Читать книгу The Throwaway Boy - Alix Chapel - Страница 17

Billy knew he needed to keep out of sight. He couldn’t risk being seen by anyone. Lying under the hedge was uncomfortable but he had hidden in worse places. That time it was summer and the light nights proved to be a challenge. At least in the winter, when it could get dark as early as 4.00pm, he could cover more ground by walking as soon as it got dark. It was much harder to remain inconspicuous in the summer. He would just have to stay out of sight until nightfall.

He knew that once he got to the loft he would be fine. The problem was getting there. He was terrified of being seen, so was very diligent about hiding during the day and only venturing out in the daylight if there was no alternative. If he had been bigger, it would not have been such a problem, but he had always been small for his age. He wished he were older, big enough to be on his own without anyone noticing.

Although he wanted to come across as tough and hard, in reality he was vulnerable and sensitive-looking, which, along with his size, made him appear even younger than his eight years. As it was, if someone saw him roaming around on his own, in the middle of nowhere, undoubtedly his or her attention would be drawn, even if it was just to say hello to him; certainly not worth the risk. He didn’t want to speak to anyone anyway but, more importantly, he didn’t want anyone to remember seeing him.

Sometimes, from his hiding places, he was able to watch children playing. In those days, children played out at a young age, their parents oblivious to the dangers, seemingly unaware. Sadly, Billy was all too aware of the evil that was out there. Experience told him to trust no one, especially adults. Billy was drawn to watch any children he came across, probably intrigued by their carefree ability to run around and play, but would frequently become anxious, as if he was expecting something bad to happen to them. He was wary when adults were around and earnestly watched their movements, but he also had an uncanny ability of pinpointing the bullies. It only took a few seconds of observation before the children’s body language warned him of potential danger. He was constantly on guard and felt somehow responsible for these nameless children, conscientiously ‘taking on’ the misplaced role of protector. The children were completely unaware that they had their own guardian angel watching out for them – which was fortunate, considering they were probably not, actually, in any danger at all and would most surely have thought Billy strange.

Other than the usual bullying that goes on within groups of children, Billy didn’t witness anything untoward, at least nothing that required him to take any action – which was just as well, as he couldn’t have done much and wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention to himself in any case. As was usual, he didn’t think that far ahead; he just took it upon himself to ‘look out’ for them. If nothing else, it kept him occupied while he lay in wait. He needed to stay awake, which was quite difficult when he was constantly exhausted, so having something to do helped. It had been so long since he had experienced a good night’s sleep – years, in fact. He had to be alert at all times. The dangers were different, depending on where he was, but he was always afraid to let his guard down.

He felt like he had been under the hedge for hours but he knew it couldn’t, actually, have been more than one or two at the most. He had made his escape during a day out at the seaside, slipping away when no one was watching. He had never been on a proper holiday and the day out was the only chance he would get to go to the seaside that year, but he didn’t care. He would rather grab the chance to sneak away.

He had stolen some coppers and jumped on a bus heading out of town. He passed through a village and, on the outskirts, got off with a load of older lads, thinking he would be less likely to be noticed in a group. The older boys were too engrossed in talking about their plans for the weekend even to notice Billy. He had no idea where he was but he knew he had to get out of sight for the time being and then make his way back to Cardiff when darkness fell; hence the hedge. It was as good a place as any, but he was starting to get stiff and was wondering what the time was.

Not long after, he spotted a girl coming down the lane that ran alongside the hedge. She seemed to be rushing. From his camouflaged vantage point, Billy also saw a group of bigger girls approaching her from behind. They were all wearing school uniforms and were clearly on their way home, which gave him an idea of the time. It was a warm afternoon and all the girls had their coats off, swinging them around as they sauntered down the lane. They were being quite raucous, despite their slow gait. The little girl, obviously hearing them, quickly turned around. Billy could see her perfectly. She was almost right beside him. His heart started to pound when he recognised the look in her eyes; she was frightened.

In an instant Billy’s senses were pricked. He knew the little girl was in trouble before anything had even happened. Her pace quickened but the girls caught up to her in no time. They were a few yards past Billy by this time but he was under no illusion as to what was transpiring. They were clearly taunting the little girl and starting to get physical. Although Billy couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, their intention was as plain as day. The little girl wet herself, right there in front of her tormentors. Billy felt sick with empathy. Perhaps he was over-reacting, but he could feel his temper rising. He gave way to it and, in an instant, he sprang from under the hedge, yelling for them to leave her alone.

The bullies were startled and ran away in such a hurry one of them dropped her coat. Billy yelled after them, hurling swear words, the like of which they probably had never heard before. When he turned around, the little girl had gone, but she, too, left in such a hurry she had dropped her schoolbag. Picking up the coat and bag, he hurried after her. Once she was in sight, he kept his distance and continued following her. She turned into a street, ran up to a house and in through the front door.

From behind a parked car, Billy mentally took note of the house number, then retraced his steps and, once again, hid under the hedge, knowing he needed to remain hidden until darkness fell. While lying in wait, he pulled the two items to himself for closer inspection. The coat, clearly, belonged to a girl, but he knew he would be glad of the warmth later, so resourcefully concluded that he could turn the coat inside out to hide the colour.

With no intention of keeping the schoolbag, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a look inside it. He unzipped the flap and pulled it open, revealing schoolbooks, a bag of crisps, a bag of sweets and a few coppers. He zipped the bag back up again, laid his head upon it and waited, cramped and uncomfortable.

Finally, after several hours, he determined that it was dark enough to start his journey. The coat was already proving to be a godsend as it was much colder in the twilight. After safely depositing the schoolbag, completely intact, on the doorstep he had noted earlier, he started his trek.

His belly felt hollow and empty. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but experience told him that, if he waited long enough, the grumbles would stop, leaving just a familiar emptiness. He was used to going for days without food, not just on the run, but in the homes as well, but he realised that he would need to keep his strength up. Travelling on foot would take it out of him so he decided he would steal a bottle of milk off a float in the morning if he was lucky enough to come across one.

He loved being out in the night. The quietness and the darkness made him feel safe. He knew he wouldn’t be seen easily and he also could hear anyone approaching much better than in the daytime, which gave him an added advantage of ensuring he had plenty of time to dive for cover if the need arose. He particularly loved it when he came across the nocturnal animals. They always seemed to sense he wasn’t a threat and would come right up to him to check him out, sometimes even following him on his journey. It was only at these times that he felt, just a little bit, less lonely. And, inevitably, when they parted company, Billy always felt like he’d lost a friend. He gave each and every animal, large and small, all of himself. He had no one else to give it to. He felt, too, that he got the same back from them, which ensured his relationships with all his animal family were fatefully spirit building.

He was much more experienced on that journey. He ran away that often he had lost count of the number of times, and the length of time before he was apprehended was getting longer each time due to all the tricks he was learning. It didn’t even matter how severe the punishment was when he did go back; he would keep running away; and getting caned for being away for just one night was worth it. At least at those times he knew why he was getting beaten. There were many other occasions when he didn’t even know what he had done to bring it on. The more abuse he received, the more he expected it, until eventually he believed he must deserve it.

He got used to the beatings and developed ways to escape mentally while the torture was being inflicted. After months of it, he had toughened up so much that he refused to cry, vowing not to give his abusers the satisfaction. It wasn’t the physical beatings that he was running away from, though, and, no matter how much he was punished for running away and how many privileges he lost, he would keep trying to escape.

Usually, by the time he had made it back to his mam’s, he was in desperate need of food and a warm, dry place to sleep. He made the mistake the first time he actually made it that far – it was only across town, but was a huge distance for a seven-year-old boy – of going straight to his mam’s house. He wanted so much for her to protect him and look after him. Of course, she couldn’t, but he didn’t understand why. Owing to the fact that he had been taken into the care of the local authority, she was obliged to inform them if Billy ever turned up. So it was, when he appeared on her doorstep that first time, she did what she had no choice but to do.

When his social worker came to take him back, he was devastated. Not only was he being returned to hell, but he was also being betrayed by his own mother. He thought, if she loved him, she would help him but, of course, it was not as simple as that. Billy knew why he was running away and what he was running away from – his mother didn’t. He had tried to tell her but he could not find the words. She sensed that something was not quite right but, when she enquired, she was told that he was just unruly and was rebelling against discipline. It never dawned on her not to trust them; they were people in authority, which to her meant that they must be telling the truth. She had been brought up to respect such people and she didn’t have enough self-worth or confidence to question them. It never occurred to her, in her wildest dreams, that anything sinister was going on.

Each time he was caught and taken back, he started thinking what he would do differently the next time. Sadly, every time he ran away, he was still drawn to his old neighbourhood, but he knew he couldn’t let his family know, so he would hide in a huge tree in the field across from their house and watch the goings-on with a sort of morbid curiosity. Feeling hopeless and depressed, he would climb to the very top of the tree, taking an alarming risk, almost hoping that he would fall. He would sit precariously on a branch, barely holding on, without any thought for his safety, and watch. It hurt him deeply to see his brothers and sisters but he couldn’t stop himself.

He didn’t understand why they were allowed to be at home and he wasn’t. He knew he kept getting into trouble, but that was only because he kept running away; and he had to run away, he just had to. He felt jealous and bitter. He knew they often went without food and life was tough for them all, but at least they didn’t have to endure what he did.

Sometimes he would sleep in the garden sheds of some of the neighbours; sometimes he would sneak into the sheds at the allotments; and sometimes he would sleep in empty council houses that had been boarded up to keep people out, although Billy always managed to get in somehow.

Most of the time and, indeed, the best idea of all, he broke into his mam’s, when she was out, and went up into the loft. It was especially good in the winter, as he was able to keep fairly warm. He was very resourceful for such a young boy and could usually come up with some solution to make things better for himself. The first time he tried to get up there he had had a bit of a job but he could soon hoist himself up without too much difficulty and, as long as his mam didn’t move the chair that he used to get up there, it would remain a good plan. He was careful not to move around when anybody was home and it proved to be an excellent solution. Billy felt clever to have come up with it.

The longest he was up there was for a few weeks, coming down when the coast was clear to go to the toilet and occasionally to get a change of clothes from his twin brother, Jon. He kept the dirty clothes from the children’s home hidden in the loft but, when he changed in and out of his brother’s clothes, he would just throw the dirty ones on the bedroom floor as Jon did. He was sure his mam wouldn’t notice but, even so, he was careful not to change too often.

The only problem with being in the loft was the lack of food. He couldn’t bring himself to take food from his mam and siblings; he knew they had very little as it was, but he daren’t go out of the house during daylight hours, so he had to risk getting down in the night when he was sure that everyone in the house would be asleep. Hearing the men leaving the pub after last orders, he knew that he only needed to wait a while longer before the coast was bound to be clear outside as well, then he would cautiously make his move, silently slipping down and out through the kitchen door. He would then steal food from wherever he could.

He loved it when he actually got enough food to enable him to leave some on the side for his family. It gave him such a thrill to think of them all wondering where the food had come from. He usually got back up into the loft without any problems, but once, in the middle of winter, he had to wait out the back for ages until his mam went back to bed after she had got up to make a cup of tea.

Luckily, whenever he’d been caught, it had happened when he’d been out of the house. He would not say where he had been sleeping, so for a long time he was able to continue with the loft plan, heading there every time he managed an escape.

This latest journey was proving to be more difficult, though, as it was the first time he had been taken outside the city of Cardiff itself. He had always paid close attention when they took him to the homes, but he got totally confused when faced with having to find his way from the seaside. However, the opportunity to make a break for it had been too good to pass up. He walked all of the first night but he wasn’t even sure if he had gone in the right direction. He never did make it to the loft that time. He managed to elude capture for over a week but was eventually picked up by police after getting caught by a gardener, stealing vegetables from his allotment.

* * *

The next morning, Billy looked really tired. I suspected he hadn’t had a very good night’s sleep. I suggested the possibility of getting off work early but he thought he shouldn’t. He figured that, since he was about to have three weeks’ holiday, the least he could do was to put in a full day before we left.

I was excited as I drove to work. We both really needed a holiday; the whole year had been very stressful as I had been diagnosed with endometriosis, a painful and sometimes chronic condition that involved the production of uterine cells outside the womb itself. It had been misdiagnosed for years and was at a severe stage, requiring extensive major surgery. It was the cause of all the pain I had been experiencing and was, in all likelihood, the reason for my infertility.

I had the surgery over my Christmas break, which was convenient as I only missed a few days of work. During the week that I was in hospital, Billy came straight in after work to visit. He always used humour to lighten hard times and this was no exception. He was constantly making me laugh and I would plead with him to stop as my stitches hurt so much. I shared my room with three elderly women and, since Billy was always there when our evening meals came, he would attentively go to each lady and help to open their meals or get them drinks. Propped up in my bed, I watched him help those people he didn’t know and marvelled at his compassion and gentle manner.

It wasn’t until a few days after the surgery that my gynaecologist finally made it in to see me. He told me, in a matter-of-fact tone, that he had to remove my right tube and ovary and that the left tube was unattached to its ovary – adding, without even a hint of compassion, that I would never conceive naturally. For the first time in my life, I tasted unfairness – a strange, metallic bitterness. Then, with its tartness, came the realisation that the shape of things that I had trusted and thought to be certain could be twisted beyond recognition, as well as the knowledge that I wouldn’t be able to stop it.

I was completely unprepared for that news, so was left feeling terribly shocked and totally devastated. He had explained beforehand that he wouldn’t be able to predict the extent of the damage before he opened me up, which I understood, but I guess my denial stopped me from truly understanding the possibility of permanent infertility. He continued by telling us that the only way we would achieve a pregnancy was through in vitro fertilisation (IVF). I remember thinking, A test tube baby… I can do that. It was still fairly uncommon back then but I knew in the first second that I wanted to try it. I also needed something to hang on to – an expensive grain of hope though it was.

Billy was harder to convince. He thought it would be too upsetting if it didn’t work, and it would be too hard on me. I just wanted the chance – I would simply have done anything. Billy made sure I knew that there were other options that he was happy to pursue, like adoption. I wasn’t ruling that out, I just really felt that IVF was the right thing to do. I had my heart set on it and, actually, I was optimistic. I suppose I was just making a hopeless, yet deliberate, attempt at cutting down the odds of failure – as if positive thinking might miraculously influence the outcome. Billy wasn’t as optimistic but, then, he never was, so that didn’t particularly bother me. In the end, Billy didn’t object, even though it was going to cost $10,000 – money we didn’t have.

I knew Billy had agreed to go ahead with it for me. If the decision had been solely up to him, I don’t think he would have gone through with it; I’m sure he would have wanted to avoid the potential of disappointment and heartbreak. You see, I knew, even then, that he was an avoider. For me, it was about weighing the level of heartbreak. I was sure the anguish of an unsuccessful outcome would have been less devastating than giving up and not doing all we could. I remember someone said to me that it was a lot of money to pay for something that wasn’t guaranteed – which I thought was a typical response from someone who had children.

I fully understood that we only had about a 30 per cent chance of achieving a pregnancy – I felt, though, that we were paying for the opportunity to become pregnant and I thought that that chance was worth every single cent of $10,000.

As soon as I had recovered from the surgery, I was put on the waiting list for IVF. We knew we would have to go into debt to cover the cost, so we both planned to take on extra work over the weekends and to cut our outgoings by eliminating any unnecessary spending. When the time came, I was excited, scared and very nervous all at the same time.

A lot of organising and planning went into making it all possible, especially with regard to our work. I had to find a substitute for the nursery so, when my mum volunteered, I was extremely grateful. It was the perfect solution as the children already knew her and I was confident that they would all be in good hands.

Also, as all the treatment was to take place in Vancouver, we had to figure out where we were going to stay and how we were going to afford to be there for a month. Again, we were very fortunate because we were invited to stay with Bruce and Marjorie Johnson who were the parents of an old schoolfriend, Gail. They lived in Vancouver and were happy to help. I hadn’t seen Gail for years, as she had moved to Alberta, but her brother Eric got in touch with me the year before when he and his wife were looking for care for their son. I was thrilled to have him attend my nursery and it was then, through Eric, that his parents found out about us needing to stay in Vancouver.

I was grateful beyond words and, with that arranged, I believed that I had thought of everything. I knew that it probably wouldn’t work the first time we tried and I was mentally prepared for that. What I wasn’t prepared for was the whole thing being cancelled before it ever really got started. My first ultrasound, before egg retrieval, showed a mass near my remaining ovary, so I needed another surgical procedure before they could proceed any further with the IVF.

I was absolutely devastated. It didn’t seem anything like the made-for-TV dramas – the ones with the fairytale endings. It wasn’t exciting or romantic or inspirational. It was just disappointing and headache-inducing and so, so hard.

Somehow, we got through it. Even though, at the back of my mind, I knew I had to face another operation, the prospect of going on holiday took my mind off it somewhat. Again, figuring out who would look after Ben, finding cover for the nursery and then ensuring both were fully briefed about their responsibilities took a lot of time to organise, and was a welcome diversion – subconsciously using the planning and arranging as a habitual gesture of reassurance that I was still in control.

Driving to work that morning, the day before our trip, I felt satisfied that I had everything in order and, with all the preparations taken care of, I found that I could really start to experience that lovely anticipatory excitement that always builds on the days leading up to a holiday. Some of my best memories from childhood were of that excitement. That train of thought soon had me forgetting about the events of the past year and brought, instead, memories of holidays past.

* * *