Unspoken - Kiss of the Wolf Spider, Part I (10 page)

“Stolen water is sweet;

food eaten in secret is delicious!

But little do they know that the dead are there,

that her guests are in the depths of the grave”.

Prov. 9:17-18

Wednesday 12 July 1989

I am not happy. We are on
school holidays. It is worse than I ever remember. Being away at school gave me
a break from my Dad. Now I’m back home he won’t leave me alone. It’s back to
the way it was in junior school. He does it anywhere he can and whenever Joanne
is out or bathing babies or sleeping. He makes me watch his disgusting movies
too. I spend so much time in that place where I watch him and close down my
mind. I think I’m wasting my life away. But it’s harder to get the movies out
of my head.

Last night he was on top
of me in the lounge when Joanne walked in. He rolled me over and covered me up
and said we were looking for my button. She just walked out again. I am sure
she knows what he is doing but she says nothing. I hate her.  I really thought God
was going to be my protector and stop this but he hasn’t stopped my Dad yet. I
don’t understand God. Sometimes I even hate God.

Those holidays passed
slowly. I buried myself in watching TV and read loads of borrowed Mills and
Boons novels which all the girls at school were reading. In my books I could be
the heroine – beautiful and strong, lovely and respected. These women met
handsome, proud men that they misunderstood and later they fell in love. They
had dramas and pain but eventually they all married and lived happily ever
after. I knew they were nothing more than fairy stories for big girls but I
loved them anyway. If real life was more like my own, who would want to read
about that?

I dreamed of having a
lovely white wedding. I’d seen Princess Diana’s on TV when I was seven years
old and I’d been mesmerised.

 Larissa Law had come back
to school after the last holidays with pictures of her cousin’s wedding where
she’d been the bridesmaid. How we ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over her photos! The
bride was a bit plump and her big lacy dress reminded me of a fluffy meringue,
but I thought it was wonderful anyway!

Larissa wore a gold satin
dress and carried the most exquisite cream and gold bouquet.  I envied Larissa
and her cousin terribly although I knew Reverend Simons had said envy was a
sin.  I couldn’t help it. I so wanted to be a gorgeous bridesmaid at a
fairy-tale wedding, preparing to be the next beautiful bride.

As it was, at that stage
in my life, I felt anything but beautiful.  My teeth were covered in ‘railway
track’ braces which hurt so much at the start, but Dad said they would make my
face prettier. 

I didn’t think it would
matter much if I was pretty or not once my prince found out that my father had
taken my virginity when I was twelve. All the girls in the books I read were
pure and seemed proud of their virginity – that word I was mortified to learn
in the hostel earlier in the year. 

What I was struggling with
was whether virginity could still count if you’d only had the “special secret
love” of a dad and not chosen to go with your boyfriend.

 Despite my doubts that
there was really such a thing as ‘true love’, I continued to spend the holidays
hiding away in my novels when my father was not making demands on me.

One Friday in those holidays,
Joanne took her kids to visit her parents for the weekend and Anthony went
camping with his friend’s family. I wanted to go to Roxy’s place but Dad said,
“No, Roxy can come to our house.”

 Well I didn’t trust him,
and thought he might start touching Roxy like he touched me.

Once before, another
friend, Emma, had come to visit and we’d wanted to swim. Dad told me to make
sure Emma changed by the door so he could watch her. I defiantly hung a towel
over the double bunk to protect my friend from his eyes. Later, during that
visit, he called me to his room for a “chat” and used me quickly while Emma
entertained herself with the game we’d been playing, so I never invited her to
visit again.

At lunch time Dad came
home. “Where’s Roxy?”

“She wasn’t allowed to
come,” I answered triumphantly. 

“Who said she can’t come?”
he asked suspiciously.

“I did,” I thought, but
replied, “Her Mom said they have visitors coming.”

“Oh.”  He sounded
convinced.

Later that day Dad told me
about a game he wanted to play with his friends Rex and Jenny. I became
hysterical and eventually he became grumpy, then said it didn’t matter and went
out. He came home much later that Friday evening, smelling of beer and
cigarette smoke.

Saturday   15 July 1989

I am so tired of my father
and his sex games. I know that’s what they’re called. They play them in the
movies he’s been making me watch.

 He nearly made me crazy
today as he wanted us to take off our clothes and take photos with his friends.
I started screaming and crying and eventually he listened to me and he
cancelled his plan.

He is disgusting. Twice
this weekend I’ve argued and prayed and won. The only thing I know how to do is
pray. But it was good to win.

Thank heaven school starts
again soon.

“My heart grew hot within me,

As I meditated, the fire burned…

Show me, O LORD, my life’s end

And the number of my days;

Let me know how fleeting is my life.”

Psalm 39:3-4

July 24, 1989

Eventually, school
re-opened. I was overwhelmed with relief at being back but settled with
difficulty into hostel life. The holidays had shattered my embryonic happiness.

The other girls had so
much to talk about. They discussed their shopping trips with their mothers;
their family holidays to various holiday cottages and visits to grandparents. I
never saw my grandparents. Dad made sure of that. He hated his own mother,
though I was never quite sure why. He said she abandoned him and no-one would
ever understand what a hard time his father had given him – or something like
that, but we were never allowed to discuss it. He never let me see my mother’s
parents either, as Mom was ‘
the enemy’
.

The girls discussed the
movies they saw at the cinemas; the clothes they bought; friends who stayed
over; parties they went to; and the boys who kissed them. They talked about
Tinkie’s love-life with Jamie; Tinkie’s horse and the competitions they won;
Tinkie’s shopping trip to the big city with her Mom... and on it went.

 I sighed. Once again I
would have to make up bigger stories about the motor-biking with Anthony and
the things I wished I’d done.  I could never tell them about the movies I saw
in the holidays. Even the shopping trip to get new clothes wasn’t fun because
Dad went with and watched me try stuff on.

My fragile self-image had
no strength to cope with rejection or criticism and I found myself crying even
more often than before - if that was actually possible!

One day early in August,
Mrs May, our English teacher, asked me to stay after class. It meant missing
some of my break, but what choice did I have?

“Jane,” Mrs May’s voice
seemed kind as she spoke. “Jane, I was wondering if you’re alright?”

I looked at her and could
feel my chest tighten. Then tears immediately began to well up. Why could I not
discuss myself  just once, without tears?

“You seem very frightened,
Jane. It’s as if you expect something bad to happen every time I talk to you. I
really don’t eat my pupils for lunch.”

She smiled and I returned
a misty smile. Mrs May pushed her brown, wispy curls back behind her ears.
“Talk to me Jane. What makes you cry so often? Is it homesickness? It’s not
natural to be homesick for so long!”

“I’m not homesick, Mrs
May. I just don’t feel like I fit in. I’m different from all the other girls,”
I answered awkwardly.

“Not really ….”

“I am, and they know it
too. They laugh at me and make me feel bad about myself and then I cry. They
all have fun in the holidays. They go shopping with their mothers and do nice
things with their families. I don’t and it’s really hard to explain.”

“Is your home really that
difficult, Jane?”

“Yes ….” I wanted to tell
Mrs May about what my father had spent all holidays doing to me but should I?

Every time I thought of
telling, those intimidating words would menace me. “
If you tell anyone I
will kill you. It is our secret.  And no-one will believe you.…”
He had
said it so often.

I tried to speak. “I’m
having a hard time at home. My stepmother hates me and she never lets me do
anything with the babies. I can’t go shopping with her and … and my real mother
hasn’t spoken to me in years. My dad … is not easy to get on with, and I don’t
have friends at home … it is really lonely in the holidays. I often cry because
of home. I’m always sad about things at home .…”

The teacher waited but I
said no more.

“What about school, Jane?
How are you finding things here?”

“I like boarding but now
I’m finding the school work is getting really hard and sometimes my mind is not
on the work … I think a lot about things at home …. It’s really hard to
concentrate.”

I so wanted to tell….

‘No-one will believe you.
They’ll just say you’re a bad person and you know you are. They will call you
cheap. They will say you are a liar. Then he’ll kill you Jane.’

The conversation ended
with Mrs May telling me to come and talk to her again if things got too
difficult to bear. Paradoxically I was relieved.....

I hadn’t buckled and told
- but perhaps I finally had an ally in the school.

I enjoyed the term for the
most part but of course all the prayers in the world could not stop the
wretched mid-term ‘closed’ weekend from arriving.

Monday 14 August 1989

I had another horrible
weekend at home. My father never stops. I’m sick of him and I’m sick of my
life. Just now I will tell someone and if he kills me I won’t care. I hate
myself as I feel so dirty and worth nothing. I feel like rubbish when he’s
finished touching me.

My side is getting very
sore. I must have pulled a muscle at sport. I feel like vomiting.

Tuesday 15 August 1989

I have the worst
stomach-ache ever and I feel so ill.

 I haven’t told anyone
because they say I am always acting and trying to get attention. I’m
miserable.  It feels so bad.

On Wednesday when the
morning bell rang, so intense was the pain, I could barely dress. I tried to be
strong and wanted to go to classes but ate almost nothing at breakfast and
hobbled up to school. On the way I noticed a couple of girls nudging each
other, whispering and giggling. One of them started to bend over and imitate
me. Eventually in the second lesson, I couldn’t stand the pain anymore, so
Megan carried my books to English.

“Jane what on earth is the
matter with you? You’re walking like an old lady! And why is Megan carrying
your books?”

“She has a really bad stitch,
Ma’am,” answered Megan.

Mrs May looked doubtful.

“How long have you had
this pain, Jane?”

“About three days. Since
Monday.”

“And do you feel bad in
any other way?”

“I feel like I want to
throw up.  I’ve been trying to do my work…but I think I maybe I should go and
lie down.”

My face was sweaty and I
was shivering. Mrs May said, “You’re looking very pale, Jane. I agree that you
should go and lie down. Would you take her to the sick room, please Megan?”

I lay on the narrow bed in
the small room next to the secretary’s office and waited for Matron to fetch
me. When my matron came in, she placed her hand on my forehead, took my pulse,
talked briefly to me and then I heard a quiet conversation between her and Mrs Martingale
just outside the door. In a matter of minutes I was being placed in the car and
taken to the doctor, “just in case”.

Dr Stanford smiled gently
through light grey eyes. He was a kind-faced man in his thirties. He touched
and pressed my abdomen in a variety of places and I nearly convulsed with pain.
As I clung to Matron’s hand I think she was a bit surprised at my fear of
doctors. I was shivering and feverish so the doctor wrapped me in a blanket. He
made a phone call and then told Matron to take me through to the General
Hospital.

I lay down on the back
seat of the car where Matron gave me a pillow and covered me with a blanket. On
the way, the pain built to a terrifying crescendo. I hardly dared breathe. The
tears were rolling again. If only my Mom was here to hold my hand. Suddenly, I
experienced an overwhelming sensation of relief.     

“Matron Ruth, the pain’s
not so bad anymore. It has nearly stopped,” I panted. Although I was still
shivering I suggested that perhaps we should go home instead. I was desperate
not to be a nuisance.

Matron slowed down, turned
to look at me and said, “No way, Lady Jane. You’re as pale as a sheet. You need
to see the doctors at the hospital first.”

Later Matron explained
that Dr Stanford had phoned ahead so that as we arrived, a surgeon on call was
ready to attend to me. He shone a torch in my eyes, gently prodded my stomach
that was not as tender now, and took my temperature and pulse. Someone else
took blood while Matron gave him the run down on what had transpired in the
car. He just nodded and said, “Hmmm,” as he wrote some notes.

As they moved
slightly away from the bed, talking in hushed tones, I heard the words: “... 
sounds like a possible ruptured appendix …” and something like  “… her father
will need to sign for an anaesthetic ….” 

Suddenly
nurses were asking me questions; they wanted my dad’s phone number; someone was
filling in forms and someone else changed me into a tiny white gown that didn’t
want to close properly. They covered me with a green sheet and told me I had a
suspected burst appendix and needed an immediate operation. I was bewildered. A
pill was popped under my tongue and I was told everything would be alright.

Things became
a little hazy and it was difficult to focus. They wheeled me down long
corridors past babies being carried by their mothers. I saw old people in
wheelchairs with tubes in their arms and noses. Doors opened and closed as my
trolley passed through and doctors, nurses and other people dressed in green or
white clothes seemed to be everywhere. We all went into an elevator and voices
echoed round in my head as we continued down even more corridors. As in a
strange dream, I clung to Matron Ruth’s hand until someone said, “Matron Ruth
can’t come past here, Jane. You’ll have to let her go.”

 I heard the
words but couldn’t respond. My hand was lifted from Matron’s and I grasped back
but my life-line became fuzzy and disappeared as my trolley was pushed into yet
another room. Strange smells and sights assaulted my semi-conscious senses. I’d
never been in hospital before and was overwhelmed. Next I was being wheeled
through a heavy rubber curtain. They quickly lifted me onto a different table
and someone said,
“You’re going to have an operation, Jane. You need to relax now and
breathe into this mask. You won’t feel the operation at all.”
I was momentarily terrified. What would Dad and
Joanne say? Now I’d really be in trouble.

 
The
last I remember was staring into a huge
shining light above me, trying
to count to ten.

Thursday 17 August 1989

I’m in hospital as I had a
burst appendix and they said it was an emergency. Appendix is part of your
intestine. I was really scared and I didn’t know what was happening. When I
woke up the nurses were trying to hold me down. They said I was shouting lots of
things they didn’t understand and I was punching and kicking everyone.

My father and stepmother
were there and they were telling me to stop kicking. They asked why I hadn’t
called to tell them what happened. My arm was freezing, and strapped to an uncomfortable
drip. I couldn’t answer their questions. I just wanted to sleep and I did. When
I woke up I asked a nurse for a pen and paper so I can write about it.

Saturday 19 August 1989

I’ve had a reaction to
iodine so I will be here about five days. Joanne came yesterday with biscuits
and cakes and I can’t believe she’s being so nice to me.

My father came to visit
today and asked me to walk around because I had pink P.J.’s that were a bit
see-through. I was really sore but he made me walk. He asked if I’ve told
anyone our secret. One day I will say yes just to give him a heart attack!
Sister Jordan, the nurse, keeps making me laugh and it’s so sore that I almost
hate her. But she says it’s to make my muscles stronger.

Monday 21 August 1989

I am going home later
today. I’m sad. I like this hospital and you get to eat whatever you feel like.
My father has been here often, asking if I’ve told anybody our secret. I’m
really scared of going home as I know he’ll want to touch me and I’m so sore
from this operation.

Tuesday 22 August 1989

Joanne fetched me
yesterday. She came with the little ones.

For the first time, I was
allowed to sit in the front of the car. She was all of a sudden so sweet to me.
I felt awkward and spoilt. When we arrived home, Dad was waiting for me. I had
to go to bed and soon he was talking to me and touching me in his way and
asking me if I was sore. I said YES. He got cross with me. I started crying but
I refused to let him near me and Joanne came in. She told me to go bath and she
would change my dressings. I shut the windows so my father couldn’t look at me.

Wednesday 23 August 1989

Dad says I have to stay
home for two weeks because of the operation. I told them I have to go back for
exams; anything to get away.  I know he will try to use me and I’m way too
sore.