My Sister's Bones(67)

‘No wonder the poor kid choked,’ he snarls. ‘This is f*cking inedible.’

He sticks his fork into the pie and starts flicking bits of pastry across the table.

‘Look at that. It’s not cooked properly. And it’s dry.’

Beside me I can feel Kate’s temper start to rise, like heat spreading across the table.

‘What do you think, sweetheart?’

He is talking to me.

‘Do you think it’s dry?’

I look at my mother. She is smiling at me, but her eyes are scared.

‘Erm, I . . .’

‘Come on, I’m asking you a question,’ he slurs. ‘Is it f*cking dry?’

I know what will happen if I don’t agree with him. He’ll get even angrier and take it out on them. I just want this all to stop.

‘Yes,’ I whimper. ‘It is a bit dry.’

‘Oh, nice one, Sally,’ yells Kate, clattering her cutlery on to her plate. ‘For God’s sake!’

‘Come on now,’ whispers my mother, putting her hand on Kate’s arm. ‘Don’t rise to it.’

My father is silent but we all know this is bad news; the longer the silence the worse the punishment.

‘You can eyeball me all you want. I’m not scared of you,’ says Kate.

Oh no. I look up at her. She is sitting with her hands on the table, glaring at my father.

‘You should be,’ he mutters.

‘What’s that, Dad, I didn’t hear you?’

She’s goading him now. My heart is in my mouth as I wait for the explosion. One, two, three . . .

The plate misses Kate’s head by inches and he leaps to his feet and grabs her by the hair.

‘Stop it, Dennis,’ my mother screams. ‘She’s just a child.’

‘She’s a bitch, that’s what she is,’ he sneers as he takes off his belt. ‘A mouthy, know-it-all bitch. Get out of that chair and into the kitchen. Now.’

‘Come on then, big man,’ Kate yells as he drags her out of the room. ‘Hit me. Make yourself feel better for being a lousy waste of space.’

‘Kate, stop it,’ cries my mother, gripping hold of the back of her seat. ‘Don’t talk back to him. Come on, Dennis, she didn’t mean it.’

But he didn’t hear her. He had already pushed Kate into the kitchen and all my mother and I could do was sit and listen to her screams.

I turn over in the bed and look at the darkening sky. Soon the day will be over but I am dreading the coming of morning. Another day without drink; another day without Kate.

As I lie here with my legs pulled up to my chest, my mind drifts back to that evening. When Dad came out of the kitchen there was no sign of Kate, but Mum and I were too scared to ask where she was. Mum took me up to bed while Dad sat and watched late-night TV with the volume turned right up. I lay in bed waiting to hear Kate’s footsteps on the stairs but all I could hear was canned laughter. Had she run away? Had she finally had enough and made her escape? Or had he done something – but there my thoughts stopped. She’d be okay. An hour or so passed then the laughter stopped and I heard the thud of my father’s footsteps on the stairs. No other footsteps, just his. I screwed up my courage and when I heard my dad on the landing I called him in and asked where she was.

‘You get yourself to sleep now, love,’ he said as he stood in the doorway. ‘Don’t be worrying about your sister. Everything’s fine.’ He was always kinder afterwards.

I sat up in bed, determined to do something. Perhaps he’d listen to me if I asked nicely.

‘Why do you hurt them, Daddy?’

He stood there for a moment in silence then he stepped inside and closed the door.

‘You wouldn’t understand, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Now get yourself to sleep.’

‘Please, Daddy,’ I said, starting to cry. ‘Please stop hurting them. It’s mean.’

And then he sighed and sat down on the bed next to me.

‘I’m not mean, Sally,’ he said. ‘I’m heartbroken. There’s only so much a man can take. Do you want to know something about your sister, eh? Shall I tell you a secret?’

His hoarse voice sent shivers down my spine and I can still hear it as I lie in my bed, years away from that conversation. I can smell the whisky on his breath as he whispered in my ear a secret that I have kept for more than twenty years.

I didn’t want to believe him, but at the same time I knew it must be true. Why else would Mum have protected her like she did?

‘Where is she?’ I asked my father as he stood up to leave. ‘Has she run away?’

He gestured to the window. I got out of bed, opened the curtains and looked out. There she was, in the garden. She was lying so still, curled up like a baby on the flower bed with some kind of bag wrapped round her.

‘We have to let her in, she’ll freeze,’ I said, turning to my father who was standing with his hand on the door frame. ‘Please, Daddy.’

‘She’s a bad person, Sally. She needs to learn her lesson,’ he said. ‘An hour or so out there won’t kill her.’

He closed the door, leaving me by the window. And then she stirred and looked up.

‘Sally!’ I could see her shouting for me to let her in.