Ruby by Heather Burnside (carter reed txt) 📗

She was glad when her mother had shut the door and Mr Dodds was on the outside.

‘He’s creepy,’ she said to her mother.

Daisy had a look of consternation on her face as she bit back. ‘Yes, well, he might be creepy, child, but he puts a roof over our heads so it’s something we have to put up with.’

Trina picked up on her mother’s hostile tone and didn’t say anything further. Instead she walked over to Daisy and handed her the bag. ‘Look what Grandma sent,’ she said, hoping to please her mother.

Daisy grabbed the bag and peered inside it, drawing her breath when she spotted the large slab of cake, and pulled it out. ‘Oh, she didn’t need to do that,’ she said, her eyes moistening. ‘I hope you said thank you.’

‘Yeah, course I did,’ said Trina.

She watched her mother riffle through the other items in the bag and could almost picture her mind mulling over what she would cook them for their evening meal. ‘OK, you can go out to play now while I put these away and do some cleaning,’ she said, her head still lowered over the bag.

The boys raced back up the hallway and Trina was about to follow them when her mother stopped her. ‘Not you, Trina. We need to have a talk,’ she said.

Trina’s face fell. Seeing the look on her mother’s face, she wasn’t looking forward to this talk, whatever it might be, but she obeyed and followed her through to the kitchen once the boys had gone out to play.

Inside the kitchen, Daisy unloaded the bag of goodies while Trina stood awkwardly, awaiting instruction. Her mother put some veg into the bowl and gave them a wash, then she passed Trina a knife and a chopping board and asked her to prepare them. Trina did as she was told, aware that this must be a serious talk if her mother was prevaricating so much.

Daisy then stepped towards the fridge and busied herself with sorting out some ingredients from around the kitchen. As she worked, she began speaking to her daughter, all the time occupying herself with food preparation and failing to make eye contact. Once she finally started speaking, it was a while before she stopped.

‘You’re growing up child and it’s about time you knew about the world. It pains me to say it, but men can’t always be trusted. They’ll want to do things to you, but you mustn’t let them. Do you understand what I’m saying, child?’

She gazed up from her food preparation for just a moment until Trina nodded her head. Then she returned to what she was doing and carried on speaking.

‘Never let anyone touch you where they shouldn’t. You don’t want to end up pregnant like I did. I was only a young girl, a teenager. I wish I’d listened to my mother, but I didn’t and now look at the mess I’m in. I shouldn’t have let your father win me over, but I was young and foolish and I don’t want you to make the same mistakes.’

She paused and then took a deep breath as though she was having difficulty holding herself together. Then she continued, her tone now becoming angry and embittered.

‘You can’t trust a one of them. Not a single one! They’re all after the same thing and once they get it, well… And that’s not to mention the diseases they can give you. Terrible, terrible.’

She tutted, then added, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Trina?’

Trina nodded again. It was obvious that her mother was upset and she didn’t really want to add to her suffering. But Trina was confused. Daisy had misrepresented her words as a lesson in the facts of life even though they were delivered as a diatribe. And at the end of her mother’s speech, Trina wasn’t really any the wiser. The only lesson she had learnt was that men were not to be trusted.

After that day Daisy intensified her bad-mouthing of Isaac and all other men, her voice often sad and resentful. This cemented the idea in Trina’s mind that all men were bad.

Witnessing the family’s reduced circumstances, the attitude of Mr Dodds and the change in her mother, on top of the awful memories of her father, Trina thought that Daisy’s words rang true. Her reaction was to build a barrier around herself. Each time her mother called her father it added another layer of reinforcement to that barrier, like hammering in poisoned nails, which strengthened Trina’s lifelong resolve to never trust a man.

8

December 1991

Trina’s tenth birthday would always stay in her memory, but for all the wrong reasons. Her mother couldn’t afford a party so Trina’s grandmother had kindly offered to host one instead.

‘You should be grateful, child,’ said Daisy when she saw Trina’s reaction to the news. ‘If it wasn’t for your grandparents you wouldn’t be having a party at all.’

‘Can I take some friends with me?’ she asked, thinking about how impressed the local girls would be.

‘No, I can’t just turn up with a lot of strange children; it wouldn’t be fair to your grandparents.’

‘Aw, Mam. It won’t be the same without my friends.’

‘Stop your moaning, Trina. You’ll have your brothers and your cousins.’

‘But that’s not the same, Mam.’

‘Enough, child,’ said Daisy. ‘Or I’ll ring your grandmother and tell her not to bother at all.’

She had that familiar harsh expression on her face, which told Trina it was the end of the conversation, and she didn’t dare push things further.

On the day of the party Trina arrived with her mother and brothers to birthday greetings from her grandparents. Inside the kitchen-diner they had pulled out the dated dining table from its usual place tucked away in the corner and extended it to its full size. Trina noticed there were already several dishes laid out on the table, which was covered in a flowery plastic table cloth. Daisy walked over and added a plate full of sandwiches