Read Online Born to Trouble by Rita Bradshaw - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
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the soap, returning to the front room and scrubbing at the mattress until the blood had dulled to a faint pink colour. The smell was in her nostrils but the odour of Mr F was worse, clinging to her so that every movement she made brought him wafting closer.
By the time she had emptied the bowl and filled it afresh with water to wash in, twilight had fallen. Taking off her dress, she stood in the shadowed kitchen and washed herself all over, scrubbing at her skin until it was red and sore. She could hardly bear to touch between her legs; when she dabbed at the area, her flesh stung so badly it brought tears streaming from her eyes and made her shake again. Tipping away the soapy water, she filled the bowl again and then sat down in it, hoping to ease the soreness.
Eventually she felt a little relief and after a while she steeled herself to stand up and get dry, pulling on her dress again and then going to the back door and opening it. It was quiet outside, since most children had been called in and put to bed, but high in the mauve- and charcoal-streaked sky, the swallows were calling to each other as they skimmed and dived in the thermals, skilfully swooping on airborne insects the hot weather had brought out and gorging themselves in a feeding frenzy.
She stood listening to their cries and watching their graceful dipping and rising until it was dark and they were gone, and slowly the numbness born of shock and trauma which had paralysed her mind began to dissolve. And she knew she had to get away.
Her mother had been paid for letting Mr F do what he’d done to her. Not only that, but her mother was going to let it happen again and again. She shut her eyes for a moment. She’d rather throw herself in the river than suffer that.
She felt sticky between her legs and knew she was still bleeding, but now panic at the thought that her mother might somehow constrain her was high. She couldn’t wait until morning – she had to go now, tonight. It didn’t matter where, she told herself frantically. But she had to change this dress for her other one, and put on her spare shift and drawers – and that meant going upstairs.
Once she was standing on the landing she could hear her mother snoring. The sound was reassuring inasmuch as it meant she could leave the house undetected, but now, as she put it to herself, she was feeling bad right through. Just climbing the stairs had made her sick and giddy, and as she entered the room she shared with James and Patrick, she had to hold onto the door handle when the floor shifted and everything spun. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she looked at the sleeping faces of her brothers in the dim light. They were lying facing each other, James’s arms about Patrick. They often slept like this.
She had promised Seth she would take care of them both, so she couldn’t leave them. But she couldn’t take them with her either. How was she going to feed them and look after them? Where would they sleep? No, she couldn’t take them. Silent tears ran down her face. Her mother would have to look after them when she had gone, and it wasn’t as if they were any trouble, they were good little boys. And at least here they would be clothed and fed and have somewhere to sleep. The neighbours would keep an eye on them once they knew she’d gone; they were all aware what her mother was like.
She sat with her hands clenched in her lap in an agony of indecision, but really she knew she had no choice. She had to go, and she had to go alone. She didn’t care what happened to her – in fact, right at this moment she wanted nothing more than to hide somewhere and go to sleep and never to wake up again – but the boys needed a roof over their heads.
She was hurting so much she wanted to creep under the covers and lie down, but she mustn’t. Taking her spare set of clothes from the orange box under the bed, she slowly got dressed, pulling on her boots and replaiting her hair which had come loose in
By the time she had emptied the bowl and filled it afresh with water to wash in, twilight had fallen. Taking off her dress, she stood in the shadowed kitchen and washed herself all over, scrubbing at her skin until it was red and sore. She could hardly bear to touch between her legs; when she dabbed at the area, her flesh stung so badly it brought tears streaming from her eyes and made her shake again. Tipping away the soapy water, she filled the bowl again and then sat down in it, hoping to ease the soreness.
Eventually she felt a little relief and after a while she steeled herself to stand up and get dry, pulling on her dress again and then going to the back door and opening it. It was quiet outside, since most children had been called in and put to bed, but high in the mauve- and charcoal-streaked sky, the swallows were calling to each other as they skimmed and dived in the thermals, skilfully swooping on airborne insects the hot weather had brought out and gorging themselves in a feeding frenzy.
She stood listening to their cries and watching their graceful dipping and rising until it was dark and they were gone, and slowly the numbness born of shock and trauma which had paralysed her mind began to dissolve. And she knew she had to get away.
Her mother had been paid for letting Mr F do what he’d done to her. Not only that, but her mother was going to let it happen again and again. She shut her eyes for a moment. She’d rather throw herself in the river than suffer that.
She felt sticky between her legs and knew she was still bleeding, but now panic at the thought that her mother might somehow constrain her was high. She couldn’t wait until morning – she had to go now, tonight. It didn’t matter where, she told herself frantically. But she had to change this dress for her other one, and put on her spare shift and drawers – and that meant going upstairs.
Once she was standing on the landing she could hear her mother snoring. The sound was reassuring inasmuch as it meant she could leave the house undetected, but now, as she put it to herself, she was feeling bad right through. Just climbing the stairs had made her sick and giddy, and as she entered the room she shared with James and Patrick, she had to hold onto the door handle when the floor shifted and everything spun. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she looked at the sleeping faces of her brothers in the dim light. They were lying facing each other, James’s arms about Patrick. They often slept like this.
She had promised Seth she would take care of them both, so she couldn’t leave them. But she couldn’t take them with her either. How was she going to feed them and look after them? Where would they sleep? No, she couldn’t take them. Silent tears ran down her face. Her mother would have to look after them when she had gone, and it wasn’t as if they were any trouble, they were good little boys. And at least here they would be clothed and fed and have somewhere to sleep. The neighbours would keep an eye on them once they knew she’d gone; they were all aware what her mother was like.
She sat with her hands clenched in her lap in an agony of indecision, but really she knew she had no choice. She had to go, and she had to go alone. She didn’t care what happened to her – in fact, right at this moment she wanted nothing more than to hide somewhere and go to sleep and never to wake up again – but the boys needed a roof over their heads.
She was hurting so much she wanted to creep under the covers and lie down, but she mustn’t. Taking her spare set of clothes from the orange box under the bed, she slowly got dressed, pulling on her boots and replaiting her hair which had come loose in
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