Читать книгу Helpless: The true story of a neglected girl betrayed and exploited by the neighbour she trusted - Toni Maguire - Страница 14

Chapter Ten

I shivered as those memories came back.

I thought of the care I had taken over my children as they grew. I had never been able to become a parent content just to warn her children not to speak to strangers. Instead every one of my husband’s friends was examined with suspicion, each male neighbour viewed with caution, and should a friendly hand move to touch the head of one of my sons, while a male voice murmured the comment of ‘What a fine boy you have there,’ my body would stiffen with something approaching revulsion.

Invitations for my sons to visit their friends’ houses were inspected carefully, questions as to whether both parents would be there frequently asked.

‘Don’t make such a fuss, Mum,’ said my sons with some irritation when faced with my vigilance. ‘We know not to take sweets from strangers!’

Then I would remember the vulnerable little girl I had once been and the man who had sought out a needy child and how he had gained her trust before controlling her by fear.

For how could I explain to my sons that it was not strangers I was scared of?

Our new home was further away from my school. It took me nearly an hour to walk to the bus stop, but I did not really mind. I liked where we lived, liked the fact it was clean and that my mother seemed happier. Even my father appeared more content.

It was spring when we moved, and for the first few weeks the sun shone. I could smell the promise of summer in the air, and summer meant long weeks of holidays and freedom from school. But when the treacherous English sun disappeared behind dark clouds and squally winds blew across the fields, bending the trees and scattering their leaves, the lanes seemed to grow longer and my home too far away. It was then that I shivered from both the cold and a tiny kernel of apprehension.

It was on one of those blustery days when rain trickled down the back of my neck, my Wellington boots chafed damp bare legs and my satchel grew heavier with every step I took, that I heard the sound of a car slowing down behind me.

As I stood on the verge waiting for it to pass I heard the sound of the engine slowing as the car came to a stop, and with an inherent fear I was suddenly aware of how dark it had become and how far away the nearest house was.

‘Can’t have my little lady getting wet now, can we?’

For a second I froze. Although the reasons had never been made clear to me I had been told never to talk to strangers.

‘Just do as I say and don’t ask so many questions,’ my mother had snapped when I had asked her why.

But this was a voice I recognized: it was the man from next door.

‘Come on, jump in.’ And needing no persuasion to get out of the rain I swiftly obeyed.

A small towel appeared; my hair was quickly rubbed and gently tousled back into place. My hands, reddened by cold, were taken in his larger warm ones. ‘Soon have you warm as toast,’ he said, blowing on them before gently rubbing my fingers.

Opening his glove compartment, he reached in and drew out a yellow tube of sherbet with its black liquorice stick. ‘Here, this is for you. A little bird told me you liked them as well as those dolly mixtures,’ he said with a wink.

Licking my sherbet delight I sank back contently on the leather seat. This time when I arrived home the journey had been too quick.

The following day when black clouds promised more rain he was waiting by the school gates.

I saw the other children look at his car and suddenly felt my chest swell with pride. Not only had someone met me, but someone with a big black car.

‘Can’t have her getting her death of cold,’ he said to my mother as he walked me into the house.

‘That’s kind of you,’ she said, before turning to me. ‘Say thank you, Marianne,’ and I did.

Now every day I wanted it to rain because if it did I was sure he would be waiting.