner upstairs, and then Christmas was ruined. That wouldn’t happen tonight though. Daddy had a ‘friend’ over. Even Mammy was smiling. I sang my heart out, and everyone was beaming.

‘The nice man is sleeping here tonight,’ Daddy said to me afterwards. ‘He is sleeping in your bed - so go and show him where your bed is.’

This took me by surprise, and my heart started beating faster. I didn’t want to share my bed with a stranger.

I wondered what would happen in the bed. Was this man just a ‘friend’ of Daddy’s who needed somewhere to sleep, or was something going to happen?

I sat quietly downstairs worrying while the man went out to his car and came back with some cigarettes and a crate of beer, which he handed to Mammy. Then he gave her a large bunch of notes, and climbed the stairs with me.

I pointed to the bed, and the strange man took off his clothes and got in first, in his underwear, on the inside, nearest to the wall.

I really didn’t want to get in the bed, but I knew I had to do what Daddy told me. The man stripped off his underwear and started pointing at his private parts, as if he was suggesting I touch him down below.

He did it in quite a gentle, coaxing way and, although I was horrified, I didn’t feel as frightened as when Daddy forced my hand down and made me touch him.

I didn’t want to touch this man though, so I shook my head and said, ‘No.’ He moved closer to me, and I started to panic in case he got rough and aggressive like Daddy. ‘No, please! I don’t want to!’ I stammered, putting my hands over my face.

After a while I heard him get out of bed and go downstairs. I lay wide-eyed now, my stomach in tight little knots as I panicked about what might happen next.

The man returned with Mammy, whose eyes were blazing, even though she was talking calmly. ‘Stop being silly and let the nice man do what he wants,’ she said.

I felt petrified. What did he want to do to me? Why was Mammy making me do things with this strange man? I just wanted to go to sleep in peace. I was tired and frightened, but Mammy was getting agitated, and that might make things go really bad.

‘Just do it, Cynthia!’ she ordered crossly. Now the man was kneeling on the bed, and I could see his ‘thing’. It scared me to death, and I started to shudder and slam my legs together. I struggled, but Mammy had hold of me and was trying to push me on top of that thing.

‘It won’t take a minute,’ she told me impatiently, but still I struggled. I knew the pain that lay in store if I sat on him. I couldn’t face it.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ the man said.

It did hurt though. I wasn’t sure exactly what he did, but my mind went blank and I cried afterwards for a very long time.

As I lay there sobbing and shaking I listened to Mammy and Daddy and his ‘friend’ talking politely downstairs. It was so strange. Would it always be like this?

The next day at school, I couldn’t get the previous night out of my head. I wanted to tell my friend Eileen all about it to try to make some sense of what had happened, but I just knew I shouldn’t talk about it. Besides, I would never have found the words.

Esther came back for a visit not long afterwards. I always loved her visits, because she was kind to me and brought me new socks and pencils.

One afternoon, she walked down to the harbour with me and we sat on the beach and chatted like in the old days. I didn’t hold her hand any more. I think I was too big for that.

Something Mammy said had stuck in my head. Just before Esther came back for her previous visit, Mammy had lost her temper one day and told me, ‘Esther thinks you’re a little bitch! She looks down her nose at us all now she’s moved away. She couldn’t wait to get away!’

‘Mammy, that’s not true!’ I cried. I knew it was a lie, but Mammy was adamant. ‘Don’t tell Esther anything about what goes on in this house. I’ll kill you if you do! She’ll look down her nose even more at us if you tell her things. Keep your mouth shut.’

Mammy told me lots of things that weren’t true. She was always telling me not to tell, or to shut up and say nothing. She got me to lie to the priest about why we didn’t go to church, and she was forever getting me to lie to the nuns at school about why Martin went to school with me in his buggy, or why I hadn’t done my homework or brought in the correct equipment.

I was sure this was another lie. I really wanted to talk to Esther and tell her a few things about Mammy, but I felt afraid. What would Mammy do if she found out I had disobeyed her?

I looked out to sea and shuffled uncomfortably on the sand. I watched the waves for ages, letting all my thoughts wash over me. I thought about Mammy threatening to beat me if I told Esther what went on in our house. In the end, I wasn’t brave enough to say anything.

Another one of Mammy’s secrets was Uncle Frank. He was married to Mammy’s older sister, Aunt Mag, but Daddy hated him. ‘That man is not to come near this house!’ I had heard him yell one night. ‘D’you hear me? He is never to step foot in this house, ever!’

Daddy was furious. He and Mammy had a terrible fight, and I heard Mammy smash something on the floor. It sounded like Daddy whacked her with his fist, and they both screamed and shouted for ages. ‘You know what that girl accused him of! I don’t want anyone knockin’ on my door! Why would we have a man like that in our house? What would the cops think? Answer me that, you stupid cow!’ I tried to make sense of it, but I couldn’t. What did Daddy mean? I cried into my pillow, hoping the shouting would stop, and wondering what Daddy would do when he came upstairs.

That night seemed to go on for ever. By now, I had stopped struggling with Daddy when he got in bed, because struggling made him angrier, and he usually hurt me more when he was fuming with rage. I didn’t want him to tie me up with the belt, so I lay there rigid with fear, ready to give in and let him do what he wanted to do, just to get it over with as quickly as possible.