Handstands In The Dark: A True Story of Growing Up and Survival (34 page)

‘I am Ashley Storrie and I don’t speak slang. Nice pearls. Where is my classroom, please?’ She never even looked back at us to wave goodbye. Mrs Finley smiled to us as she led Ashley inside to hang up her blazer and start her first day. Sean and I stayed standing alone in the street, watching mothers and fathers say goodbye to sad children who did not want to be left there. We stood quietly, late autumn flowers still in bloom nodding their heads all along the railings that bordered the playground. We walked down the hill together. Sunshine beamed through rust and orange trees to give the West End of Glasgow a superior glow. Big tall town houses and massive mansions lined the back streets of Byres Road. Hippy coffee shops lined the main street next to upmarket book stores and music shops that specialised in finding the one song you thought everyone had forgotten about. This was an area where couscous and mung beans were organic, coffee was served in big steaming bowls and practically no one dressed in sportswear unless they were actually running through the park or on their way to play hockey. All I could think of that day was
This is where my daughter will grow up; this is where she will meet poets and educated people and folk who don’t swear loudly and come from broken homes; this is where she will mix with people who are not like me
.

Ashley loved school immediately and seemed to make friends very easily; she was a real social butterfly. Every day she jumped from bed, ran into the living room to get ready and couldn’t get to school quickly enough. The teachers were very pleased with her progress and made encouraging comments on her behaviour and attitude. They organised a special Concert Day to bring all the new
parents
and children together. Each child would sing one verse from a song of her choice and we would all gather round and have tea in the school hall beforehand and enjoy meeting other parents.

When the big day came, Sean and I hung around at the back; he had never been very good at meeting new people and preferred me to do the talking as always. Most of the parents were slightly older but lovely people and nice to meet. The concert started, the girls sang sweetly and we clapped along, watching proudly. When it was Ashley’s turn to sing, she took a deep breath, started to stamp her feet, then smiled a big smile at me and belted out: ‘
We don’t need no education
.’

I thought my toes were going to snap inside my shoes and my womb was going to fall out with embarrassment as she sang and sang. Ashley smiled after she finished, and announced very demurely, ‘That was from my favourite album Pink Floyd’s
The Wall
.’

The room was deathly quiet. Ashley continued smiling at me. No one reacted. Then the headmistress broke the silence by laughing really loud and shouted from the back, ‘Well done, Ashley! Anarchy at five! You will make head girl!’

She was going to be fine at this school.

THE WEAVERS WAS
working out fine too; customers were being loyal and we tried our best to make sure they were looked after. But Sean’s health suddenly took a downturn and he started to get very weak again; I was worried he would have another brain haemorrhage. He had stopped eating and was sleeping too much during the day and never enough at night. The doctor sent him for more tests but nothing was found. He was already on constant medication from the last brain problem and his mood swings were becoming more difficult to deal with. He started shouting at me again. I would run out in the middle of the night, return in the morning, get Ashley to school and then open up the Weavers and pretend nothing had happened as Sean needed to sleep the day away and would not talk about what had happened last night.

We could keep up this charade as long as Ashley was not affected. When we were alone, we veered from love to hate and anger, from affection to spitting in each other’s faces only to emerge smiling from the back shop to serve a customer. It was like a scary fairground ride that neither of us was willing to get off. I had married Sean when I was only 19; I had no idea how other people lived and loved.
Did they scream and rage? Did real love have to be this intense? Was I addicted to the drama?
I didn’t know but, even when it
all
went smoothly, I would pick at him until he exploded – I would argue with him, shout at him, remind him what a bastard he had been, how he had hit me, how he had made my life difficult, how all my dreams had had to be put aside because his dad had a pub to run – I’d pick-pick-pick until … Here we go again! He turned back into an angry polar bear and we hopped back on the fairground ride.

I cry.

He shouts.

I run.

He searches for me in the back streets around the pub.

I return in the morning.

He shouts.

He sleeps.

I open the Weavers.

That was my marriage. I made it like this or, at the very least, I accepted it. My own family was up in arms. I seemed to have a knack for upsetting everyone. I had talked openly about the abuse. My Aunt Rita was very disturbed. I was talking about her brother. She never actually said anything to me but she did go and see my sister. Ann and Aunt Rita were very close, much closer than Ann and I were. Aunt Rita asked outright if what everyone was saying was true. It must have been hard for Ann to tell her the truth, because Aunt Rita was a very sickly woman, always in and out of hospital with breathing problems, cystic fibrosis and lung disease. Ann later told me that, when she told Aunt Rita the truth about our past, the woman was distraught. I hated hurting everyone with this scabby knowledge. It was like I held a key to everyone’s misery.

* * *

My brothers Mij and Vid also had to deal with the fall-out from our revelation. Both of them lived near Uncle David Percy and both had to face him either up at our dead grandfather’s house or in the local pub. It caused particular problems for Vid, who had friends in the Orange Lodge and who hung out among Rangers football fans, usually including David Percy. Vid told me he avoided and never really confronted my Uncle, which was fine by me; I realised Vid was stuck in a difficult position, caught between his friends, his Protestant culture and his sisters’ honour. Ann and I both made it clear to everyone we did not want violence or to be ‘avenged’ in any way. I told people we would deal with it in our way which, to be honest, was actually to do nothing, not even talking to each other again about what had been done to us when we were children. I felt Ann didn’t need to know the details of what I had gone through and I didn’t really need to face her story in depth. We both knew he had abused us and that was all we needed to support each other. But Ann attended a psychologist and I started group therapy.

My group unfortunately met in Kenmore Street – just yards from the house where it all happened. Having to deal with the location on top of the memories themselves upset me at the time, but the women in the group were amazing and we all pulled together. I did benefit from those therapy sessions; I felt better each time I left Shettleston and returned to my world back in the Calton.

Occasionally, on my way back down Kenmore Street, I would throw a glance up at my Mammy’s old window, half-believing she might still be sitting there, blowing out her spindly smoke circles and gazing out towards the big gas tanks and Barlinnie High Security Prison and all the houses of High Carntyne. I wished she were still there for
me
to talk to. I could ask her so much, tell her so much, and hope that, this time, she could face the truth like her two daughters were now trying to.

SEAN AND I
had booked another holiday in Florida because, now that Ashley was older, she would enjoy the trip more. Sean was much easier-going during the trip and seemed to be enjoying himself. One night, we sat on a beach, Sean, Ashley and me, all curled up in a blanket inside a big blue cabana, watching the Florida sunset and, after darkness fell, Sean let Ashley get up and paddle in the moonlight.

‘Daddy, come on! It’s midnight swimming time!’ she squealed as she ran splashing along the shoreline.

‘She might die in there!’ I yelled out – I could hardly see her in the darkness – She might fall in and drown – I ran down the beach – Searching through the darkness – I couldn’t see her – I could hear the ocean – Not see it – I was scared.

But she
was
there, holding Sean’s hands and tip-toeing through the surf, humming and singing:

She’s gone with the Hoola Hoola boys
…

I could see Sean’s wide smile: he was holding her hands, singing along and making his wee girl happy just by being there.

He made things easier for me at times; when I was confused and scared he could always calm me with his reassuring words. I had always believed in my heart he never really wanted to hurt me. I knew he loved me dearly. Yet he was the one person who did hurt me most. I had never really understand why he felt so destructive at times. Somehow the love we shared either ripped us apart or pulled us together.

‘Janey,’ he told me in Florida, ‘never accept things you can’t live with. I know I fucked you about. I’ll never deny that.’ He held my hand. ‘One day you will know where you want to be and – if it is not with me – trust me, I will make it easy for you. I won’t fuck you about any more.’

When Sean said those words to me, I remembered a regular in the Weavers who loved to play word games with me. He was very educated and loved crosswords. He worked at the new computer company across the road in the Templeton Business Centre. He sported long greasy hair, big goggly spectacles and clothes that implied he liked to dress in the dark at a jumble sale. He was the archetypal nutty professor.

‘Janey, what word is spelt the same, sounds the same but has two opposite meanings?’

‘Don’t know, you tell me,’ I replied, unsmiling, looking at a row of unwashed glasses.

‘Cleave,’ he announced smugly. ‘It means to pull apart and to stick together.’

That single word described my relationship with Sean.

We were ‘cleaved’.

I wanted to love him without fear and look forward to a lifetime with a man who didn’t scream at me and make me climb out of windows to escape his rage. I also wanted to hate him, but I had to keep reminding myself he was Ashley’s daddy and I could no longer genuinely wish him dead because she would be fatherless. I knew I could not
take
her away from him and I knew I could not leave without her.
What point would my life have if I left my daughter?
So the bond between Sean and me became much stronger but much more volatile. I needed our relationship to work so that Ashley’s mind would not be fucked up. I almost wished her life away; I would look at her and think:
Hurry up and be 16!
The minute she was 16, I would leave Sean; I would only be 40 – not a bad age. I had it all planned.

* * *

Ashley still loved her school and so did I. There, I was just Janey Storrie – I wasn’t Sean Storrie’s wife and that felt nice. Ashley made friends easily, felt secure in her world and was often invited to tea at other girls’ homes, some of which were huge mansions with gravel paths and enormous gardens she could play in. It did make our pokey wee flat above the Weavers feel very inadequate. Ashley never mentioned if she felt overwhelmed by the superior financial status of her new friends though she spoke with pride of her pals’ big cars and swimming pools in the garden. I worried we might not be good enough for her and became stressed in case Ashley would feel ‘the poor girl’ of the class, exactly as I had.

Fortunately, this never seemed to happen; she loved the world of the Weavers bar with the flats above and the garden on the roof. Although she lived in our flat, she had access to most of the other flats and rooms in the building. Her playroom – specially decorated for her – was actually in the flat next door to ours – a whole room next to Old Wullie’s. We never kept the doors locked during the day and she would drag her toys back and forth all over the landing stairs which were very often carpeted in dolls, toy cars and tiny pots and cups. It became so bad I had to keep making sure she cleared part of the stairs in case someone stumbled over the toys when coming up or down. If the boys who lived upstairs came across her on the landing, they would be held emotional hostage. She was the only child in the building and she knew how to manipulate that situation to her advantage.

‘Steve! Play with me for a wee while, please? I will be the teacher and you can be the good child who gets to read!’ Before he could react, she would put a book in his hand. ‘Please! You are my best pal! Please play for just this many minutes?’ Her hand would hold up five chubby fingers and she would smile her biggest smile. ‘Now sit down and I will get all the teddy bears and Mr Bovey the panda bear to listen to your wee story!’ She would point to the old grey stone stair, smiling and pleading with her big eyes. ‘Please?’ Her world was full of obliging, happy people – young men who danced to her songs, read her books and swung her up high any time she asked.

* * *

Sammy had been her favourite uncle for the longest time but, lately, he had been avoiding her – in fact, avoiding all of us. He was hardly offering to work any shifts in the pub and any time I knocked on his door to see him, he made me feel like a stranger standing there. I was concerned as Sean and I had taken out the loan for him in our name to buy his car; he was paying it back as agreed but it seemed to be the only time we ever saw him. After a few weeks of this, Sammy came to us with news that he and Sarah would be moving out and going to live up in Coatbridge, 20 miles outside Glasgow. Sarah’s family lived out that way and she seemed happy with the move. But I was very suspicious. Sammy did not get on well with Sarah’s family and he had never seemed keen to move away before. When I pressed him for further details he just brushed me off.

‘Sammy, whit the fuck is this all aboot?’ I persisted. ‘You belong here with us. Who the fuck do you know in Coatbridge?’ I handed him a mug of tea, watching as he scooped the fat ceramic mug between both shaking hands to steady it.