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

Yet when I told her about the free trip she still wasn’t happy with me. I thought she’d be pleased I wouldn’t be taking away her drinking and smoking money, or housekeeping for the little ones’ milk, and that the nuns wouldn’t be knocking on the door and shaming the family, asking why I didn’t pay the contribution. In fact, she was furious about the nuns dishing out charity. ‘Haven’t I told you, we don’t take charity!’ she screamed. Thankfully, she didn’t go so far as banning me from going on the trip, and when she ordered me upstairs to the double bed I was relieved to get out of her way. ‘Off you go now. Hurry up and no messin’ about,’ she shouted. ‘Up those stairs now!’

I felt uncomfortable to be in the double bed again and couldn’t sleep. I tried to think of good things to stop myself feeling worried about Daddy tucking himself in too close to me again, as I was sure he would when he eventually came in from the pub.

I thought about the school trip and my Christmas shopping with Daddy, and as the minutes and hours dragged by my mind flicked back to another Christmas. It might have been when I was four or five. I remembered waking up on Christmas morning and seeing something glistening in the dark. A stray shard of light had managed to break through the only slither of window not covered by the black blanket, and it was making halos of light as it hit something shiny. When I tiptoed over to get a closer look I clattered my shins into something hard and round and rubbery. It was a trike! It had a little basket on the handlebars and it was brand-new. I couldn’t believe such a shiny, new gift was for me. I’d never had such a big present in my life before. I was thrilled. Lying in bed now, I remembered how it wasn’t long before some boys took the back wheels off it to make themselves a trolley, and I was heartbroken. But at least it was mine for a while. I tried to hold on to the happy memory, not the bad one, but still I felt nervous lying in that bed.

Daddy’s key twisting in the front-door lock snapped all my memories from my mind.

I quivered as I felt my nerves wake up and start to jangle. How should I feel about being sent to the big bed again? I didn’t know as it all kept changing. Perhaps I was worrying too much, but I couldn’t help myself, especially as it kept on happening. A few nights earlier, Daddy had climbed into bed with me. I think it must have been very late indeed, because I couldn’t remember much about it. My head was thick with sleep when I felt him squeeze in behind me. I didn’t remember feeling scared, and I didn’t remember him doing anything that felt strange. No, Daddy wasn’t going to frighten me. He loved me, didn’t he? He must do, or he wouldn’t want to sleep next to me.

Daddy was in bed with me now. He’d said something quietly to Mammy downstairs, and she didn’t shout. I could hear the chink as Mammy’s cider bottle hit the rim of a glass, and the slow chug of the drink filling up her tumbler again.

Daddy was tucking himself in behind me now. Not long, I thought, until I can let myself fall asleep next to Daddy. Just let him get comfortable. Don’t wriggle. Don’t let him know you are awake in case he gets cross. His breath smelled worse tonight, like he’d eaten something that had gone off. It reminded me of the smell of the plughole in the kitchen sink, when old food and dirty plates had been left all night, or when he had done a wee in there. I tried to take in shallow drops of air through my nose, but his smell was getting nearer. He was pushing himself up against me again, but harder than he did last time. It felt stranger, too, like he was rubbing up and down my whole back. I felt the rubbing on my bottom.

The only noise I could hear was his raspy breathing, which seemed to be getting louder and quicker. It didn’t matter. ‘Don’t let it scare you,’ I told myself.

My thoughts stopped dead, as if my brain had suddenly come up against an invisible wall. I felt something warm hit the back of my neck and my hair, but it wasn’t Daddy’s smelly, burning breath this time. I didn’t know what it was, but it made Daddy stop too. He pushed me away from him roughly, and minutes later I heard deep, slow, snores rumbling round the bed.

I touched my head slowly and carefully and didn’t like how it felt. There was something sticky and unfamiliar about it. I wiped my hand on the sheet and opened my eyes warily. The inky blackness frightened me and made me snap my eyes shut again, but then I had shapes dancing inside my eyelids. I couldn’t escape from the scary blackness, and I lay awake for hours listening to Daddy snore. At least he was asleep. I always felt better when he was asleep.

I was getting told to sleep in Daddy’s bed about once or twice every week now. I didn’t really like what he did, and my hair was itchier than ever since I slept next to Daddy. It wasn’t just the lice. Lying with it damp and sticky after Daddy’s close cuddles seemed to give me a rash.

I tried not to think of that when the day of the school trip arrived. This was a real treat, and as I walked behind Mother Dorothy and my classmates, I marvelled at the sights and sounds. Howth was all I dreamed it would be.

We settled in a park for lunch, and I pulled out my bread and butter