The Girl Who Cried Wolf(33)
My mother shakes her head sadly, and as he grabs her arm his tone turns swiftly from pleading to anger. ‘If you leave me, you will leave with nothing. You have nowhere to go, you have no friends, or do you want to go back to the family you’ve all but abandoned? You can say goodbye to your designer clothes and your precious antiques. Are you really ready to leave Elm Tree for ever? To give up on your dream and go back to drifting from one filthy place to the next?’
My mother looks uncertain and afraid. I have always sensed weakness from her, but I am certain she will find the strength somewhere to leave after all he has done.
To my horror, she picks up the heavy suitcase at her feet and carries it past him, back up the sweeping staircase as he smooths down his hair with both hands.
I stay close to her for a little while, trying to offer some comfort but of course she doesn’t know I am there. A little while later she walks silently out into the garden, looking behind her to see if he is watching. Held out carefully in front of her is a small plant cupped gently between her hands, and she moves quickly to the secluded rose garden behind the elm tree. I watch her embed the plant amongst the pungent soils with such tenderness I that I am quite moved.
‘You were not a boy to carry on his name, darling. You were a little girl to live your life full of dreams and laughter. You would have always remembered how to laugh as I have forgotten. I would have raised you in this beautiful house, and given you everything I never had. I shall never forget you or stop loving you and I hope there are angels who will protect you where I failed.’
I am left lost and alone, wondering if it meant that somewhere in this afterlife, Izzy and I have a sister who was lost before birth. My anger towards Father is boundless. I run towards the house but as the door swings open, everything is different as though many years have passed, and I see my mother pulling us up the stairs and telling us to hurry. She gently ushers Izzy and I into the attic room, full of toys and wall hangings, and tells us to play quietly. I see her lock the door and run back down the stairs as my father storms up the driveway and into the house.
‘Where are they?’ he bellows. ‘Have you seen what they have done to the garden?! I have people coming for dinner in an hour and it looks like a jumble sale out there!’
‘Malcolm, please. Calm down, I have time to clear it up. They were having such a nice time playing tea parties. I have everything ready for tonight …’ Her voice trails away and she lifts her hand in a practised motion to defend her face from the imminent blow.
‘Do you want to leave?’ He spits each word as she picks herself up from the floor, eyeing him wearily. I see that the radiant face which had looked up at him all those years ago had been replaced with a stone mask. Her eyes were dead as she told him, no, she didn’t want to leave.
‘Because you know what will happen, don’t you, Lillian?’ She nods silently. ‘You will be the one to leave but my girls will stay here. Without you guarding them like a she-wolf I could show them proper discipline.’ His laugh is so ugly that I shudder. He smiles nastily. ‘No. I don’t think you’ll be leaving yet. Not just yet.’
I cannot stand there listening any more and run down the lane from Elm Tree praying that this will stop; praying that this was a mistake and my father couldn’t possibly be such a monster. ‘I would have known!’ I scream into the darkness. ‘I would have known.’ I fall to my knees and let the cold air wash over me, wondering how anything could ever be good again.
Chapter Eight:
The One You Feed
‘Sit still on the carpet, Anna!’ I am surprised to hear the exasperated sound of my alternative Sunday school teacher, Mr Thomas. He looks exactly how I remember him; the dog collar worn over a tie-dyed T shirt, strange harem trousers, and open-toed sandals. His long hair is neatly pulled into a ponytail, and his blue eyes are sparkling with mischief.
As I look around I am sitting in a neat circle with my peers while he stands at the front of the room. Rather than looking straight through me in the fashion to which I am now accustomed, he is staring right at me so I quickly cross my legs and realise that I am a little girl once more as I look at my shiny, patent leather shoes.
‘So.’ He seems satisfied and gets back to his story. ‘We all have two wolves fighting inside us. A good wolf and a bad wolf … and the battle is ferocious!’ He says the last part with great enthusiasm and we all giggle.
‘What, little ones, do we think the good wolf might be fighting for?’ He had told us this popular old fable many times and a few of the boys piped up.
‘Courage! Mr Thomas! And love, and kindness!’
‘Excellent, you have remembered so well! What else might he be fighting for? Anna, can you think of something good worth fighting for?’
I was tempted to say Cadbury’s Creme Eggs but I am enjoying this happy memory of a simpler time, so I shout out eagerly, ‘Honesty and happiness and hope, Mr Thomas!’
He chuckles, then his face darkens and our eyes pop like saucers. ‘But what, children, do we think the baaaad wolf inside you is fighting for?’
We must all be looking a little too disconcerted because he stops snarling quite so aggressively and raises his eyebrows for an answer.
‘Greed!’ shouts a brave soul to the left of me, inspiring us all to join in.
‘And hatred and jealousy and evil!’