A Song for Joey (7 page)

The street was still in darkness, punctuated with little pools of yellow light beneath the
street lamps, though the sky was beginning to lighten over to my left, with the first rays of
the sun. Looking around, I saw a light shining from the window of a small shop, and went
to see if there was any shelter. It turned out to be a baker's shop, but it was closed - the
light I had seen was coming through an open door inside, shining out from a brightly-lit
room behind.

However, drawn by an appetising smell of fresh bread that wafted from the rear of the
building, I tiptoed around to the back of the shop, where I found an open door, which was
emitting those gorgeous aromas and the sound of men's voices in light conversation. I
stopped in the shadows beside the door, hidden from their view, feeling the escaping
warm air gently caress my arms and legs.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a man stepped through the door into the yard, where he
stopped to light a cigarette. When he turned, he saw me hiding.
"Now then, what have we here?" said sternly. Come to steal some cakes, have you?"
He was a stocky man, but tall, with broad shoulders. He wore just a shirt, with the
sleeves rolled up, over a pair of white linen trousers held up by braces.
"No, sir," I pleaded, "I was just cold and came to get warm."
"Better come inside with me, then." He turned to re-enter the shop, but I hesitated.
"Come on, don't be scared, I won't eat you."
I followed him inside, where he called out to his colleague working there. "Jacob, look
what I found outside."
The man addressed as Jacob turned and grinned at me. "What, you hungry, kid?"
"Not hungry, sir, just cold."
"I should think so, out in this weather dressed like that. Would you like a nice hot cup of
cocoa?"
I nodded, vigorously, smiling nervously, relieved that they were not hostile.
"Go and sit over there, then, and I'll bring it for you," he said, waving an arm towards a
couple of wooden chairs standing against the end wall.

I did as instructed, and felt the heat of the ovens seeping into my body, driving out the
shivering cold. I watched him cross the room and pour some milk into a saucepan, which
he put on a big cooker in the corner by the window.

While he was busy, I looked around the bakery. The other man had returned to his
cigarette outside, and I imagined that, to them, the cool night air must be a delight after
being in the heat of their workshop. It was not a big room, just enough space for the two
men to work side-by-side on a single, scrubbed wooden table on one long wall, while the
whole of the opposite wall was occupied by a massive oven with three steel doors. One
was open, revealing the glowing coals that were providing the heat that was thawing my
bones.

He returned with my drink, and a little cake with a cherry on top. Then came the
question I had been dreading.
"Why are you out alone at night in the middle of winter, little one?"
It was asked in a kindly way, and I wanted to be honest, but I didn't want to explain in
detail about my situation, and I especially could not tell anyone what had just happened.
My mind refused to revisit that place. So, instead, I just said "We were flooded out of our
house."
"Well, you'll freeze to death in this weather with only that dress on. Where are your
parents?"
"My mum died, and my dad had to go somewhere," I mumbled. Best not to give too
much information.
"And why are you limping?"
"I sprained my ankle."
"So who is looking after you? And what's your name?"
"Belinda." Avoiding answering his first question.
"How do you do, Belinda," he said with mock formality, extending a plump, floury
hand, which I shook, smiling shyly. He sat on the chair next to mine.
"I'm Jacob, and that there is "Donkey." He grinned at his colleague, just re-entering the
bakery, after his cigarette. "His real name is Don, but we call him Donkey on account of
his strength. He's the strongest man I know; can pick up two hundredweight-sacks of flour
with one hand!"
Jacob looked to me like a jolly clown. His round, red face was warm, smiling and
friendly, and his fat body, clad all in white, completed the impression of someone who
was fun to know.
"Now then, Belinda. My conscience won't let me send you back out into the cold alone,
dressed like that. So I'm going to leave Donkey to manage without me for half an hour,"
he looked across to his partner, who nodded, "and I will take you up to my flat above the
shop, where my wife will fix you up with some warm clothes. Ok?"
At the mention of going to his flat, my mind filled with memories of being alone with
Grainger. I began to panic, and my face must have told him something was wrong.
"Hmmm, there's something you haven't told me, isn't there?"
I nodded.
"Do you want to tell me?"
He was perceptive, and so kind, I hated myself for being afraid of him; he was nothing
like Grainger. But the words would not form to tell him what had happened, my brain
refused to allow the memories to the surface. After a while, I managed to say "There was
a man. He touched me."
He looked shocked, and took a moment to consider his reply. When he spoke, it was
with a hoarseness, a kind of suppressed anger that made his lips tighten and his words
sound strained.
"I think I know what you are telling me, and I won't ask you to say any more, I can see it
is very difficult for you to talk about it." He paused again, looking down at his knees for a
few seconds, then he raised his eyes back to meet mine. "Wait here, I will ask my wife to
come down to meet you."
He stood and walked slowly towards the door leading through to the shop, deep in
thought.

Jacob's wife was just like him - plump and pink and kind. Her name was Edith. She
came bustling into the bakery behind him when he returned, with a concerned smile on
her face. She chatted with me for a while, then asked me if I felt safe to go with her to the
flat. I agreed, and she led the way to the stairs. I turned and waved to the two men as I left,
and they each raised a hand in return.

"Jacob told me how you came to be here," she said, studying my face carefully. "You
don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but I want to help you, and I can do
that better if you tell me what you can. Is that ok?"

I nodded, looking down and shuffling my feet; Edith was nice, but I just wanted my
Gran.
"Don't worry," she continued, "you're not in any trouble. Now, have you had any
breakfast?"
"I had a cake and some cocoa with Jacob."
"Would you like a boiled egg and soldiers?"
I nodded again, happily; Gran often made me boiled egg for breakfast, it was my
favourite.
Edith seemed to have a constant supply of words bursting to pour out. She wittered on
the whole time she was cooking my egg, and continued while I ate it. I sat at the kitchen
table, swinging my legs as I dipped the toasted fingers of bread into the lush orange yolk,
while she told me all about life as a baker's wife.
When I had finished eating, I told her about my Gran and the guest house, and the flood.
She took my clean plate and stood at the sink, washing it with a few other things.
"I heard on the wireless that hundreds of people had to be rescued," she said over her
shoulder.
"Yes. Gran managed to get me out, but she was left behind; she's in hospital in Norwich,
but I don't know how she got there."
"What I don't understand," Edith continued, "is: how did you end up over this side of the
town?"
I was unprepared, and as I cast my mind back over the past 24 hours, memories of
Grainger and his vile hands immediately returned, flooding my mind with sickening
images, sounds, sensations and smells. It was as though it was happening all over again,
and I cried out, involuntarily. In a second she was at my side, crouching down and
touching my hand lightly with hers.
"You're safe now, Belinda, don't be scared. Jacob told me what happened. I promise I
won't let anything hurt you while you're here."
I clutched at her arm and sobbed into her dress. The recollection had been just like
reliving the whole torture, moment by moment, and still the memories rang in my head,
leaving me shivering with emotion. She gently patted my back and stroked her fingers
through my hair, making soothing noises until, slowly, the trembling eased and the
racking sobs stopped.
She brushed the tears from my cheeks with a hankie that had appeared from nowhere.
"Shall we try to find out where your Gran is?"
I swallowed, panting from the violence of my reaction, wiping my eyes with the back of
my hand. "Yes, please."
Edith squeezed my arm reassuringly. "Good girl."
She took my hand and led me to where a big, black telephone sat on a small table in her
hallway. With the help of the operator, she was soon talking to the desk sergeant at the
police station, enquiring about Mrs Cartwright, of
The Nest,
in Trafalgar Road.
She squatted beside me and held the phone so that I could hear the whole conversation.
The officer checked his records and informed us that he had heard nothing, but would try
to find out for us. Edith told him that she would make sure I was well cared for until we
had news of Gran, and he promised to ring as soon as he had something to report.
After she replaced the heavy handset into it's cradle, she led me back to the kitchen and
sat me again at the table. She poured me a glass of milk, and then sat opposite me, a
serious expression on her face.
"Belinda, you have had some terrible experiences over the last few days. I want you to
know that most people are not like that awful man. You are safe here. Jacob and I would
be happy to look after you until your Gran returns, but you don't have to stay here if you
don't want to."
"You're a lot like my Gran; I think I would like to stay with you, until she comes home,
please," I said, seriously.
When I look back at those few days after the night of the flood, my mind oscillates
between extremes of emotion, flicks from the awful moments of Grainger's abuse to the
security and kindness of the time I spent with Edith and Jacob. In the scale of other, later
events, it might seem that the abuse was insignificant, a small assault - but that's because
it wasn't you who lived through it, whose innocence was violated, stolen, in a few seconds
which meant nothing to that beast, but which cast a cloud over the rest of my life.

My stay with the Macintoshes lasted much longer than expected. Gran's health was
badly affected by the events that occurred after I was rescued, and it was months before I
saw her again.

Inspector Randal came to see me with news about her and what had happened. He told
me that the police had managed to track down one of the labourers who was lodging with
us at the time, and he told Archie about that night.

We discovered that Gran had waited at her window for an hour after I was rescued,
becoming increasingly worried about my welfare. According to the man, she suddenly
shouted "I'm coming, Belinda!" and jumped into the freezing waters. It seemed to the man
that she was trying to swim in the direction of the town, but she had not realised that, by
then, the tide had turned, and a fast flow of water was rushing down Trafalgar Road
towards the seafront. She was swept away, and that was the last he saw of her. He
assumed she must have been carried out to sea.

The police found out the rest of the story from the Royal Navy. The crew of their rescue
helicopter had found Gran at dawn, clinging to the telephone box that stood on the corner
of Trafalgar Road and the seafront. They lifted her off and took her straight to Norwich
Hospital.

Tough old bird that she was, she refused to give up on life, and was gradually nursed
back to some kind of health. But it was an ordeal that had profound effects on her,
physically and mentally. Her eldest son eventually took her to stay at his home in
Yorkshire, where she remained for nearly six months.

Mr Randal also asked me what had happened at the Graingers'; he said that Edith had
told him the little that she knew. At first, I didn't want to remember any of it, but he
explained that it was important that other children were protected from men like Grainger,
so I eventually managed to recount everything. I didn't hear any more about it, but Edith
told me sometime later that the Graingers had moved away. I felt sorry for Phylis; she had
seemed nice, and I thought she deserved better.

When the news arrived, six months later, that Gran would be coming home, I suddenly
had mixed feelings. I was overjoyed at the thought of seeing her again, of course, but had
grown to love Edith and Jacob, who had cared for me as though I was their own daughter.
I could also see that they were saddened at the thought of my departure.

The following morning, Edith helped me to pack my things, then she and Jacob drove
me to Trafalgar Road to wait for Uncle Ernie to bring Gran from the railway station. We
arrived early at
The Nest
, to find that all external traces of the flood were gone; it had
been cleaned and repainted, and the little front garden had been replanted with summer
flowers. We sat together on the low wall, and waited.

But one thing I have learned is that once things change, they can never return to how
they were. Gran was not the same person I had known before the flood. When the taxi
pulled up and she stepped onto the pavement, blinking in the sunlight, squinting at the
guest-house as though it was the first time she had seen it, I could tell that she was
different.

I ran to greet her, arms outstretched. "Hello Gran," I called happily as I ran, but she did
not respond, just looked at me, blankly.
"Gran, it's me."
Realisation was dawning that she had forgotten me, I felt my voice catch. She continued
to stare at my face, uncomprehending. I blundered on, my earlier joy gone, a kind of panic
rising in my chest, my words falling out, making me sound like a Red Indian in a bad
movie: "Me, Belinda."
"Belinda?" She spoke slowly, pronouncing the word as though she had never said it
before.
"Yes, you remember, Belinda, your granddaughter."
She just shook her head, confused, and my uncle cut in. "Don't bother her now, she's
been through a rough time thanks to you," he hissed. "Carry her bags in." He turned away
from me and led Gran through the gate and up to the front door; I noticed that he had the
keys in his jacket pocket, and that he cast a critical eye over the new paint as he unlocked
the door.
Stunned, not knowing why he was so aggressive, I picked up the two bags, but Jacob
took them from me, with a little turn of his head that said: "Don't let him get to you." We
followed Gran and Ernie up the familiar red steps, through the hallway and on into the
lounge.
"Where do you want these cases?" Jacob asked. "I can take them upstairs if you like."
"Who are you?" Ernie demanded, glaring at Edith and Jacob.
"Edith and Jacob Macintosh," replied Jacob, evenly, putting one case on the floor and
extending his right hand to offer a handshake. "We have been looking after your niece
since that awful night."
"Well," spat Ernie, ignoring the offered hand, "it's a shame she wasn't put into an
orphanage. Been a burden on my mother ever since my feckless sister dropped her. Leave
the bags there, the girl can make herself useful for once and take them up to mother's
room."
"I really don't think she's strong enough for that, she's only seven years ... " began Jacob.
"I didn't ask for your opinion," Ernie interrupted, "and I don't appreciate your
interference. If you are not keeping the little brat, I would like you to leave." He glowered
at the pair of them.
Jacob looked down to me. "What do you want to do, pet?" he asked, softly. "You can
come to live with us if you would like to." I saw Edith nodding behind him. "You know
we would love to have you."
There is one moment in everyone's life, I'm sure, that decides their entire future; a
crossroads. No matter how carefully we reason, we cannot know where each branch will
take us. All roads lead over a hill to a future that is hidden until we are committed; then it
is too late, we cannot change our minds, cannot turn back and try one of the alternatives.
Once the first step is taken, it is irrevocable. This was the day I shall always remember,
that definitive moment when I made the worst decision of my life.
I hugged each of them. "Thank you so much for everything. I love you both very much,
but Gran needs me, I cannot leave her." And, with that, I destroyed a future that would
have been happy and contented, and embarked on a life punctuated with harshness and
pain.
I waved goodbye to them at the door, watching until their Ford Popular turned the
corner of Regent Road and they were lost forever.