Street Kid (28 page)

I was relieved that she and Mum didn’t have an argument about who was meant to be meeting my train. It would have been embarrassing and I sensed it would have only made horribly plain what was pretty obvious anyway – that my family didn’t want me.

Let’s face it. Mum only wrote that she was missing me with the safety of six thousand miles of water between us.

She never imagined for a moment that I’d actually turn up on her doorstep asking her to prove it.

Chapter Twenty-four

T
hings went from bad to worse. We stayed two days in the chalet, which was no bigger than a caravan, with barely room enough for the four of us. Rose and Lily, who at thirteen and fifteen weren’t at all happy having an unknown sister foisted on them, looked at me with suspicious eyes over their breakfast bowls. I’d had to share Lily’s bed the night before, which hadn’t pleased her at all. Neither of my half-sisters remembered me from before; and, as my mother clearly hadn’t mentioned me over the years, I must have come as an unwelcome shock to the pair of them.

Back in Sale, Lily went into a huff. I didn’t really blame her. She’d been told she had to continue sharing a bed with me and she was furious.

‘But Mum, she kicks and I get too hot. Please. I don’t want to!’

‘Look, Lily, I haven’t got the energy for this.’ Mum looked exasperated. ‘Just do it, okay?’

I had slipped out of the room but I could still hear them arguing, and it made me squirm.

The next morning it was no different.

‘But, Mum! Pickles won’t sleep on my bed with Judy
sharing it. You said I could have her on my bed! I can’t sleep without her.’

Pickles was Lily’s first love, a fluffy tabby who spent much of her time asleep in my sister’s bedroom.

We lasted two more nights before my mother caved in and I was moved out of Lily’s room to sleep on the settee. After that, both my sisters pretty much ignored me.

The day after we got back to Sale, Mum took me down to the Social Security office. At the counter, she spoke to the lady in a whinging, hard-done-by voice. ‘I’ve got no money to look after her. My husband’s away in Ghana and I just can’t cope with another mouth to feed.’

‘I really don’t know how long I’m going to be able to look after you, Judy,’ she said as we made our way home on the bus. ‘It’s nice having you and all, but money doesn’t grow on trees.’

I’d grown sick of hearing about money not growing on trees the whole time at my father’s and it depressed me hearing my mum say it now.

I’d already given Mum the six pounds from Dad, which she’d stuffed in a jar on the shelf, saying, ‘Oh very big of him, I’m sure.’ His patronizing gesture hadn’t been lost on her either. But now, even with the money to tide her over, all she did was complain that she couldn’t cope.

As the days passed, I found there were other things that felt horribly familiar too.

I’d been hoping that I could relax at Mum’s and have a normal life, in a place where I was accepted; where I could open up and be myself. I longed to be able to pop down to the corner shop and have a chinwag with the lady behind the counter, or chat to our neighbour over the fence – to have an ordinary, comfortable family existence.

It came as a shock to realize that I was Mum’s shameful little secret. She’d never told her friends or neighbours that she had another daughter, and now she clearly felt too awkward to explain. She’d no doubt told people I was just a visiting relative, and now didn’t want anyone to discover she’d lied to them. At this time, and in this place, keeping up a decent front was all-important, the first commandment. If you didn’t, there’d only be nasty tittle-tattle, or people might turn their backs and ignore you when you went down the shops.

During the first week of my stay, I walked into the living room to find that Rose had invited a couple of friends over. I introduced myself to them. ‘Hello, I’m Judy, Rose’s sister.’

It felt like I’d committed the most shameful treason. I could tell I’d said the wrong thing when I saw my mum’s frozen expression. Then, clearly not knowing what to say when two surprised faces turned in her direction, my mother walked quickly out of the room. I stood in the doorway, mortified. I wanted to creep away and hide but I didn’t have a bed I could curl up on and Mum was in the kitchen. I went and sat on the toilet instead.

How can I be in a place where they have to hide who I am? Where my mum feels ashamed that I exist? Where my sisters can’t stand the sight of me?

I knew then, as I sat there trying to make sense of things, that I was on my own again, and that I’d have to move on soon. It would be a couple more weeks, though, before I knew for certain that it wouldn’t be a case of Mum coming to love me the more she got to know me.

During those two weeks, things got worse and worse. Mum started picking on me, at first only mildly but later more viciously, until I didn’t know what to do or where to
put myself. Everything I did was wrong. If I tried to be helpful, I got ticked off for getting in the way.

Soon, there seemed to be a whole campaign waged against me by Mum and my sisters. I didn’t know if they’d actually planned a strategy to get me out – to make it so unpleasant for me that I’d have to leave – but it certainly felt like it.

Nothing was said overtly but I overheard whispered snipings where Rose or Lily would accuse me of borrowing their clothes or touching things in their bedrooms. I couldn’t bear the little looks and nudges they gave each other constantly and my mum never chose to stick up for me. She just joined in the assault.

‘Judy, there was a pen and a pad of paper in the kitchen drawer. Please don’t take things that don’t belong to you. Money doesn’t grow on trees here, you know.’

She sounded horribly like Freda, who always used to accuse me of stealing her stuff, and it made me want to put my hands over my ears.

The straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t long in coming. One afternoon, in my third week, my mum accused me of stealing some photographs. Soon after I’d arrived in Sale, I’d asked her if she had any pictures of me and Dora and Mary when we were little. She’d said that she’d look them out for me, but had never got around to it. Now, two weeks later, she came to me, absolutely furious.

‘You’ve stolen the photos. I know you have, so it’s no use lying.’

‘But I’ve never seen them. How could I have stolen them?’

‘I know exactly where they were and they’re not there now.’

‘They must be somewhere else. Mum, please! I really haven’t seen them.’

She went off on a rant then, making so little sense that it wasn’t worth arguing with her. Her face was a mottled beetroot colour and the bulges of fat around her chin wobbled as she shouted at me. Her eyes didn’t seem to see me at all. I stood there, cheeks flaming, horrified she should be saying such poisonous things and wanting her to stop.

‘I’ve got friends in South Africa, you know. They’ll find out for me where the photos are. Where you’ve sent them.’

Stop! Please, stop!
I wanted to scream. Somehow, hearing Mum’s torrent of petty, ridiculous words – utterly lacking in logic – was the biggest trial of all for me. I just didn’t want to be part of it, part of her, any more.

What am I doing here? I’ve escaped one unbearable life. All I wanted was a fresh start, but I’ve come back to find this.

I left the next morning while Mum was at the shops. I couldn’t bring myself to say goodbye, so I left a note on the mantelpiece instead: ‘You’ve always been a family and I haven’t been part of it. I think it’s best if I leave you to get on with it.’

I didn’t know where I was going to go but I’d seen advertisements pinned to a board in the local newsagent’s window. I hoped I’d find someone who had a room to let. Luckily, I still had just over a pound in my purse, though that wasn’t going to last long.

I found a grotty room in a house in Crumpsel. I took it because it was cheap, but there were no sheets on the bed, and I didn’t have a towel either. At night, I laid my coat over me to keep warm, and during the day I sat with it wrapped around my shoulders. I couldn’t afford to buy coal for the fire and, as I was used to the warmth of South Africa, the damp weather quickly stole into my bones until I felt cramped and stiff. I sat in a dismal slump for days,
barely moving. Only once did I leave the room, to buy a packet of biscuits from the corner shop.

I felt worse than I ever had before. Throughout all the years of abuse and loneliness one thought had always sustained me: that I’d one day be reunited with my sisters. Now I no longer had that dream to comfort me or spur me on.

What’s the point of going on? Why fight for something better when all you get is the crap kicked back in your face? I’m sick of other people. Sod them all.

Like before, in Lenasia, I was filled with a deep sense of isolation, and the haunting thought kept circling around my head:
No one knows I’m here. I’m all alone on this godforsaken planet with no one to care for and no one to care for me.

I don’t know how many days I sat there with my coat around me, hardly moving. I felt like I was sinking further and further down a huge, black hole. I didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere. I vaguely heard people coming and going in the boarding house but wasn’t aware of much else. Once, when I looked around the room, in my stupefied state the hideous red flowers on the wallpaper seemed to be laughing at me.

After what must have been about a week, something made me claw my way back out of the black hole of depression that had almost consumed me. It was as if I could just make out a pinhole of light far above me, and I struggled towards it, fighting for air. Then, from somewhere inside me, came a voice, an energy that was my spirit: ‘You’ve got two choices. You can either die here or you can go out and start again. You’ve done it before; you did it on the street. You can’t say you don’t know how.’

I got a job in Woolworths, on the cotton and button counter. It didn’t pay much but I could get a two-course
meal in the canteen for a shilling, which helped enormously.

I’d reached a turning point, sitting there in my dismal room at the boarding house, staring at the packet of biscuits which had been my only source of food. Woolworths was just a start, to get me back on my feet, and put a hot meal inside me every day. Soon, I was thinking of finding a better job, and somewhere better to live.

I was scouring the local paper on my lunch break one day when an advertisement caught my eye.

W
ANTED
: Girl with gymnastic abilities to train as trapeze artist. Previous experience not essential.

Chapter Twenty-five

I
spoke to a man called Speedy Barham on the phone. He told me that he owned a trapeze act called the Australian Air Aces and that he needed a new trapeze artist to make up part of his team. I told him a little about myself and he invited me to come up to Bellevue for an interview the next day.

I’d seen plenty of posters advertising the Bellevue zoo and amusement park, but I had no idea of the sheer scale of the place. My bus seemed to snake its way for miles around the perimeter of the grounds before eventually dropping me outside the main entrance.

I walked inside and was almost whirled away by the loud hurdy gurdy music coming from a waltzer to my left. Towering over the scene was a rollercoaster, the famous Bobs, with its little carts thundering down the track. The noise of screaming, music and shouting was hugely exhilarating and the colours of the stalls, flags and bunting all flowed into one big joyous tapestry.

I made my way to the circus building, where Speedy had told me to meet him, and my heart started beating faster, not with nerves so much as excitement. It was as if a drumbeat was beckoning me home. I was back at the circus, and every part of me felt it was where I belonged.

I sat down in the huge hall and Speedy joined me a few minutes later. He gave a big, open smile and I felt instantly relaxed with him.

‘Hello, you must be Judy,’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘Let’s go to a quieter place and then you can tell me all about yourself.’

Speedy led the way to one of the rooms alongside the main hall. I only realized then, as I followed him, that he was quite a small man. He was the sort of person that had so much easygoing confidence that it somehow made him seem much bigger.

It was lucky that Speedy was so easy in his skin as it made the interview less of a strain on me. I simply answered his questions briefly and honestly. Speedy wanted to know where I’d come from, what abilities I thought I had, and what gave me the idea that I would want to be a trapeze artist.

I told him about Wilkies and what I’d learned there. I sensed that he was pleased I wasn’t simply a competent high-school gymnast but someone with a real knowledge of what circus life was all about.

‘You know, this act is really hard on you,’ he said. ‘It’s not just about being athletic. Even carrying the gear is exhausting. I’ll need someone with stamina and spirit. Only the strong survive.’

Speedy looked at me speculatively and paused for a moment. I gazed right back at him and my expression didn’t waver. He nodded then, satisfied.

I’m used to tough … I’m stronger than you’d imagine. A survivor.

Speedy had spoken the language of my life, and it didn’t faze me one bit. If I’d managed to lug Freda’s big tin bath of laundry at the age of eight, then I’d certainly manage this.

‘Righto, Judy,’ Speedy got up from his chair and I stood up too. ‘I’ll give you a week’s trial. I’ll know by the end of that time whether you’ll be a goer or not.’

I wanted to leap onto the trapeze right there in the circus hall to show Speedy what I could do.

I’d got my chance and I was determined not to blow it.

As soon as I got home I spoke to my supervisor at Woolworths and asked if I could take a week’s holiday. He said I could and, two days later, I returned to Bellevue.

Speedy’s yard was just a short distance from the Bellevue grounds. He opened the big wooden gates to let me in and led me to his tour bus. It was parked next to a large garage building which served as Speedy’s rehearsal studio.