Read Online Punished: A mother’s cruelty. A daughter’s survival. A secret that couldn’t be told. by Vanessa Steel - Free Book Online
Authors: Vanessa Steel
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rebellious, like the time I told Grandma Pittam I didn’t like her, but most of the time they seemed to give me good advice and help me to stay out of trouble.
‘Keep out of your Mum’s way,’ they would say, or ‘Pick up that block from the carpet before she sees it’, or ‘Don’t argue back – it will only make things worse.’
I told Dad about the voices one time and he seemed very concerned about it. ‘You should tell them to go away,’ he advised.
‘Why do the voices always talk to me when Mummy’s going to be cruel?’ I asked in all innocence.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked sharply, and I remembered that it had been a huge mistake to tell tales on Mum in the past.
I said, ‘Sometimes Mummy’s not very nice to me when you’re not there. Can’t you stay at home? Please, Daddy.’
He frowned and explained that he had to go to work to pay the bills. ‘But I’m sure Mummy’s only cross when you’ve been naughty. You just have to try harder to be a good girl, Lady Jane.’
Mum hated it if I mentioned the voices in my head to her. One night before I went to bed she took some small pieces of cotton wool and forced them inside my ears as far as they would go. ‘That should stop your stupid voices,’ she snapped. She claimed that sometimes I got a distant, glazed look on my face as though I was seeing something or listening to someone far far away, and it drove her to distraction.
When I told Nan Casey about the voices, I got quite a different response.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she told me. ‘There is nothing to fear.’ Then she said something that to me at the time seemed very strange. ‘Your biggest threat is the people who are on this earth, not those who aren’t. They can’t hurt you.’
It was the first inkling I got that the voices came from real people who weren’t on this earth, but the idea didn’t scare me as much as it might have because I knew that, nine times out of ten, they were on my side, trying to protect me. Most were kind and caring, but they usually all had different opinions so it could be hard to decide which ones to trust.
* * *
It was Nan Casey who noticed that my hearing was deteriorating, to the extent that I sometimes couldn’t hearsomeone who was speaking across the room from me. At school I often failed to understand the teacher’s instructions and I was too shy to put my hand up to ask for them to be repeated, so I’d get into trouble for not doing the work correctly.
I hadn’t been to a doctor before that I could remember, although I suppose I must have seen one when my leg was broken at eighteen months. Nan Casey nagged and nagged Mum to get my hearing checked until at last she agreed. We went to a GP first, who shone a light in my ears and tutted. Using a pair of tweezers he reached in and extracted a small, hardened wad of cotton wool.
‘Really, Mrs Casey,’ he said. ‘She shouldn’t be putting things in her ears. It can cause a lot of damage.’
‘Honestly,’ Mum remonstrated with me. ‘How many times have I told you not to do that?’
‘But …’ I began, but her glare warned me to shut up.
The doctor looked at my throat next and remarked that my tonsils were very inflamed and that he would refer me to an ear, nose and throat specialist. Mum was not best pleased but there was nothing she could do about it. They’d have been suspicious if she hadn’t taken me for the ENT appointment. The specialist I saw decided straight away that I needed an operation to remove my tonsils and adenoids, and that this would improve my hearing.
When the day came Mum took me into hospital, and I remember walking down the long, dim corridors that smelled of antiseptic. I had no idea what we were doing there and felt very intimidated. In the ward there were rows of narrow iron beds covered in starched white cotton sheets. A nurse in a pristine blue and white uniform and abig cap that was pinned at the back showed us to the bed I would occupy for the
‘Keep out of your Mum’s way,’ they would say, or ‘Pick up that block from the carpet before she sees it’, or ‘Don’t argue back – it will only make things worse.’
I told Dad about the voices one time and he seemed very concerned about it. ‘You should tell them to go away,’ he advised.
‘Why do the voices always talk to me when Mummy’s going to be cruel?’ I asked in all innocence.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked sharply, and I remembered that it had been a huge mistake to tell tales on Mum in the past.
I said, ‘Sometimes Mummy’s not very nice to me when you’re not there. Can’t you stay at home? Please, Daddy.’
He frowned and explained that he had to go to work to pay the bills. ‘But I’m sure Mummy’s only cross when you’ve been naughty. You just have to try harder to be a good girl, Lady Jane.’
Mum hated it if I mentioned the voices in my head to her. One night before I went to bed she took some small pieces of cotton wool and forced them inside my ears as far as they would go. ‘That should stop your stupid voices,’ she snapped. She claimed that sometimes I got a distant, glazed look on my face as though I was seeing something or listening to someone far far away, and it drove her to distraction.
When I told Nan Casey about the voices, I got quite a different response.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ she told me. ‘There is nothing to fear.’ Then she said something that to me at the time seemed very strange. ‘Your biggest threat is the people who are on this earth, not those who aren’t. They can’t hurt you.’
It was the first inkling I got that the voices came from real people who weren’t on this earth, but the idea didn’t scare me as much as it might have because I knew that, nine times out of ten, they were on my side, trying to protect me. Most were kind and caring, but they usually all had different opinions so it could be hard to decide which ones to trust.
* * *
It was Nan Casey who noticed that my hearing was deteriorating, to the extent that I sometimes couldn’t hearsomeone who was speaking across the room from me. At school I often failed to understand the teacher’s instructions and I was too shy to put my hand up to ask for them to be repeated, so I’d get into trouble for not doing the work correctly.
I hadn’t been to a doctor before that I could remember, although I suppose I must have seen one when my leg was broken at eighteen months. Nan Casey nagged and nagged Mum to get my hearing checked until at last she agreed. We went to a GP first, who shone a light in my ears and tutted. Using a pair of tweezers he reached in and extracted a small, hardened wad of cotton wool.
‘Really, Mrs Casey,’ he said. ‘She shouldn’t be putting things in her ears. It can cause a lot of damage.’
‘Honestly,’ Mum remonstrated with me. ‘How many times have I told you not to do that?’
‘But …’ I began, but her glare warned me to shut up.
The doctor looked at my throat next and remarked that my tonsils were very inflamed and that he would refer me to an ear, nose and throat specialist. Mum was not best pleased but there was nothing she could do about it. They’d have been suspicious if she hadn’t taken me for the ENT appointment. The specialist I saw decided straight away that I needed an operation to remove my tonsils and adenoids, and that this would improve my hearing.
When the day came Mum took me into hospital, and I remember walking down the long, dim corridors that smelled of antiseptic. I had no idea what we were doing there and felt very intimidated. In the ward there were rows of narrow iron beds covered in starched white cotton sheets. A nurse in a pristine blue and white uniform and abig cap that was pinned at the back showed us to the bed I would occupy for the
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