Four Waifs on Our Doorstep (18 page)

‘I like doing the fun bits,’ Mike always said. Every Saturday or Sunday he would take them somewhere, to the park, to the woods, on a drive, to different places every time.

‘Where are you going today?’ I asked him one Saturday.

‘Do you think they’ve ever been on a train?’ he asked.

‘Errrmm.’

‘Right, I’ll take them on the train to Ashbridge today.’

‘You should have seen their faces when the train pulled in to the platform,’ said Mike that evening. ‘Poor Simon had a hissy fit!’

‘I suppose he’d never seen a life-sized train before,’ I said, smiling. ‘It’s a bit different to rolling his toy train along the kitchen floor!’

‘Yes, and he really didn’t like the noise it made.’

‘What about the others?’

‘They really enjoyed it.’

He didn’t mind how far they went, even to London. One time he took them all the way to Blackpool to see the illuminations.

‘Right,’ he said on Father’s Day, ‘do you think they’ve ever been on a bus? I’m going to take them on the double-decker bus to Birmingham for the day.’
Most dads would want the day off, but Mike loved taking the children out – that was his treat and he always spoiled them rotten. They had a great time, and jostled through the front door when
they arrived home, worn out and happy, all competing to tell me about their adventures and what fun they’d had. I dreaded to think what junk food they had eaten with Mike, but I tried not to
worry about that.

Mike has always been a great dad and a very good husband.

If it was a frazzly day, I would only have to say: ‘Do you think you could take the children swimming while I get this done?’

‘Yep,’ he would say, even if he’d just walked in through the door. He always said ‘Yep,’ taking them to the fair, the cinema or whatever.

He never once turned round and reproached me with ‘Well it’s the life you chose’ or anything like that. He doesn’t pretend to understand the psychological side.
That’s the bit I’m interested in. He just wants to see them happy. He’s been very, very good.

As usual, early one sunny, summer Saturday, Mike was planning where to take the kids for the day.

‘The countryside or a beach,’ he said. Mike was never really into funfairs or theme parks, so it was usually somewhere he was happy to go.

‘Why don’t I come with you today?’ I said.

‘Really? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. It’s time I came along and we had a big family day out together.’

‘Great!’ he said with a smile. ‘That will be a real treat.’

‘Let’s go for a picnic, somewhere with a beautiful view.’

Mike immediately got out his road atlas, picked a destination and worked out the route, while I started on making the sandwiches.

The children came rattling down the stairs and breakfast was the usual scrum.

‘Where are we going today?’ Hamish asked Mike through a mouthful of food.

‘We’re going on a picnic,’ I replied.

‘Are you coming too?’ asked Anita.

‘Yes. We’re all going on a picnic together.’

‘Hooray . . . we’re going on a picnic . . .’ The children cheered and hyped themselves up for the outing.

We loaded up the car with all the food, enough for an army, and we squeezed in a football, cricket bats and stumps, a kite, rackets, balls and God knows what else.

Mike chose a pretty drive that he knew I would like, through stone-built villages and country lanes, towards Ashbridge. As we drove along a ridge, he pulled into a stony lay-by, opening onto a
lovely wide expanse of moorland. We found a flat spot and I handed all the tins and containers out of the car to Mike, who passed them along the line of children to Hamish at the end, where we had
spread the rugs. He lovingly set out all the food and we sat down to eat.

‘What a lovely day!’ I said. ‘Lots of blue sky, sunshine, a slight breeze and just one wispy, white cloud on the horizon. What do you think it looks like?’

‘Cotton-wool?’ ventured Hamish.

‘A cat with its paws in the air,’ suggested Anita.

‘A rabbit!’ shouted Caroline, entering into the spirit of things.

‘What do you think, Simon?’

‘I think it looks like a cloud,’ he shrugged, and we all laughed.

We played games to start with; everything in quick succession, as they all had the concentration span of a dragonfly, flitting from one thing to the next. Then they tucked in to the food. No
knives and forks today, so they really stuffed themselves with gusto.

When the food was all gone, we took some photos. Then the children ran around and played some more games with Mike, while I packed it all away.

Finally, when we’d been there God knows how long, I called out to them all.

‘Come on, it’s time to go home.’

Mike, Anita, Caroline and Simon packed all the games things back into the car, but Hamish wandered around with his chin on his chest, kicking the ground in a temper. I went over to him.

‘What’s the matter, Hame?’

He wouldn’t reply and refused to speak to anybody, only climbing into the back of the car at the last minute and sitting in a sulk all the way home.

That evening, I put the younger three to bed first, then came back to find Hamish in the bathroom, brushing his teeth.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him as he rinsed his mouth out.

‘You promised.’

‘What?’

‘You promised we were going on a picnic,’ he said.

‘We have been on a picnic’

‘No, we haven’t.’

‘Yes, we have. We’ve been on a picnic today. You were there. You ate the food.’

‘But we didn’t go on anything.’

I suddenly understood his confusion.

‘Aah,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t going on a ride or anything. We just went on an outing. We went on a picnic. That’s what people call it when you eat sandwiches and things
outdoors on rugs.’

Of course, Mike had previously taken them on all sorts of rides, on buses, on trains, on donkeys, on fairground rides . . . This was one of those times when I realised how their limited
vocabularies and speech-patterns could still affect their understanding and enjoyment of things that everyone else takes for granted.

One night, when I was tucking Anita into bed, she gently smoothed her hand across the soft cotton of the duvet cover with a smile and a happy sigh.

‘I love the sheets,’ she said as she lay down.

‘Oh yes? What do you like about them?’ I asked, thinking she meant the colour.

‘We didn’t have a bed each. We had a mattress for all of us, and we never had sheets or a duvet, just a filthy blanket.’

‘A mattress on the floor?’

‘Yes, and I always used to try and find a dry bit.’

I couldn’t get that image out of my head for days. Even now, it still makes me shudder.

‘I like tidying up,’ said Caroline one day, as she helped Hamish and Anita to put all the toys away in their boxes and cupboards in the playroom, then wiped clean
the blackboard we had put on the wall for them all to draw on.

‘Good. You can go up and tidy your bedrooms too, if you like.’ It was encouraging to see them all, even Simon, getting
some pleasure from making their surroundings clean and tidy. The two older ones in particular were becoming quite fussy about putting their clothes away neatly in their wardrobes and drawers.

All four of them now washed their hands and faces and cleaned their teeth without needing to be reminded. And Caroline was at last getting over her fear of the bathroom. This was definite
progress!

We hadn’t seen or heard of Jill for a while, but out of the blue we had a call to say she was coming to visit the children again.

‘She probably won’t come,’ said Hamish with a scowl.

‘I hope she doesn’t,’ added Anita.

As usual, we arrived in good time and settled down in the family room. I knew the children had mixed feelings about this, but I hoped she would actually turn up this time.

She arrived on time . . . with Kevin, and I could hear an argument in the reception area. As soon as the children heard Kevin’s voice, they drew closer to me and listened with anxious
expressions – fearful even.

‘I’ve come to see the kids with Jill,’ insisted Kevin. His gravelly voice had a startling effect on all the children. Hamish in particular resumed his protective mantle.

‘You can’t let him in here,’ he pleaded with me.

‘I want Kevin to come in with me,’ Jill’s shrill voice resounded. ‘He wants to see my kids. They will want to see him.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I tried to reassure them. ‘I’m sure he won’t be allowed in.’ Well, I was nearly sure, but there was only the social worker and me, so I
hoped we could stop him.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Mackay. You know the rules. If your friend does not leave the building immediately, I will call the police.’

There was a pause when we couldn’t hear them speaking, and then the front door opened and closed. I went to look out of the window and Kevin was sitting on a bench outside the patio doors.
I checked they were locked.

Jill sidled in with a forlorn expression, her hair lank and her clothes shabby, emphasised by their contrast with her bright-pink plastic shoulder bag.

‘Why did you have to bring Kevin with you?’ asked Hamish, keeping a watchful eye on the man they all feared, his back to the building, smoking a roll-up and tapping his foot
impatiently on the flagstones.

‘He helped me come on the train,’ replied Jill with a distracted glance towards the patio doors. ‘He wants to see you.’

As before, Jill sat on a chair and more or less ignored the children as she fiddled with her phone, texting.

At one point, Caroline went up to her with a picture book. At least Jill didn’t push her away this time. Instead, she took Caroline’s hand and walked her across the room to the play
area, and whispered to both of the girls. Anita immediately cast an imploring glance in my direction, as Jill tried to steer the two girls towards the door. I looked at the social worker, who
glanced at me and we both hurried across to intercept them.

‘No, I don’t want to,’ wailed Anita, trying to pull away from her mother’s grasp.

Caroline looked confused and Hamish came running over to try, as always, to protect his sisters from their own mother and her dangerous friend.

‘Leave them alone, Mum,’ he pleaded.

‘I’m only taking them out to the toilet,’ Jill said, trying to open the door.

‘I’m afraid you cannot take the children out of the room, Mrs Mackay,’ said the social worker. ‘Trisha, can you take them, if they want to go?’

‘OK. Who wants to go first?’

‘Can we both come?’ asked Anita.

We went across the entrance area.

‘I don’t really need the toilet,’ she said when we got there.

‘OK. Let’s go back then.’

‘No. I don’t want to be with Mum.’ She was trembling as she spoke. ‘She wants to take us to see Kevin.’

‘Oh . . .’

‘I don’t like Kevin,’ wailed Caroline.

‘I hate Kevin,’ added Anita. ‘He hurt me.’

‘Me too. I don’t want him to hurt us again.’

‘We’re all frightened of him. He tried to take away Mum’s baby.’

By the time we got back into the family room, Jill had gone.

That night, both Anita and Caroline sleepwalked and had terrible, screaming nightmares all through the night. Hamish mumbled and cried out in his sleep. Being deaf, Mike
didn’t hear a thing, but I always had the baby monitors on, so I heard every distressing sound. I can almost hear it still.

15

O
ne Saturday, the children got ready for Mike to take them off for the day, as usual.

‘Right, Trisha,’ he said. ‘We’re off now.’

‘Here are your lunch boxes,’ I said to the kids, handing them over to pack in their backpacks. ‘Have a good day.’

Then I turned to Mike. ‘Please don’t buy them any sweets or fizzy drinks. Please do not buy them any gunge, rubbish, or whatever.’ Those were my last words to him as they piled
into the car.

I knew Mike would go to Tesco’s and pick up his papers first, and then they were all allowed to choose a small bag of sweets each. I suspected it of course, but I never let on.

I was revelling in the prospect of a whole day of peace and quiet, to do the chores uninterrupted and maybe have some time to read. But only half an hour after they left, the phone rang.

‘Oh my God, Trisha!’ It was Mike’s anguished voice at the other end. ‘You won’t believe what . . . I’ve just been asked into the manager’s
office.’

‘What for?’

‘I thought I’d won a prize – millionth shopper or something, but it was nothing like that. He was very angry and he’s made all the children pull their pockets
out.’

‘Right . . .’

‘Hamish had a small pack of Jaffa Cakes. Simon had his pockets full of Pokemon cards, stuffed to the gunnels. Caroline had been the lookout, which she wasn’t very good at, and she
just had a small packet of sweets.’

‘What about Anita?’ I asked, knowing that of all of them, she was the most likely to steal.

‘Well, that was the strange thing. The manager didn’t find anything at all in her pockets.’

‘Did he look in her pants?’

‘No.’ Mike laughed. ‘He didn’t want to get into that kind of trouble!’

‘But I bet that’s where she’s stashed her haul.’

‘Well, I’ll have to leave that to you to find out.’

‘Did any of them say anything?’

‘Yes, Anita said Simon was taking the Pokemon cards for Red Nose Day.’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘She said he was going to sell them at school to raise money for charity.’

‘Right,’ I said to Mike. ‘I’m coming straight down to the store, big guns blazing!’

Luckily, the manager knew Mike well as a customer, so he just wanted us to make sure it didn’t happen again. Out of the children’s hearing, I told him my plan and he let them go with
no more than a telling-off, this time.

As soon as we got back home, I lined them up in the hall and put on my cold, angry voice.