Living With Evil by Cynthia Owen (ap literature book list txt) 📗

made the scabs on my legs twitch and itch, but I was afraid to scratch them in case Daddy knew I was awake. I could smell Daddy’s breath now. It smelled like old beer and the stale ash I had to clear from Mammy’s ashtray. It wasn’t nice. It made me wrinkle my nose, even though I was trying very hard indeed to look like I was fast asleep. I wished he would move back a bit so I didn’t have to breathe in his smell.

I couldn’t seem to escape it though. Daddy’s smell and the sweat on his skin felt as if it was clinging to me, from the back of my heels to the top of my scalp. He had packed himself in so closely behind me I felt trapped. I couldn’t complain though, could I? Mammy would call me an ‘ungrateful little bitch’. She always called me that if I dared to grumble about anything, like the watery, gristle-filled stew she cooked, or the ‘new’ clothes she gave me with sleeves down to my fingertips and holes under the arms.

I hoped Daddy would fall asleep soon. I’d heard him fall asleep so many times after I’d waited for him to get in from the pub or I’d listened to him fight with Mammy. I normally found it hard to get to sleep myself until I’d heard his chesty, spluttering breathing slow down and settle into a steady rhythm. That’s what usually happened. He coughed his guts up most nights, choking on the last drag of his cigarette while he used the toilet bucket. Then he would fill his lungs with a tight gasp before falling into a wheezy, purring sleep.

That hadn’t happened tonight. After his belt hit the floor I heard him cough and spit something into the toilet bucket, emptying his rattling throat. But his breathing got heavier and faster when he got into bed. Now he was sort of puffing and panting, and it felt like he was pushing himself closer and closer into my back, closer than he ever had before. I could feel his hot, smelly breath sticking to the back of my neck, gusting through my hair and making my scalp prickle.

What could I do? Now the pushing had become harder, and Daddy was sort of rubbing himself into my back, worse than he had before when we were in the same bed. What was he doing? It felt like he was touching me with a part of his body I didn’t recognize. It felt so strange. I didn’t like it. It made me feel wary of Daddy, but I didn’t dare speak or move.

Finally, Daddy stopped and pulled away from me. I lay there like a little motionless doll, not wanting to give any sign I was awake in case he drew closer to me again. I didn’t even want to breathe in case I caught his attention, so I took shallow, silent little sips of air as I listened to Daddy turn over, shuffle himself away from me and, at last, take the loud, wheezing purrs of sleep I longed to hear.

The next morning, Mammy was in the bed fast asleep, and Daddy was gone. I was relieved to see Mammy there instead of Daddy, although normally I was much more scared of her than him. She was in a deep sleep, with her hair sprawled out like a mass of wild flowers on the pillow. She looked peaceful and pretty, not scary at all.

Sleeping in Mammy and Daddy’s bed wasn’t how I expected. I wondered how long it would last, and told myself not to worry about what Daddy did. It must just be what daddies do.

At school, Mother Dorothy announced that we were going on a trip to Howth in North Dublin. I’d never been on a school trip and was delighted. Mother Dorothy told us the ancient St Mary’s Church was in Howth. It was centuries old and dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. ‘So we’ll be having no bold behaviour,’ she threatened. ‘You are very lucky children to be taken on such a trip. Now go home and ask your mammies and daddies to pay their contribution. We shall be going by bus, and you are to bring your own lunch.’

I left school that day feeling nervous but excited. I’d been a good girl and had not complained about anything Daddy did. I’d scrubbed the dishes before school, and I’d bought Mammy some bread and cigarettes at lunchtime. I’d helped clean up the little ones, Mary and Martin, and given them their milk too.

Now it was 4 p.m., and I was wondering how best to mention the money for the trip. I thought it was best to do my other jobs first, then ask Mammy nicely.

‘Cynthia, you’re to go to the off licence in the next village for me,’ Mammy bellowed from the top of the stairs as soon as I walked into the house.

‘I need some cider! I’ve heard it’s cheaper than at the off licence in Dalkey! Here, Cynthia, take the money and go and get it for your mammy. Don’t go buying any sweets now! I want every scrap of change, or you won’t know what’s hit you!’

I did as I was told, because arguing with Mammy simply wasn’t an option. I knew I had to do as she said, or all hell would break out. I decided I would get the cider as quickly as possible, and when Mammy was happily drinking it I would tell her I needed money for the school trip. I didn’t realize it until later, but the off licence was about three miles away - and all to save a few shillings!

The weather started to turn bad almost as soon as I set out. I was wearing my now old and battered Holy Communion shoes, but the leather had worn so thin that rainwater was leaking in, making my toes wrinkle up like little wet raisins. I