Read Online Can't Anyone Help Me? by Toni Maguire - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Toni Maguire
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She was the one I had seen in the bedroom with my father that night when they had stayed over. They were introduced to my aunt and uncle, and after drinks we sat down to the meal.
There was a huge turkey with all the trimmings, tiny sausages, mounds of vegetables mixed with chestnuts and piles of roast potatoes. Appreciative remarks from the guests rang out as the bird was brought in for my father to carve. A wing, normally my favourite part, was put on my plate. ‘Some breast as well for you, Jackie?’ my father said, as he placed a slice of white meat next to it.
It was then that my uncle caught my eye. He smiled the smile that was just for me. I looked hastily down at my plate with its slices of white meat. The pink of the cranberry sauce had started to stain it and suddenly I felt the lump that always stopped me swallowing.
I felt my mother looking at me and put a piece of the meat into my mouth. Please, I said silently to myself, please don’t let me be sick. With every scrap of effort I was capable of making, I swallowed it. I drank some juice after each mouthful and somehow managed to get through each course.
My mother scorned paper hats as common, but we pulled the very elaborate gold and red crackers she had ordered from the Harrods Christmas catalogue. The crackers contained only adult gifts – miniature bottles of liqueurs: if you got one you had to drink it, according to my mother. ‘I’ll have yours, Jackie. I don’t think you’ll like crème de menthe,’ laughed my father, when a bottle of green liquid dropped on to my plate.
‘Please can I go to my room?’ I asked, once the meal was finished and bottles of port were being opened and poured. I was told I could.
Upstairs I puked up every scrap I had consumed. Despite the warmth from the central heating, I was shivering, covered with gooseflesh. ‘Please,’ I said to Florence, ‘please let him leave me alone.’ That night, my Christmas wish was granted: he did.
It was the day after Boxing Day when, tired from two days of eating and drinking, my parents retired early to bed. He came into my room. Even in my sleep, I felt his presence and woke. Without opening my eyes I knew he was standing by my bed. I could hear him breathing, and as I lay completely still, pretending to be asleep, I felt his fingers lightly stroking my face. ‘Come on, Jackie, I know you’re awake,’ he said.
Clutching my duvet, I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
‘Miss me?’ he asked.
I started to gasp out a warning that someone might hear him, that it wasn’t safe, and he, thinking I was trying to protect him, hastened to reassure me. ‘Don’t worry, Jackie, we’re safe. Your parents are exhausted and quite drunk so they’ll never wake up. I’ve told your aunt I was slipping outside for a cigarette – you know what she thinks of me smoking.’
I knew what my mother thought of that as well, but said nothing. I just clutched the covers even tighter around me and wished hopelessly that he would go away.
He flicked off my bedside light but, dim as the room was, I could still see him. ‘Have to be quick, though,’ he said, and took hold of my head. His fingers buried themselves into my hair as he pulled me forwards while his other hand fumbled with the front of his trousers. The sound of him unzipping them rang in my ears.
He pressed my face against him and, although I tried not to breathe, I still inhaled that sweaty smell and felt hot flesh before he pulled back my bedding and climbed in.
And there in the darkness of my bedroom, where only my teddy bears could see us, he pushed my legs apart and held me tightly until he had finished.
It was after I was sure he had gone, and had heard his soft footsteps retreat as he crept along the corridor to the room he was sharing with my aunt, that I reached up and put my light back on. I avoided looking at my bears – I didn’t want to see their eyes, which I knew were watching me.
Instead, I called out to
There was a huge turkey with all the trimmings, tiny sausages, mounds of vegetables mixed with chestnuts and piles of roast potatoes. Appreciative remarks from the guests rang out as the bird was brought in for my father to carve. A wing, normally my favourite part, was put on my plate. ‘Some breast as well for you, Jackie?’ my father said, as he placed a slice of white meat next to it.
It was then that my uncle caught my eye. He smiled the smile that was just for me. I looked hastily down at my plate with its slices of white meat. The pink of the cranberry sauce had started to stain it and suddenly I felt the lump that always stopped me swallowing.
I felt my mother looking at me and put a piece of the meat into my mouth. Please, I said silently to myself, please don’t let me be sick. With every scrap of effort I was capable of making, I swallowed it. I drank some juice after each mouthful and somehow managed to get through each course.
My mother scorned paper hats as common, but we pulled the very elaborate gold and red crackers she had ordered from the Harrods Christmas catalogue. The crackers contained only adult gifts – miniature bottles of liqueurs: if you got one you had to drink it, according to my mother. ‘I’ll have yours, Jackie. I don’t think you’ll like crème de menthe,’ laughed my father, when a bottle of green liquid dropped on to my plate.
‘Please can I go to my room?’ I asked, once the meal was finished and bottles of port were being opened and poured. I was told I could.
Upstairs I puked up every scrap I had consumed. Despite the warmth from the central heating, I was shivering, covered with gooseflesh. ‘Please,’ I said to Florence, ‘please let him leave me alone.’ That night, my Christmas wish was granted: he did.
It was the day after Boxing Day when, tired from two days of eating and drinking, my parents retired early to bed. He came into my room. Even in my sleep, I felt his presence and woke. Without opening my eyes I knew he was standing by my bed. I could hear him breathing, and as I lay completely still, pretending to be asleep, I felt his fingers lightly stroking my face. ‘Come on, Jackie, I know you’re awake,’ he said.
Clutching my duvet, I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
‘Miss me?’ he asked.
I started to gasp out a warning that someone might hear him, that it wasn’t safe, and he, thinking I was trying to protect him, hastened to reassure me. ‘Don’t worry, Jackie, we’re safe. Your parents are exhausted and quite drunk so they’ll never wake up. I’ve told your aunt I was slipping outside for a cigarette – you know what she thinks of me smoking.’
I knew what my mother thought of that as well, but said nothing. I just clutched the covers even tighter around me and wished hopelessly that he would go away.
He flicked off my bedside light but, dim as the room was, I could still see him. ‘Have to be quick, though,’ he said, and took hold of my head. His fingers buried themselves into my hair as he pulled me forwards while his other hand fumbled with the front of his trousers. The sound of him unzipping them rang in my ears.
He pressed my face against him and, although I tried not to breathe, I still inhaled that sweaty smell and felt hot flesh before he pulled back my bedding and climbed in.
And there in the darkness of my bedroom, where only my teddy bears could see us, he pushed my legs apart and held me tightly until he had finished.
It was after I was sure he had gone, and had heard his soft footsteps retreat as he crept along the corridor to the room he was sharing with my aunt, that I reached up and put my light back on. I avoided looking at my bears – I didn’t want to see their eyes, which I knew were watching me.
Instead, I called out to
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