Sadie. Jane Elliott
She watched, wide-eyed, as Allen struggled to control his sudden burst of fury. With a hateful look, he turned and stomped down the stairs. As though his disappearance had released her from a lock and chain, Sadie rushed into her bedroom.
Dusk was falling, as was the rain, though less heavily now, and her room seemed saturated with gloom. Sadie did not want to turn on the light, feeling that the half-darkness somehow protected her. She quickly dried herself, pulled on her nightdress and buried herself under her bedclothes, clutching a soft teddy bear her dad had bought her many years ago. She breathed in its smell. Normally it was so comforting, but tonight for some reason it just made the tears come, and it didn’t take long for the bear’s matted hair to become quite wet. And even when she could cry no more, she remained under the covers, curled up and clinging desperately to the soft toy which could not offer her the comfort that she craved.
It was fully dark outside by the time she dared to poke her head out from under the duvet. Late, though sleep seemed only a distant possibility. Slowly, tentatively, she put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.
Time passed.
After a while, a warm blanket of drowsiness fell over Sadie; but it was ruffled before she could truly fall asleep by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs once more. They were not heavy footsteps this time, but her eyes sprang suddenly open when she realized they were approaching her door. And then came the sound she dreaded.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
She said nothing – she knew there was no point. She heard the sound of the door brushing against the carpet as it swung open, and she closed her eyes, lying desperately still and pretending to be asleep. Despite not being able to see anything, she could sense Allen walking across the room to her bed. He sat on the side of it, and the sickening smell of his aftershave filled her nose.
Then, with a start, she felt him brushing his hand across her hair.
‘I know you’re not asleep, Sadie,’ he whispered.
Sadie wanted to jump out of bed and scream, but some unseen force pinned her to the mattress and she kept her eyes resolutely closed. The stroking of her hair stopped, and suddenly she felt Allen’s warm breath near her face. It smelled of the tinned spaghetti from earlier.
‘Goodnight, pet,’ he breathed, before planting a kiss on her closed mouth, leaving a vile feeling of the wetness of his lips.
Then he stood up and walked out, leaving Sadie alone in the darkness of her room.
She awoke with a start.
It was pitch black in her room, and she had no idea what time it was. In the darkness, however, she heard the front door closing and assumed that it must be her mum coming back from work. That would make it a bit past midnight; she could only have been asleep for an hour or two. The rain had stopped now, and she could quite clearly hear her mum shout ‘I’m back’ before moving through to the sitting room and out of earshot. Sadie wanted more than anything to go down and see her – to hug her – but she couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Allen.
So she just lay there, protected by her duvet and the darkness of the night.
All of a sudden she heard voices from downstairs. Raised voices. Allen was shouting at her mum. Sadie couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she could detect the fury in his voice. Her mum said something – or shouted it, rather – but it was short-lived. There was an immediate and ominous silence; Sadie found herself holding her breath. The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps up the stairs – running, this time, and Sadie recognized the rhythm of her mother’s steps. She sat up in bed, hoping that Jackie would come into her room to say goodnight; but she was disappointed: all she heard was Jackie’s own bedroom door slamming shut.
Something told her that she shouldn’t go in to see her. She lay back down in bed and, despite the turmoil in her mind, soon fell asleep.
If Allen came up to bed that night, Sadie was not awake to hear it.
The next day dawned bright and clear, but Jamie Brown had been awake long before the sun rose.
It was his birthday the following day, and last night he had gone to sleep cosseted by pleasant fantasies of a birthday present, and even a chocolate cake with candles. He had never had either, of course, but that didn’t stop him from hoping each time his birthday came around. Maybe Mum would have had a change of heart this year; maybe there would be a bit of spare money; just maybe he would have a happy day.
But the maybes had dissolved from his mind a little before dawn when he awoke with the familiar feeling of horror. The thin mattress which lay on the floor of the tiny box room he called his own was wet, and so was the stained sheet that covered him. He didn’t dare move for fear of waking his mother up; all he could do was hope that it dried before morning. But morning had come, and the bedding was still damp. The little boy shivered, not just because he was cold.
Perhaps he could hide what had happened. Perhaps if he got up now and pulled the frayed blanket over his sheet, she wouldn’t notice. He quietly slipped out of bed, removed his damp pyjamas and put them under the pillow; then he put on the underwear he had been wearing for the past week. He crept out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. It was filthy, as it always was. The taps to the bath were broken, and he wasn’t allowed to use the shower unless Mum said so; instead, he took his flannel, which had fallen down beside the toilet and become encrusted hard, and soaked it under cold running water. He squeezed it and rubbed it over his skin, taking care not to press too hard where the bruises were. When he had finished his ineffectual wash, he moistened his toothbrush under the running water. The bristles were worn and flattened, and the handle stained with lime scale; there was, of course, no toothpaste, but he brushed nevertheless, pressing so hard that his gums started to hurt. He placed the toothbrush back on the side of the sink, and then turned round and left the room.
His heart jumped.
Standing in the doorway of his room was his mum. She had a cigarette in one hand and his damp pyjamas in the other.
Jamie cowered, shrinking against the wall under the withering heat of her gaze.
‘What the fuck is this?’ she asked, her voice deathly quiet.
Jamie was too terrified to speak.
‘Don’t fucking ignore me, Jamie. What the fuck is this?’
‘I’m s-s-sorry, Mum,’ Jamie stammered. ‘I think I wet myself.’
His mum hurled the wet pyjamas at his head. ‘I can fucking see that!’ she screamed.
Jamie struggled to remove the clothes from around his eyes. As he did so he saw his mum bearing down on him. Instantly he crumpled to the floor, rolling up in a little ball like the hedgehog he had seen in a book at school. ‘Please don’t hit me, Mum,’ he whimpered, but it was too late. As he spoke he felt her bare foot against his abdomen. The thought flashed through his head that at least she wasn’t wearing shoes; but he still felt a shriek of pain as she kicked him on the bruises from his last beating. He found himself gasping as his mother shouted at him again.
‘It’s no fuckin’ wonder everyone hates you. I fucking hate you, and I’m your mum, more fool me.’ She stomped back into her bedroom, but the shouting continued. ‘Now fuck off to school. I’m sick of the fucking sight of you …’
The blue sky made yesterday’s rain seem like a weird dream; indeed, to Sadie, everything about the previous evening had a nightmare quality about it, almost as though none of it had happened. As she walked sleepily to the bathroom, however, she was reminded of it all: the bath water was still there, as she had been in too much of a hurry to get to her bedroom to pull the plug out. It seemed that nobody had been into the bathroom since; or if they had, they wanted to make a point. She removed the plug, and as the water