Read My Daughter, My Mother Online
Authors: Annie Murray
Joanne was struggling to find an answer to this –
he’s sort of lost himself –
when Marcia’s head popped round the door.
‘I’ve put him in the basement for a bit,’ she said to Gina. ‘He’s calming down. But he needs some cool-off time.’
‘All right then, ta, Marcia,’ Gina said. She seemed unconcerned, despite the murderous sounds that had been going on earlier.
But Marcia was not going to let her get away with this. She was wearing the black leggings again, but this time with a long, emerald-green blouse. She folded her arms. ‘We need to talk, Gina.’
‘All right then,’ Gina said nonchalantly, not meeting her eye.
‘Hello, Joanne,’ Marcia smiled. ‘You two have met then. Got everything for the moment?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ Joanne said.
‘And how’s little Amy this morning?’ She came over and made a fuss of her. ‘How did you both sleep?’
‘Not very well,’ Joanne admitted. She felt tearful again and swallowed it back. What the hell was she doing here, in this dismal house with these crazy people?
‘Oh, I don’t think anyone does the first night,’ Marcia told her. ‘You’ll settle in, don’t worry. Now you’ve met Gina and, well, you saw Mariam, didn’t you?’ She turned to Gina. ‘Any progress there, drawing her out?’
‘What – that Paki girl? Nah . . .’
‘Gina . . .’ Marcia said in a warning tone.
‘Sorry, Marcia – but she’s not going to talk to someone like me, is she?’
‘I don’t see why not; you’re friendly and outgoing . . .’
‘Nah.’ Gina denied any positive praise. ‘She’ll just think I’m a scumbag . . . She’s one of them religious ones, isn’t she?’
Marcia sighed, hand on her hip. ‘All I’m asking is that you try a bit. Is that too much to ask?’
‘I do try! I do!’ Gina protested with an exaggerated shrug. Joanne could see that, though she was in her twenties, she was still somehow a child.
‘Now who else is there . . . ?’ Marcia said.
‘I met someone upstairs: an Irish lady . . .’
‘Ah yes, Maeve – she’s got two little girls with her. In fact the youngest, Siobhan, is only a bit older than Amy. They might play together all right. The older one, Roisin, is young for her age too. They’re both very quiet, withdrawn . . .’
‘Not like my lot,’ Gina put in, almost proudly.
‘No,’ Marcia said in a dry tone. ‘Not at all like your two. Anyway, the other woman here is Doreen – up in the attic with Mariam. She’s quite a quiet lady, a bit older than all of you.’
‘Fucking punchbag that one,’ Gina said.
‘Gina!’
‘I mean, poor woman, that’s all . . .’ Gina put on a wheedling tone, which immediately made Joanne feel even more wary of her.
‘She’s here with her youngest son, Danny – he’s seven? Isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, not that you’d know it,’ Gina said.
‘I’m going to check on Jason,’ Marcia said firmly. Joanne was impressed by her air of authority. ‘When you’ve finished breakfast you’ll need to go down to him, Gina, right? Jackie’s coming in today, so she’ll come and do some stuff with them. And, Joanne, we’d better have a chat later, talk over a few things – when you’ve finished in here, okay?’
Joanne nodded and attempted a smile. Her face had trouble with that and, instead, tears rushed into her eyes. ‘Okay,’ she said.
‘How’re you feeling about things?’
They were sitting in Marcia’s office. Jackie, the other residential worker, had put her head round the door. She was a dark-haired, big-boned woman in her thirties.
‘Catch you later,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to interrupt.’
Marcia had put a few toys out for Amy and she was playing with a big articulated crocodile at Joanne’s feet. From her chair Joanne could just see cars passing on the road, behind all the netting. The world outside seemed very distant, as if she had already been removed from it for weeks. Tears ran down her cheeks.
‘I feel really bad. I don’t think I should be here. I mean, I’m sure everyone else is in a far worse situation. I shouldn’t have come – I should have stayed and worked at it with him. I’ve been so stupid. He’s not a bad man . . . I just think I ought to go back . . .’
Marcia leaned forward, her face full of concern.
‘But you
did
come here, didn’t you?’ Her voice was calm and gentle. She paused for a moment, then went on, ‘No one does that lightly. You took a very big step, in leaving – a very brave step. You must have had your reasons. Would you like to tell me a bit about it?’
Joanne hesitated, then it all came spilling out, about how Dave had changed, how it had all built up so that she was afraid of him. The phone calls; the way he had punched her and tried to control her.
‘It wasn’t all the time – I don’t want you to think that. Some of the time he was perfectly all right. Only lately it had got worse; he was always on at me – wouldn’t trust me. He kept on at me: you know, in bed as well. He thought I was having affairs with other men – even if I just talked to someone. And I wasn’t, I’m not like that. But I could manage . . .’
She patted her pockets, looking for something to blow her nose on. Marcia reached over and offered her a box of tissues. She looked solemnly into Joanne’s eyes.
‘Are you saying he raped you?’
Joanne felt a shock go through her. ‘Raped me? No!’ She thought for a moment. ‘No. Not that. I mean, I never said no or anything – it wasn’t like that. I s’pose I just did what he wanted, but I wouldn’t call it rape.’
Marcia nodded, listening.
‘Then last week, he started on me – but then he took Amy upstairs. He was already in a temper and he’d hit me, thrown me across the hall . . .’
Marcia held up a hand. ‘Stop a minute. Can you hear what you just said?’
Joanne thought about it. She looked down into her lap. ‘Sounds bad, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s not normal behaviour.’
‘No. But then the thing was, he lost it with Amy. She was crying because she could hear us and she was frightened. He grabbed her out of her buggy and took her upstairs. I was scared to death of what he’d do . . .’ She began weeping again, remembering. ‘I ran up after her and he was in the bedroom, shaking her, hard. Her little head was shaking back and forward . . . I was afraid he’d break her neck.’
‘So what did you do, Joanne?’
‘I hit him. I had a . . . I had a . . .’
A wave of hysteria passed over her at the memory and she started laughing helplessly, the tears still flowing.
‘It’s not funny – I know. But there was this tin of corned beef in my shopping. I took it upstairs and I whacked him with it: on the head, twice. He was bleeding and he let go. Corned beef . . . !’ The uncontrollable laughter surged up in her, then dipped into more tears.
Marcia watched her, quietly. ‘Do you want to go back to this man?’
Slowly Joanne raised her head. ‘
Yes
. No. Oh God, he’s my husband, he’s Amy’s dad . . . I don’t know at the moment.’
‘In the end,’ Marcia said, ‘the decision’s always yours about whether you go or stay here. But why not give yourself a bit of time to think? I know it must feel really difficult, miles from home in a new place. But you’ve done it now. Look.’ She stood up for a second to click on the kettle that was resting on top of the filing cabinet, then perched on the chair again. ‘I’ll fill you in on what’ll happen, to begin with. Megan will be round later today and there’ll be a case conference – I’m guessing tomorrow . . .’
‘Will I have to go?’ Joanne said, horrified.
Marcia nodded, smiling gently. ‘Well, of course – you don’t want people discussing you
without
you being there, do you?’
‘Well, no . . .’ It sounded terrifying, as if she was the one on trial.
‘Look,’ Marcia seemed to read her mind, ‘they’re there for you. Not to tell you off or be against you. It’s all to help you decide what to do. And to be honest, from what you’ve told me, you’ve been very strong and done the right thing. It takes some people years to do what you’ve done.’
Forty-Three
That first day seemed endless to Joanne.
It was grey and overcast outside, and in any case she did not want to go out. It didn’t feel safe. She wanted to wrap the house round her like a cocoon, even though it was dark and gloomy and foreign to her.
Megan came to see her, late in the morning, and once again they sat in Marcia’s office and talked about the case conference, which only increased Joanne’s worries.
‘The police will almost certainly interview your husband,’ Megan told her.
Joanne’s nerves were in such a state that all day she found it impossible to relax. The stress of all that had happened, of being in this strange place with other people whose reactions she was uncertain of, filled her with tension. Smells of other people’s food came from the kitchen. Her stomach was queasy and she found it difficult to eat anything, or to settle to do anything. Apart from seeing Megan, she stayed in her room trying to keep Amy occupied.
All she could think about was the telephone. She knew Dave’s work number off by heart. Perhaps if she just gave him a quick call? She felt as if a thick piece of elastic, attached to him, was pulled tight inside her. As if she needed to explain to him, for him to understand.
This is why I’ve done this to you. Can’t you see?
Marcia had told her it would be very unwise to contact Dave at this stage. Perhaps she should call Mom and Dad? But no, what could she say? The only person she could talk to would be Karen, and she wouldn’t be home until later. Maybe she should call Dave first . . . ? The thoughts spun in her head, giving her no peace.
Eventually, Amy’s bored restlessness drove her downstairs. She went to make a mug of tea. Thinking the kitchen empty, she walked in, her guard down. But there was someone there after all and she jumped, her pulse racing: Mariam. The girl’s head whipped round when she heard someone come in. She too was intensely on edge. But immediately she looked away again. Joanne examined her, a tiny, frail figure in a dark-blue Asian suit and a black scarf. She only looked about sixteen, but it was hard to tell. Joanne felt very sorry for her. Suppose she didn’t speak any English? She must feel so alone here without any of her own people.
She struggled to remember what she had been taught to say by some of the girls at school. Softly, experimentally, she said, ‘
Salaam
. . . ?’
There was a pause, then a tiny mutter came from by the cooker. ‘
Salaam aleikum.
’
But Mariam didn’t turn round. A moment later she poured hot milk into a mug and walked past with it, with only a flicker of a glance in Joanne’s direction. However, she looked a fraction less severe and frightened than she had the last time. She disappeared and Joanne heard no footsteps receding. The girl moved like a feather drifting over the ground.
Joanne thought about Sooky. An ache filled her. If only she’d just walk in here now. It would be so good to see her familiar face and friendly smile.
After her tea and some milk for Amy, she went to the playroom. The house was surprisingly quiet after the comings and goings of the morning. There had seemed to be a constant stream of people in and out: social workers, advisors about benefits and housing. To her relief there was no sign of Gina or her boys. She heard Marcia’s voice from behind the office door, talking fluently as if on the phone.
In the playroom she found the Irish woman with her two girls, who both jumped visibly when she opened the door and looked round with terrified expressions. With her was another woman with a young boy. Joanne realized the woman must be Doreen.
Hesitating at the door, she said, ‘All right if I come in?’
‘Course it’s all right,’ the Irish woman said. ‘But shut the door behind you, will you?’
The other woman merely nodded, sitting hunched on a chair beside one of the child-sized tables. She was horrifyingly thin and wrung-out-looking. Her hair, almost grey with a few streaks of remaining brown, straggled round an emaciated face, the skin loose and prematurely aged, out of which stared blue, watery eyes that seemed to hold an infinite sadness. Her son, also skinny, with a very pale face and cropped, mousy hair, had also leapt to his feet when Joanne came in. After looking at her, he subsided warily back to the floor, where he was playing with some cars.
Amy toddled over to the other girls as if drawn by a magnet and stood watching them chalking on a little blackboard. They were guarded at first, and then the oldest, Roisin, quietly got up, took Amy’s hand and pulled her to sit down with them. The little one, Siobhan, reached up and touched Amy’s pale hair.
‘That’s it,’ their mother said. ‘You play nicely now.’ She looked at Joanne. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Amy,’ Joanne said.
The woman said her name was Maeve. She seemed to take charge. ‘That’s Doreen,’ she added, nodding across the room. ‘And Danny.’
Doreen gave the faintest nod.
Joanne tried to smile at her. ‘I’m Joanne,’ she said.
The three of them sat there for a few moments, not knowing what to say.
‘Have you been here long?’ Joanne asked Maeve eventually.
‘Ah, no, just a few days. We’ll not be here long.’ She spoke in a way that suggested she wasn’t really here at all and was above all this. ‘Just a bit of a misunderstanding,’ she added.
Joanne looked at Doreen, who was rocking gently on the chair. There was something vacant about her, as if her spirit had long ago left her body. Joanne wasn’t sure whether to talk to her, but it seemed unkind not to.
‘What about you?’ she asked gently.
Doreen seemed to come to herself as if from another world.
‘Oh – me?’ She spoke with a soft Brummie accent. ‘I don’t know. I think . . . I mean . . . No . . .’ Instead of rocking, she began to move her head repeatedly from side to side. These somehow childish movements and her beaten, shocked look made Joanne feel great tenderness towards her. ‘No – not now. No, I won’t be going back . . . Can’t, not now. No . . .’
Amy’s needs helped to give the day some sort of shape. It was a relief to cling to this: getting her some lunch, then tea. Making sure she played and slept.
All Joanne could think about was home, the telephone, what was happening. All evening she was on tenterhooks. First of all Gina monopolized the phone for ages, talking loudly, quarrelling with whoever was on the other end. Even though the phone was down at the bottom of the back corridor, her voice carried all over the house.