Helpless: The true story of a neglected girl betrayed and exploited by the neighbour she trusted. Toni Maguire
I would watch my mother stroke his rosy cheeks and his neck, and blow kisses on his round little stomach before wrapping her arms around him.
I tried to be good then, offered to help with feeding and changing him, but all the time I asked myself a question repeatedly. If she was capable of feeling so much love for my brother, why wasn’t there enough left to give a small slice of it to me?
When our meal was finished I would slide off my chair and pick up the chipped china plates and anything else my small hands could hold. Then, with my brow furrowed in concentration, for I knew not to drop anything, I would take them to the sink.
Sometimes I would be rewarded by a smile from my mother as she ran her fingers through my hair. ‘You’re a good girl, Marianne, aren’t you?’ she would say, and on those occasions just those few words of praise were enough to put a smile on my face.
Apart from my brother’s existence emphasizing my parents’ indifference to me, the biggest change his presence made in my life was that for several months before he was born my mother no longer took me to school. ‘Marianne, I’m too busy and you’re big enough to go alone now’ was all she had said by way of explanation.
So instead of sitting on the seat behind her with my arms wrapped around her body, I had to walk alone for about half a mile to the bus stop and take myself there. That added to my difference, for I was only too aware that I was the only child in my class who walked into the playground alone without a mother to wave goodbye. And when the final bell rang, I was the only one not collected.
At the end of the school day all the children in my class rushed to the gates to receive hugs and kisses and tender enquiries as to the events of the day. Larger ones held their small hands tightly and they left without even a glance in my direction. I felt as though I was invisible, a feeling that grew when after a few months I arrived home to see my brother sitting on my mother’s knee.
Those days I felt an overwhelming need for something in my life, without knowing what it could be.
It was the second photograph that made me smile. It also had been taken when I was around six, but this time there was an expression of delighted surprise on my face and I clearly remembered the day when the button on the camera was pressed, capturing that moment for ever.
I knew that my father’s family had no affection for my mother and very little for me. On the rare times they called on us I had seen the expressions on their faces as their eyes slid around the dirty room before alighting on me.
‘She takes after you in looks,’ my grandmother always said to my mother and I understood it was not meant as a compliment. So what my father did was surprising.
He was the eldest of four children and, despite his forced marriage to a woman his family disapproved of, was still his mother’s favourite. His father had died while I was still a toddler, so when his sister announced that she was getting married she asked my father to give her away.
He in turn asked two things of her. His wife was to be invited to the wedding, and I was to be bridesmaid.
Neither my mother nor I was present when he made his request. All I knew was that my aunt had said yes and that I had been taken to my grandmother’s house to be measured for my dress.
If it is love that makes a child pretty and parental affection that puts a bloom in small children’s cheeks, then my lack of either explained why I was an unprepossessing pale-faced child; one dressed in badly fitting cast-offs from charity shops and one who seldom saw the inside of the tin bath. The expressions on both of my aunts’ faces left me in no doubt of their opinion of me.
‘Going to take more than a few minutes to get her ready,’ the elder one had said, after taking one look at me.
‘Bring her over the evening before so we can tidy her up. She’s such a little scrap we can put her in my bed to sleep – sure I won’t even notice her there.’
So the evening before the wedding I was dutifully delivered into the care of my aunts. A beautiful pink silk dress was laid out on my aunt’s bed, ready for me to wear the next day.
‘Bath! ‘said my aunt after I had eaten my supper.
‘Here,’ she said to her sister, ‘help me out will you? I’ve still things to do for my big day.’
My hand was taken and the next thing I knew my clothes were on the back of a chair and I was looking at a huge white bath filled with bubbles. ‘In you get,’ said the younger aunt, not unkindly.
For a second I was scared. It was so big, surely I would drown in it? But my aunt’s strong adult arms held me tightly as she lifted me in. Soap was lathered over my face, neck and body, shampoo rubbed into my hair, and then with instructions to close my eyes she tipped me backwards. My head went under, my legs kicked out; soap was in my mouth, laughter in my ears. Choking, they raised me to the surface.
‘This time keep your mouth shut as well as your eyes,’ they warned me, then under I went again.
‘Blimey! Grubby little mare our niece is!’ said a voice I recognized as belonging to my younger aunt. ‘Wonder when she was last as clean as this?’
‘You could have flaked bits of grime off with your fingernails,’ I heard the older one say to her sister. ‘Whatever is that mother thinking of?’
‘Good thing she ain’t got nits, or you could count me out doing the pinning of her hair later.’
It was me they were talking about. And knowing the shame of it, it the happiness and excitement of the day faded. Suddenly the arms that held me close now constricted me. The friendly laughter had become mockery and the comments had turned into criticism. I wriggled in protest.
‘Oh, come on love, don’t you get narky,’ said my aunt when she saw my discomfort. ‘Sure we’re all girls together tonight, aren’t we?’
‘Course we are,’ they both said in unison, and suddenly I was lifted up onto a knee, a fluffy white towel was wrapped around me and my aunts’ arms hugged and petted me. A sweet was popped into my mouth, my hair was given another quick rub, the tangles carefully combed out, then, while still wet, coils of my light-brown hair were wrapped in rags and pinned tightly to my head.
‘Don’t spoil it now, Marianne,’ the elder aunt said. ‘You are going to be so pretty tomorrow with your hair all done up.’
‘Yes,’ said the other one, ‘a special little girl, that’s what you’ll be.’
‘You sleep with your neck on the pillow as well your head,’ said her sister helpfully. ‘Don’t want to lose these rags.’ And with all the excitement I hardly noticed any discomfort as I tried to quell the excitement and sleep. The last thoughts as I finally fell into a deep sleep were ‘Tomorrow I’m going to wear a beautiful new dress and I’m going to be special.’
The next morning, in a bedroom where the older bridesmaids were fluttering around mirrors and jostling to gain a better view of themselves, my younger aunt took the rags out of my hair, brushed it gently, then pinned it up into a soft roll. Next, new pink underwear was pulled on, white socks went onto my feet that were then slipped into shiny black shoes. I could hardly keep still for excitement when finally my wonderful new dress was pulled over my shoulders.
‘Close your eyes, Marianne.’ I squeezed them shut, felt my hair being smoothed back into place. Hands gently took my shoulders and turned me around to face a large mirror.
‘Look, Marianne, look how pretty you are!’
Out of the glass a child I hardly recognized stared gravely back at me. As our eyes met a look of astonished delight spread across her face and I, feeling that joy, felt my mouth stretch into an answering wide smile. That was when they took the photograph.
The wedding might have been the most important