Read Online Can't Anyone Help Me? by Toni Maguire - Free Book Online
Authors: Toni Maguire
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given me either the biggest or the most expensive present. I received it as soon as breakfast was finished, and I kept it downstairs to show to the assortment of middle-aged aunties later. The unanimous collective thought always expressed was that indeed I was a very lucky little girl. Before I was ten there was a large wooden doll’s house in the corner of my room that I had long ago become bored with; a small gold locket in a drawer of my dressing-table; an eight-track cassette player on a shelf alongside books and videos; a collection of music; more toys than a single child could play with; and an overflowing wardrobe of the latest designs.
The only present that did not have to stay in my room was my bicycle. It was my favourite present, but other than the first day, when it was brand new, it had to be kept in the garage.
The year that there were going to be six candles on the cake, my mother decided I should have a proper party with other children. ‘You can invite all your little friends from school,’ she said brightly, ignoring the fact that I did not appear to have any and that in the whole year I had been at school I had never been invited to a birthday party.
But my mother was determined that her daughter was going to have a smart party and sent out the invitations. She delivered little printed cards placed in envelopes to the school, for all the children to take home to their parents. She had invited all of my classmates, even the ones I told her I really didn’t want.
‘Don’t be so silly, Jackie,’ she said, when I objected. ‘Of course we have to include everyone. You can’t invite some and not the others.’ Even then I knew it was their parents’ reactions she was worried about, not the children’s.
I don’t think it was because they liked me that every child accepted. I think it was more that my mother had put on the invitation that not only were presents unnecessary but that an entertainer had been booked, plus someone to look after the children. All the parents had to do was drop them off and collect them several hours later.
They accepted, as my mother had known they would. After all, what more could a six-year-old’s mother wish for than an afternoon to herself, knowing that her child was being well looked after?
The ban on presents was ignored and there were books, for colouring and to read, crayons, and sweets that I was told to share with my ‘friends’.
At that first party, while my mother and her close friends were happily sipping sherry and gossiping, we watched a magician do his tricks. Coins appeared from behind small ears, scarves emerged from pockets and, of course, the right card appeared seemingly out of thin air. The following year, to my mother’s delight, invitations appeared for me. At my next birthday party, there was a treasure hunt, and each child found something – but after that one there were no more parties.
By then I was no longer receiving invitations to other children’s homes. My increasingly bad behaviour had marked me out not only as a disturbed child but a destructive one as well. Parents warned their children not to play with me, not that they needed warning. By then too many of them had witnessed my bouts of violence and unpredictable behaviour.
‘Jackie, I think we should just have a quiet birthday this year,’ my mother said firmly. ‘Excitement isn’t good for you.’ So I spent my eighth birthday with her friends. That was the year my aunt and uncle put in an appearance, something they had not done before, preferring to give me their presents when I visited them.
They brought me a huge yellow bear. It was too big to wrap but a large ribbon around its neck made it look like a present.
‘Oh, how kind,’ my mother said, as usual. ‘What do you say, Jackie?’
I looked at the bear, which dwarfed my entire collection, with something approaching repugnance. It was made of nylon and too big, and I didn’t think it looked in the least bit
The only present that did not have to stay in my room was my bicycle. It was my favourite present, but other than the first day, when it was brand new, it had to be kept in the garage.
The year that there were going to be six candles on the cake, my mother decided I should have a proper party with other children. ‘You can invite all your little friends from school,’ she said brightly, ignoring the fact that I did not appear to have any and that in the whole year I had been at school I had never been invited to a birthday party.
But my mother was determined that her daughter was going to have a smart party and sent out the invitations. She delivered little printed cards placed in envelopes to the school, for all the children to take home to their parents. She had invited all of my classmates, even the ones I told her I really didn’t want.
‘Don’t be so silly, Jackie,’ she said, when I objected. ‘Of course we have to include everyone. You can’t invite some and not the others.’ Even then I knew it was their parents’ reactions she was worried about, not the children’s.
I don’t think it was because they liked me that every child accepted. I think it was more that my mother had put on the invitation that not only were presents unnecessary but that an entertainer had been booked, plus someone to look after the children. All the parents had to do was drop them off and collect them several hours later.
They accepted, as my mother had known they would. After all, what more could a six-year-old’s mother wish for than an afternoon to herself, knowing that her child was being well looked after?
The ban on presents was ignored and there were books, for colouring and to read, crayons, and sweets that I was told to share with my ‘friends’.
At that first party, while my mother and her close friends were happily sipping sherry and gossiping, we watched a magician do his tricks. Coins appeared from behind small ears, scarves emerged from pockets and, of course, the right card appeared seemingly out of thin air. The following year, to my mother’s delight, invitations appeared for me. At my next birthday party, there was a treasure hunt, and each child found something – but after that one there were no more parties.
By then I was no longer receiving invitations to other children’s homes. My increasingly bad behaviour had marked me out not only as a disturbed child but a destructive one as well. Parents warned their children not to play with me, not that they needed warning. By then too many of them had witnessed my bouts of violence and unpredictable behaviour.
‘Jackie, I think we should just have a quiet birthday this year,’ my mother said firmly. ‘Excitement isn’t good for you.’ So I spent my eighth birthday with her friends. That was the year my aunt and uncle put in an appearance, something they had not done before, preferring to give me their presents when I visited them.
They brought me a huge yellow bear. It was too big to wrap but a large ribbon around its neck made it look like a present.
‘Oh, how kind,’ my mother said, as usual. ‘What do you say, Jackie?’
I looked at the bear, which dwarfed my entire collection, with something approaching repugnance. It was made of nylon and too big, and I didn’t think it looked in the least bit
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