Читать книгу Punished: A mother’s cruelty. A daughter’s survival. A secret that couldn’t be told. - Vanessa Steel - Страница 15

Chapter 11

During the summer term of my first year at school, I got home one day to find a new window cleaner washing our windows. He shouted ‘Hello, sweetheart!’ at me as I walked up the path, which made me very self-conscious and embarrassed, especially since he’d taken his shirt off and I could see his naked, suntanned back. When he’d finished, he rapped on the front door and Mum tottered down the hall in her high heels to pay him. I’d seen her freshening up her lipstick in the kitchen first.

‘I hope you’ve done an extra-special job for me,’ she said coyly, head on one side.

‘Course I have, darling,’ he replied cheekily. ‘I’ve always been one for the ladies, and you must have been a real looker in your day.’

I could sense Mum stiffening with fury. Even I could see that she would take this as a terrible insult.

She gave him his money without another word, slammed the door and disappeared into the dining room for a while. When she came out, there was a crackling energy around her and a scary expression on her face. She sent Nigel to the family room and called me into the kitchen where she was preparing dinner.

‘I’ve got something very important to say to you,’ she told me in an ominous voice, folding her arms and staring down at me. ‘Stand straight with your arms by your sides.’

I obeyed.

‘Someone has stolen something in this house and God tells me it was you.’

‘I didn’t, Mum. It wasn’t me.’

‘So you know what I’m talking about, do you?’

‘N-n-no …’

She took a deep breath and placed her hands on her hips. ‘Mrs Ferguson came round for a fitting today. I made her some tea and went to the biscuit barrel to lay out a plate of biscuits and what do you think I found?’

I’d gone red, not because I was guilty of anything but just with nerves and fear of what was coming next. I shook my head slightly.

‘One of the pink wafers was missing. The good ones that cost sixpence a packet. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There’s a thief in my own house. I didn’t want to think it was true but I spoke to God this morning and he confirmed that you took the wafer.’ She was quivering with self-righteousness, her eyes dark and staring.

‘Mummy, it wasn’t me.’ I was terrified of being accused of this very serious-sounding crime. This was worse than dropping crumbs on the floor or getting a spot of paint on the sleeve of my school cardigan.

‘Are you saying that God is a liar?’ She was winding herself up, getting more enraged all the time. Behind her a pot of potatoes was boiling fiercely, spitting droplets of hot water on to the cooker top.

‘N-n-no …’

‘So you admit it’s true. Do you know what the Bible says is the punishment for liars and thieves?’

I shook my head and stared at the ground, more scared than I could remember.

Mum looked at me with narrowed eyes for a moment, then she turned and lifted the pot of potatoes off the spiral electric ring, which glowed bright orange. Boiling water sloshed over the edge. She grabbed me viciously by the wrists, dragged me over to the cooker and placed my hands palm down on the ring, holding them there for a few seconds before letting them go.

I screamed in shock although I didn’t feel the pain at first. Nigel came running in from the family room.

‘What happened? Are you OK, Nessa?’

I couldn’t speak. ‘Get out!’ Mum ordered him sharply. ‘This doesn’t concern you.’ When he didn’t immediately move, she screamed ‘Go!’ and took a step towards him in a threatening manner. He turned reluctantly and went back into the next room.

I looked down at the palms of my hands. The skin had gone all white where it had touched the searing heat and neat patterns of the rings had been transferred on to my palms and fingers. I could smell a sweetish smell like meat cooking on a barbecue. My hands felt strangely tight and it was hard to move my fingers. I just stared at them and started shaking.

‘That should stop you next time you’re thinking of thieving.’ Mum’s voice was quieter and gentler now, her rage dissipated. ‘I’m doing this for your own good so you don’t end up in jail one day. No daughter of mine is going to be a jailbird.’

I couldn’t move or speak. I suppose I was in shock. I just stared at my hands.

‘You’d better go to bed now,’ Mum said, almost kindly. ‘So long as you learn your lesson from this, we need say no more about it.’

As I walked slowly up the stairs, my hands were beginning to throb with a dull pain that got worse by the minute. I suppose the nerve endings had been damaged in the initial contact but as feeling returned I began to get very nauseous and dizzy. I crawled into bed, pushing my hands under the cold pillow in a vain attempt to cool them down. It hurt to have anything touching my palms, though, so I rested them on top of the covers and lay very still, very shocked. My teeth were chattering.

It was obvious to me that Mum had crossed some boundary and I was scared to death. If she could burn my hands like that, what wasn’t she capable of?

When I closed my eyes, whispering voices came into my head: ‘She shouldn’t have done that’; ‘You’re not safe here’; ‘You’re not going to be able to do your schoolwork tomorrow’; ‘You have to run away’.

I opened my eyes again because the room was spinning. I felt very cold and shivery, as if I had the flu. I lay on my back, trying to keep as still as possible. I was scared to move in case I was sick on the bed, which I knew would make Mum even madder.

An hour or so later, Nigel managed to sneak up to see how I was.

‘Mum said you touched the cooker. Are you OK?’

I shook my head very slightly.

‘Was it her?’ he asked.

‘She did it,’ I whispered. ‘She held my hands down on it.’

Nigel sat on the edge of the bed and looked at my upturned palms, with the fingers curled into claws. ‘They look really bad, Nessa. It’s all gooey under the skin.’

I shifted my head to look down. Huge blisters were rising on the whitened areas and oozing pus out the sides. ‘It really hurts.’ A few tears trickled down my cheeks but I didn’t cry properly.

‘I’ll try to get help. If Dad comes home, I’ll tell him what happened. Don’t worry.’

I slipped in and out of a fevered sleep and wakened when the bedroom door opened and Dad came in and switched the light on. He was still wearing his grey outdoor coat so he’d obviously just arrived home. He put a hand on my hot forehead then gave a loud gasp when he saw the state of my swollen, weeping palms.

‘For God’s sake! What on earth were you playing at, Lady Jane? You know better than to touch a hot cooker.’

‘Mummy did it,’ I said dully, and for once he seemed to believe me.

He gave a sharp intake of breath and gently picked up one of my hands to look more closely. I winced.

‘We’ve got to get this fixed,’ he said, pulling back the bedcovers. ‘Let’s put your slippers and dressing gown on. I’m taking you to Nan Casey’s.’

It hurt a lot getting my hands into the sleeves of the dressing gown. My arms felt stiff from the shoulders down. Dad was as gentle as possible. He found my pink fluffy slippers and put them on my feet then he picked me up and carried me down the stairs, being very careful not to let anything touch my damaged hands.