Читать книгу Stolen Voices: A sadistic step-father. Two children violated. Their battle for justice. - Terrie Duckett - Страница 9

It was about a week after we realised we’d be staying in England. Terrie came into my room with an urgent look on her face.

‘Mum needs money for rent. I heard her talking to Cheryl.’ She pondered momentarily. ‘I’ve an idea: we could sell our things to raise money.’

I looked about my sparse bedroom. ‘What do you suggest we sell? Fresh air?’ I pulled my best face at her.

‘We could have a jumble sale, just like at school. They always make money.’

Terrie hugged me. ‘Brilliant idea; we can go around the neighbourhood and collect unwanted things.’

‘And say they’re for charity,’ I finished.

The following day after school, Terrie made me dress in my oldest clothes – jeans that didn’t quite reach my ankles and a threadbare jumper that my arms were too long for. We stood outside the front door and she told me to close my eyes.

‘I’m just rubbing a little dirt onto your face.’

I could feel her cold fingers rubbing on my cheeks. ‘Why?’

‘Well, we want people to feel sorry for us and give us things we can sell.’ I peered through my eyelids and saw she was grinning mischievously.

I trusted her and did as she asked. I took a black sack from her and we biked to the estate next to ours.

As we pulled up to the first house, Terrie turned to me and adjusted my clothing.

‘Maybe you should pretend you’re hungry. Wait until they go and look for something, then moan to me how hungry you’re feeling. It might earn us a biscuit.’

It worked! Terrie had told the lady we were collecting for charity and we came away with some clothing, and with my fantastic acting skills I earned us a couple of biscuits.

We did this every night after school for a week. Soon we had seven black plastic sacks filled with goodies.

Saturday morning, Terrie gave me a piece of cardboard and a big pen and told me to write out the sign for our sale. ‘Jumble sale, 10p an item. All proceeds to help Mum pay her rent,’ I wrote.

We then left the house carrying all of the sacks and walked to our local newsagents. There we neatly laid everything out on the pavement, set up the sign and waited.

A few passers-by stopped to read the sign and I gave them my biggest smile.

‘Paul, I think you should be a salesman when you grow up. I can’t believe you talked that lady into buying that jumper. It was hideous.’ Terrie smiled at me proudly.

I was pretty good; the words just seemed to flow off my tongue.

We had a good day and the time flew by, then all of a sudden I heard Mum’s voice.

‘C’mon, you two,’ she said, picking up the sign and tucking it under her arm so you couldn’t read the writing. ‘Let’s get off home.’

I quickly shoved the unsold jumble back into the sacks as Terrie handed the money we’d made to our very embarrassed-looking mum.

‘We did it to help you, Mum,’ Terrie said, as we carried the sacks home.

‘Thank you,’ she sighed, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I’m so proud of you both. I just don’t know how I’m going to face the neighbours again.’

A few days later, Peter turned up in his red Metro and he and Mum emerged carrying full shopping bags from Tesco.

‘Hello, Paul,’ he said cheerfully.

I’d never seen so much shopping. Usually we had to get the bus four miles to the supermarket, or walk. I’d have blisters on the back of my heels by the time we got back. But Mum said the bus fare could be put towards more food, which kind of made sense, so I’d stopped moaning.

Now Peter was helping Mum unpack, placing items carefully on the kitchen counter.

‘Where does this go?’ he asked Mum, holding a jar of peanut butter.

‘Wow!’ I cried, dashing over to see what else he’d got. I picked up a bottle of ‘magic’ ice-cream chocolate sauce called ‘Ice Magic’.

‘Oooh, you’ll probably like that,’ said Peter. ‘You pour it on ice cream and it sets hard like a shell.’

‘Really?’ I said, my eyes popping out of my head.

Then I realised something. ‘Oh, but Peter. We never have ice cream.’

‘You do now,’ he grinned whilst rummaging around in a bag, producing the largest tub of vanilla ice cream I’d ever seen.

‘Oh, brilliant!’ I cried.

That evening Peter stayed for dinner, and for once Mum actually didn’t burn the chips. We had proper beef burgers, big juicy ones, not like the cardboard discs we were used to. Our plates were full, piled high with chips and peas. I sat back afterwards, feeling stuffed for once.

‘That was lovely, Mum,’ beamed Terrie. She was as chuffed as I was.

Mum had colour in her cheeks too, as Peter kept glancing over at her as he ate. Afterwards he helped clear the plates and we heard them laughing as Mum washed up.

‘I see what you mean about those two eating a lot. I’m surprised they tasted the food, they ate it so fast. I’d barely started by the time they’d finished.’ Peter was laughing. ‘Maybe you should get them to wash up, as you cooked.’

‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ I whispered to Terrie.

That weekend Peter was back again. He arrived early as we had breakfast.

‘Now, kids,’ he said. ‘Who’d like a trip to Irchester Park?’

We both burst into smiles. ‘Yes!’ cried Terrie.

Peter whistled as he helped Mum make sandwiches, and even popped a few bags of crisps and chocolate bars into the bags.

‘Curly Wurlys are my favourite!’ I said, spying them.

‘I know,’ Peter chuckled, exchanging glances with Mum.

At the park Peter jumped at the chance of a game of hide and seek with us.

‘You count, we’ll hide!’ I yelled.

Off me and Terrie ran into nearby woods. We knew this park like the backs of our hands, but with Peter it was even more fun. Mum or Dad had never played hide and seek with us. We raced off, finding an overgrown bush to hide in. After crouching for ages, we thought there was no way Peter would find us and decided to wander off. As we walked along, chatting, suddenly someone flew out in front of me, yelling from behind a rock.

‘ROAAAAAAR!’ cried Peter, flailing his arms as he jumped out. ‘GOTCHA!’

I fell trembling on the gravelly floor, my heart racing. Peter had frightened the shit out of me.

‘Didn’t you see me coming, Paul?’ he grinned, a glint in his eye.

That evening when we got home, Peter came into my room as I was getting ready for bed. Usually I pulled my PJs on then raced into Terrie’s room, sometimes dropping off as we talked. Often I had nightmares, especially about ants and insects crawling up my curtains. Terrie always had to come in and comfort me, explaining I was seeing the black stitching on the orange-coloured curtains, then I’d follow her back into her room. Most of the time, I’d play a game on her bed and then cuddle up and fall asleep in there. My room was tiny, the smallest in the house. It had a single bed and no room to even walk around it, so it made sense to spend more time in hers. I loved her captain’s bunk surrounded by all her pop star posters; I didn’t know who they were, but they reminded me of my sister so I liked looking at them.

Just as I was about to leave my room that evening, Peter appeared from nowhere at the door.

‘Now, Paul, I noticed you don’t have many toys,’ he said, eyeing my box of well-used, battered second-hand cars. They were my pride and joy. After all, they were now my sole possessions.

I had managed to retrieve them from the bin where my mum had thrown them prior to leaving for South Africa, muttering something about being too heavy and needing the space in the suitcase for some of Dad’s stuff.

‘I’m okay, I found my cars in the bin,’ I managed to say, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

‘Well,’ continued Peter, ‘I’ve got something that I think you’ll really like.’

He left the room and came back holding two boxes.

‘This is my Meccano set from Germany and my tin toy collection from when I was a little boy,’ he said. ‘I’d like you to have them.’

My eyes almost popped out of my head. The first thing I noticed about the unexpected windfall was they all looked brand new, even the boxes. Not like my sorry collection of battered cars.

‘I didn’t have many toys growing up,’ he said. ‘So I always looked after them and put them back into their boxes when I had finished. You will look after them and keep them in their boxes, won’t you?’

‘Yes! Thanks!’ I shrieked with enthusiasm. However, at the same time I was thinking how on earth I would be able to play with them and keep them looking brand new.

We sat on the bed, pulling out bits as Peter showed me how to screw the metal pieces together. It was awesome, although I was getting annoyed as he kept putting bits back in the box. I preferred getting everything out and surrounding myself so I could see everything. After a couple of minutes I worked out that if I put each unused piece away in the box straight away, Peter would smile and look happy. After satisfying himself that I would treat the new toys with care Peter ruffled my hair and disappeared.

Shortly after I could hear low voices from Terrie’s room, so I slipped out of bed to go in and show her my new toys. Peter was sat on the bed chatting to her.

‘Back to your bed now, Paul,’ he said. ‘It’s late.’

‘But I always come into Terrie’s …’ I began.

‘Not now, off you go, back to yours …’ he insisted. ‘C’mon, Terrie doesn’t want to hang around with a little kid all night.’

I frowned. Terrie never seemed to have minded before now. I tried to catch her eye as I normally would, but she didn’t look up at me, or say anything, so I went back to mine, new toys under my arm.

Monday morning arrived and as normal I had to force myself from the warmth of my bed and go downstairs for breakfast. Terrie and Mum were already tucking into some toast and were mid-way through a conversation.

‘Grab yourself some toast, Paul,’ Mum said, pushing a plate towards me. I started to tuck in and Terrie carried on her conversation.

‘Is Peter your boyfriend?’

‘No!’ cried Mum. ‘He’s just a friend.’

‘Then why did I see him leaving in his car at 6 a.m.?’ Terrie asked, to Mum’s obvious irritation.

Mum paused, then muttered. ‘Oh, he probably just had a driving lesson in the area.’

‘Bit early for one,’ persisted Terrie.

It didn’t bother me if Peter was Mum’s boyfriend or not, as long as he kept coming around to see us. It was nice to have someone like Peter around who showed a bit of interest and was like an adult version of a friend; of course, the toys and extra food helped too! I liked having the guy around. Mum clearly did too. She’d stopped asking us to fill up her decanter with sherry every evening and rarely fell asleep on the sofa now; instead she sat watching Peter’s pirated videos, holding his hand, laughing and generally being nice to everyone. She still had to work all hours, but thanks to Peter life was on the up again and I began to feel more like I felt a happy kid should.

The weekend arrived, bringing with it Peter and the promise of activities and fun; a refreshing change from the normal routine of playing out and fending for ourselves.

‘Why don’t we go for a “hot picnic”?’ Peter suggested. ‘It will be an adventure.’ It was a bit nippy outside and a picnic wasn’t at the top of my list of fun things to do, but he made it sound like it would be fun and I was outvoted anyway.

Mum made some jacket potatoes, a hot flask of soup and tea and we set off in his car. It was a real treat sitting in a car; for me this was an adventure in itself.

The day passed as a blur and before I knew it we were back at home watching a pirated copy of a video Peter brought around. I say watched, but I seem to recall seeing more of the pillow I held to my face to hide some of the more gory parts of An American Werewolf in London.

No one had to tell me to get ready for bed that night; I was chomping at the bit to hide under the duvet, somehow thinking it would protect me from stray werewolves. I decided to pop in to see Terrie first, though, as I had done every night for as long as I can remember, for a quick chat and to tell her how much the film had scared me (I knew I wouldn’t be able to look at Sam, our dog, in the same way again).

I nipped out of my room and ran across the landing to Terrie’s. But just as I got there Peter appeared at the door and blocked it.

‘Out of here now, Paul, back to your own bed,’ he said.

‘Aw, but I wanted to see Terrie …’ I began.

‘No. It’s bedtime now, not playtime. You need a good sleep. Back to your bed.’

I stuck my bottom lip out. ‘But it’s not fair! Me and Terrie always have a game before bed.’

‘Life’s not fair!’ Peter said, his cheeks becoming flushed.

I started to feel a bit upset, as clearly Peter wasn’t happy. I didn’t want to upset him; I just wanted to sit on my sister’s bed like normal.

My eyebrows knotted together as my lip quivered. Peter crouched down to my level and pointed to my bedroom door.

‘I’m not telling you again,’ he said. ‘Hop it.’ Then he seemed to take a deep breath as he started smiling again.

‘Paul, I’ll come and tuck you in. Come on,’ he said, more kindly this time.

I followed him and slipped under the duvet. It felt cold and boring in my room compared to Terrie’s. Peter sat and chatted about homework and cars and stuff, and then left.

‘Night,’ he said, flicking off my light. ‘Make sure you stay in here now, Paul.’

I did as I was told, but only to please Peter. Inside I thought it was really unfair.

Always being short of money, Mum jumped at any chance given to earn that little bit extra. The carpet shop where she worked had moved premises and was now much bigger, in a better position, and they wanted to bring in more customers. They offered Mum to work an extra day a week – Saturdays – which to her was a godsend. The problem, as always, was me and Terrie. Nan and Pap were not available to look after us and we didn’t want to be left home alone yet another day a week.

‘Don’t worry, Cynthia,’ reassured Peter. ‘I’ll have them on the days their grandparents can’t. They’re no trouble at all. Are you, kids?’

He winked as he said it, making me smile inside.

True to his word, the following Saturday he arrived in time to wave Mum off and look after us.

‘Right!’ he said, rubbing his hands as Mum clicked the door shut. ‘What do you two fancy doing today?’

‘Riding my bike!’ I cried.

‘Going to the park!’ yelled Terrie.

‘How about we do both?’ said Peter.

Hours later, after all the fresh air, we slumped in front of the TV and Peter came in to join us. He stood near me and gently poked me with his foot. Laughing, I grabbed him by the knees, pulling him until he toppled.

‘Hey, Paul, how strong are you?’ he cried, a big smile on his face. ‘Go on, do the hardest tickle you can!’ he said, pretending to play dead.

I leaped on him.

‘Oh ha ha!’ he cried. ‘You’re doing it too hard.’ Then suddenly he pinned me down.

‘Ha ha! Oh no! Ha ha!’ I screamed as he tickled.

Terrie spotted us and bundled on top.

‘Right, now you’re for it,’ said Peter, grabbing Terrie this time. ‘Let’s get her, Paul …’

After a few minutes we were all lying on our backs, flushed, hot and panting. I couldn’t believe how much fun Peter was, for an adult.

With Mum working, the next few Saturdays followed the same pattern: a day out with Peter, followed by a sit down in front of the TV. This was then followed by Peter starting another tickle game which turn into a play fight.

‘C’mon, Paul, let’s get your sister!’ Peter yelled.

We grabbed an arm each of Terrie’s and pulled her to the floor. I giggled, as I glanced at Peter, glad to have an accomplice. Terrie always seemed so much bigger than me.

‘Let’s tie Terrie up!’ Peter cried.

I nodded eagerly, as Peter grabbed a reel of masking tape from his coat pocket. Rolling and rolling it around her legs; he only stopped at her knees. Terrie tried to squirm but was held fast.

‘Oh, c’mon Terrie, don’t be a girl,’ Peter laughed as he tickled her sides. I could see she was really struggling – she’d turned the colour of a pillar box – but it was all too much fun to stop.

‘Peter, stop it!’ she screamed.

I was happy to see my big sister getting it for once, but she didn’t seem to be enjoying it so I jumped onto Peter’s back.

‘I’m saving my sister!’ I cried, as Peter almost fell backwards.

I expected him to run around like he’d done before, with me as a piggy back, but instead he fell backwards, almost winding me.

‘Uggg,’ I grimaced, trying to catch my breath.

Peter’s dark hair was in my face. It smelt quite strongly of grease, like my hair did when Mum told me it was time to wash it.

‘Paul!’ cried Terrie. She sounded panicked.

Peter got up off me, and turned to look as I lay on the floor. ‘Aw, soldiers never stay down for that long do they, Paul?’

I struggled up, rubbing my sore chest. Peter was much heavier than he looked. Terrie was by my side now, on her knees, still all taped up.

‘You okay?’ she asked me anxiously.

‘Yeah,’ I wheezed.

The rest of the year passed quickly, with us all getting used to each other and settling into our routines and what felt like new lives. The new year came and went and Mum and Peter had a house full of friends over to usher in 1982.

We woke up to a bomb site. Empty glasses everywhere, rubbish, streamers from party poppers, dirty plates and empty bottles decorated every surface. Whilst I looked around in stunned silence, Terrie jumped out from the door. ‘BOO!’ she shouted.

‘Hope you haven’t got plans for today, Paul. I think you’re on clean-up duty with me – Mum and Peter look a bit worse for wear!’

‘PAUL, TERRIE!’ I heard Mum shout from the kitchen.

‘Coming,’ we both shouted back in unison.

We went into the kitchen, aka the local council tip, where Peter was buttering his toast and Mum was humming to herself as she poured his coffee, both of them tired with red eyes.

‘We have some news,’ Mum pronounced as she beamed ear to ear. ‘Peter is moving in!’

‘Yeeeeeesss!’ I said, leaning back in my chair. All that was going through my head at that point was: food, toys, fun, happy. I looked over at Terrie and she looked dead chuffed as well. ‘Great!’ she said.

‘Oh, I’m glad you’re happy,’ Peter said, holding Mum’s hand on the table top – the type of affection we had never seen our Dad demonstrate. ‘I’m really looking forward to being part of this family.’

After Mum did the dishes, we all went for a walk around Irchester Park again and then for a quick lunch at the Berni Inn, stopping in at Tesco’s on the way home for a quick shop – proof in my mind that Peter moving in with us could only be a good thing.

The following day Peter arrived with boxes and crates, piling our garage high. Along with umpteen cameras, he had all kinds of Territorial Army equipment: flares, ammunition and even a couple of air rifles.

‘Wow’ I said, watching as he carefully packed them onto shelves and into metal chests.

‘Don’t touch these, Paul,’ he said. ‘They are not toys and can be very dangerous.’

I was transfixed. I longed to join the army one day like my dad and Pap.