Daddy's Prisoner (13 page)

Once again, the tall detective came back to see me and I asked him anxiously how Mum was.

‘A bit down,’ he replied. ‘She’s wondering what’s happening with you all.’

I almost told him everything that day. I just wanted it all to end, to be free and go home, to believe the people who told me Dad would be locked up if only I spoke out. But I couldn’t find the words and so I stayed silent. I knew I had to do something to find out more about Mum so I decided to sneak home. I was terrified because I hadn’t seen The Idiot since he was taken away by the police. Would he know that I’d kept my mouth shut or would he be angry with me? But I knew I had to at least try to find out how Mum was. My heart beat as I knocked on the door and waited.

‘Alice!’ my mum cried as she let me in.

I walked into the living room where Dad was sitting. He looked terrible – unshaved and dirty – but relief flooded over me as I looked at Mum. She was pale and quiet but not bruised and broken.

‘So you’re back, then?’ Dad snarled. ‘Where the fuck have you been all this time?’

I told him what he already knew – that I’d been at the foster carer’s.

‘It’s the first time I could get away,’ I said.

As Dad started firing questions at me, I turned to look at Mum. Suddenly I saw everything I’d prayed I wouldn’t in her eyes. They were flat and lifeless, there was not even a spark of light in them. She’d lost hope, she didn’t care any more what he did and she’d let him do whatever it was he wanted because she had given up now the kids had gone. It was all my fault.

‘Get over here and tell me what you’ve been saying,’ Dad yelled. ‘What have those little shits been telling those do-gooders? What have the police been asking?’

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘We haven’t told them anything. The police asked to take blood from me but I refused.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They wanted a sample. They said they’d take one from you, one from me and one from the baby when it comes. I told them they didn’t need to because Simon’s lying.’

‘And what did they say?’

‘They weren’t happy but I knew you wouldn’t want me to do it.’

‘And so why the fuck are the little ones still with social services if you’re not talking? Why haven’t they come home? You must have done something.’

‘I haven’t, Dad, I promise. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘You’d better not have or you’ll be sorry,’ he snarled. ‘I want those do-gooders off my back and the kids back here.’

The Idiot sat and glowered in the corner for the rest of my visit – staring at me and asking questions about what I’d been doing.

‘So you’ll be out of foster care in a few weeks, then?’ he spat as I got up to leave.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, keep yourself in line while you’re there.’

He glared at me and once again I knew what he was telling me. Mum might be safe now but not for long if I opened my mouth. I turned to hug her goodbye. I didn’t want to leave her. Dad’s eyes burned into me as I left and his words ran through my head as I walked back to the foster carer’s.

In a few weeks I’d turn eighteen and he knew what that meant – I’d be free to run as far from home as I wanted. But how could I? I had a baby growing inside me, Mum was at home, the kids were in care – everything was such a mess. How could I ever leave it all behind? The detective had kept trying to tell me that it could all turn out all right but I knew different. I could never go against Dad. I was on a leash and every time he tugged, it just got tighter. I would never be free until I knew Mum and the kids were safe. I stared down at my swollen belly as I walked along the road and knew just one thing for sure: I had to be there for Mum. I had to go home when I was released from care. I had to protect Mum because she wasn’t going to look after herself. That was all I thought about as I walked along the road but what I didn’t realise in that moment was that I was about to give The Idiot his most precious gift yet: the knowledge that I’d chosen to return to my prison. Now he’d know that as long as he had Mum, he had me.

Dad smiled as he felt the baby twitch.

‘That’s him turning around,’ he said as he moved his hands across my stomach.

‘How do you know it’s a boy?’

‘Because of the way you’re carrying.’

He stared at my naked chest.

‘Your milk will be here soon. It’s not long now.’

I pulled away from him. The only time The Idiot’s voice softened was when he talked about the baby. He’d hardly said a word when I walked back into the house the day I turned eighteen. Mum had a faint bruise on her face and seemed as lifeless as ever. But just to make sure I didn’t get any ideas, The Idiot had ripped up a benefits cheque a social worker had helped me collect. He didn’t want anyone else meddling with my money because it belonged to him – even if it meant destroying a cheque.

‘How dare you let them interfere?’ he yelled. ‘Your money is nothing to do with those bastards. Did you think you were going to keep it?’

‘Of course not. They just took me to collect it.’

‘That money’s due to me so don’t try any of your tricks. Do you hear?’

‘Yes, Dad. I know.’

The abuse had started again now I was home even though my stomach was big. Once again, I closed myself off from it, sensing that Dad was on the edge now and ready to snap. He was constantly alert for any sign of betrayal, suspiciously asking questions as he waited for another knock on the door from the police, and more watchful of me than ever. Paranoid and on edge, he kept the front door locked all the time and only let Mum and me out to go to the shops and back.

A few weeks after I got home, the police had come again to take Dad away for questioning and he’d ranted about one particular policeman when he was released. The Idiot was sure this officer was out to get him and although I didn’t know if it was the kind detective who’d spent so long trying to convince me to speak to him, it was obvious that Dad hated this man, which only made him meaner.

I hardly left home now. Dad drove Mum and me to the supermarket once a month and otherwise I was only allowed out to get bits we needed at the shops every now and again. He wanted to know where I was and what I was doing every second of the day and made me move from the bedroom upstairs that I’d shared with the girls to a box room off the lounge so he could keep an even closer eye on me. If I went to the toilet, he’d shout for me after a couple of minutes; if I took too much time making his cup of tea, he’d holler. Day after day we sat together, as naked bodies flickered on the TV screen and Dad barked orders at Mum and me.

I knew he was thinking about Simon – raging that the kids still weren’t back and someone was getting one over on him. A few weeks after I got home, I walked into the living room to find out he’d written a statement for me that he wanted me to copy and give to the police. It said Simon had raped me and that he was the father of my child.

‘This will set the cat among the pigeons,’ he’d sneered. ‘It’s called a preventative measure. If Simon wants trouble he can fucking have it. That little shit has got this coming to him.’

Mum stared at us and for a moment it looked as if she was going to speak but then she sat down again.

‘What are you doing, you stupid bitch?’ Dad snapped. ‘Get up off your fat arse and get me a cup of tea.’

She walked out the room and he beckoned me forward.

‘Just remember: you’ll be in just as much trouble as I am if anyone ever finds out about your baby. You know that, don’t you? Now copy the words out in your own writing.’

I sat down in a chair and took the pen and piece of paper he handed me. After I’d reproduced his words in my own handwriting, he read it through.

‘There are spelling mistakes in it, you stupid cow. Do it again. You can’t get a fucking thing right, can you?’

Later I was sent down to the police station to hand in the letter and the tall detective read it before speaking to me.

‘Why have you only reported this after Simon made an allegation against your father?’ he asked.

I stared down at my huge tummy. I’d be sent to prison if I didn’t do as Dad said.

‘I was scared,’ I whispered.

I didn’t like telling the lie and to be honest I don’t think the detective believed me. He didn’t say it straight out but I was secretly relieved when nothing ever came of the letter and Dad’s attempt at revenge failed.

Meanwhile, Mum was like a ghost – so withdrawn it was as if she wasn’t there any more. I knew she was thinking of the kids during the long hours when she sat silently staring into space. I missed them too now I was back at home. The house was so quiet and there was nothing to do without them. Picking up after them, sorting out their food and cuddling them in the night had kept me busy but now the days seemed endless as each hour dragged by.

Mum and I pinned our hopes on the kids coming home as we set about painting their bedrooms. We wanted to make things nice for when they came back to us and Dad allowed us to do it because he’d do anything to get the little ones back. It was a question of pride after all – he might not really want them but he didn’t want anyone else getting them either – and, of course, money. The precious child benefit he’d collected for each of the kids had gone and money was tight now. As the weeks passed, The Idiot had got angrier as he counted out every penny and examined shop receipts to make sure the change we gave him added up exactly to what we’d spent. If a penny was missing, we knew we’d be for it.

Mum and I painted the walls of the girls’ room lilac and put up wallpaper with pictures of pirate ships and castles for Charlie as we talked about the day they’d come home. We both knew Simon wouldn’t be allowed back but I knew the hope of getting the little ones returned was what kept Mum going because it was the same for me. I’d look after her until the kids came home again and the house was filled with their life once more. I didn’t even question whether they’d be safer away from Dad. I just wanted to be with them more than anything in the world.

Sometimes I caught myself thinking of the baby as we decorated, wondering what it would be like when it arrived. But I stopped myself as soon as the thoughts came into my head. Remembering how it had been brought into the world, I would hate it again and pretend to myself that the day would never come when it would be born. I couldn’t think about it or imagine holding my baby in my arms, knowing it was his. I knew now that The Idiot wanted this baby to be the first of many because he’d told me we’d have more kids after it came.

‘What?’ I gasped.

‘Your mum can’t have any and I want more so you’re going to give them to me.’

I refused to think about what he’d said as the baby grew. I felt like a prisoner inside my body as well as the house now and nothing – not even a visit from my brother Michael – could free me. He’d arrived one day a few weeks after I got home from foster care and I had no idea who was waiting for me when I went to answer a knock at the door. Standing outside was the brother I hadn’t seen for six years. He looked so different to the young man I remembered. He was all grown up now with a powerful chest and longer hair, a beard and moustache.

‘Michael?’ I whispered.

I couldn’t believe he was actually here – so close I could touch him after all this time.

‘All right, sis?’ Michael said as if he’d never been away. ‘I’ve heard about what’s happening with the kids and I’m here to see Dad. Where is he?’

‘In the lounge.’

Michael walked into the house bold as brass and I turned to follow. Nerves filled me. What was he doing here? What would Dad do? It had been so long but I knew his hatred for Michael was as strong as ever.

‘Hello, Dad,’ my brother said as he walked into the living room.

The Idiot stared up from where he was lying watching TV.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he hissed.

Dad shot me a look as I stood in the doorway. His eyes were black and his mouth twisted into a sneer. Mum sat motionless on the sofa as if she could not believe that Michael was actually real. He walked up to kiss her before turning to Dad again.

‘I’ve come to talk about the kids,’ my brother said.

‘What do you mean?’ The Idiot snapped.

‘I’ve heard about what’s going on. I know the kids aren’t here and I want to have them to stay with me.’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘I need your permission if they’re to leave the children’s home. They shouldn’t be there when I could be looking after them. The social workers say the kids can stay with me while this is sorted out.’

‘Are you joking?’ Dad screeched. ‘Do you think I’d let them go with you? You’re not having them.’

‘Why not? It would be better than a children’s home.’

‘Never,’ Dad screamed. ‘Over my dead fucking body. Do you think you can walk back in here and start laying down the law, you little bastard?’

‘I just want to help.’

‘You? Help? You’re nothing but a piece of shit, like a bit of dirt on the floor that needs to be swept up. You’re nothing to us.’

I stared at Michael. Anger and sadness jostled on his face as he and The Idiot started screaming. Mum and I kept quiet, knowing we might get a slap if we spoke up, until Michael suddenly turned to look at me.