The Wishing-Dream

When I was a little girl, I lay in bed at night, trying not to listen to his fists landing. I tried not to hear the shouts and crying and sometimes the screaming.

I used to lie there and wish very, very hard that the people next door would come over and say grown up things like, "Is everything ok?" Or, when it got really bad, and there was a loud BANG and then silence, and staggering footsteps... I prayed to a God I wasn't sure of that the people next door might get real scared something real bad had happened, and call the police.

In this wishing-dream, the police would turn up, and look very serious. They would put the handcuffs on daddy, and put him in the car with flashing lights on top. I'd watch them drive him away, knowing we'd never have to see him again. I'd go downstairs in my nightie, on my tip toes because I'm not supposed to be out of bed. I'd find mummy. bruised and crying. Maybe she fell down. That's what the BANG was. Maybe she would be sitting at the table in the kitchen with her hands shaking around a mug. Or in her sleepy gown on the sofa, holding a bag of peas on her face again.

She wouldn't be cross at me for getting out of bed. She'd smile a little bit when she saw me, and reach an arm out for a hug. She'd tell me things were going to be okay now. I already knew it, but it was nice to hear it...

Once, I thought my dream was coming true, because there was a knock on the door. The shouting and hitting stopped. Daddy's footsteps stumped to the hallway to answer it.

I could see the front door from my window, so I stood up, pushed the curtain, and peeped. It was like looking into my dream: there they were! Our heroes! Our rescuers. With their uniforms on, and their badges all shiny, and their faces just as serious as I knew they would be.

I didn't hear what they said, but they didn't stay very long, and when they left, they didn't take my daddy with them. I wanted to bang on the window and shout help help. Why didn't I do that?

I think I knew that they'd leave anyway, and then I would be in a lot of trouble.

I used to wish I could grow up faster, because then I could get away. I wouldn't have wished the time away if I'd known it was only going to get worse.

There wasn't even anything very different about that night. Shouting. Crying. A big bang. Quiet. Staggering footsteps...

...thudding heavy and erratic on the landing...

...getting closer to my bedroom...

I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop the gasp and the frightened squeak, and balled myself up under the covers with my eyes closed, facing the wall.

Only just in time, too; my door squeaked open, and I felt his eyes blaze hot like dragon-breath on my back. I forced myself to lie still, so still.

Click.

My door closed and his feet trod back down the hallway.

My breath was coming heavy and fast, like I'd been running, and my eyes were wide and staring into the dark. I wanted to jump out of bed and run and find mummy, but I didn't dare move.

It took a long time to fall asleep. I heard daddy thumping around for a while. I heard the front door go open-and-shut, and then a blip and a series of car-doorish kerthunks. The purr of an engine, and the noise of a car prowling away down the road.

What was that?

Did mummy run away? And leave me here? No! She'd never.

Was it daddy then? Where did he go? I really nearly did get up then, and go and find her. I wanted a cuddle. There was something not right, something making me anxious... but I squashed it down, because it felt like that every night, and he always got really mad if I got out of bed.

The house felt too quiet. It felt like I was all alone. I couldn't be. They'd never left me on my own. But it felt so much like that, that I cried for a little while, until I couldn't stand it anymore. I was about to get up, and find mummy, and get that hug, and know that I wasn't alone... when I heard the car purring back along the road again, and more kerthunks, and a blip, and the front door...

Scrubbing my wet cheeks on the blanket, I faced the wall, and tried to shut my eyes without scrunching them tight. How did I know, at barely six years old, that he would come back to my room? My door opened. I couldn't see him but I knew he was there. I hated him, and I was scared of him, and I was so tightly wound and so attuned to his presence, like a deer hyper-aware of the wolf, that I think I could smell him. His sweat, and his beery breath, and the body-smell underneath it all.

The relief when he went away was overwhelming. I was so exhausted, and so relieved that the little drive had calmed him down enough that he wasn't hitting mummy anymore, that I fell asleep at last.

The last thing I thought before I went to sleep, was that I wished I'd got up and found mummy. But now it was too late. In the morning, I promised myself. In the morning we'll have a big hug before I go to school. She'll say, it'll be ok. Or maybe I'll say it.

+

The next day should have been a school day, but mummy didn't wake me for the bus. Daddy didn't either, but he never did. He was either out to work already, or sleeping off the beer. When I woke up, it felt weird. It was too light in my room. I went through to the kitchen, but there was no mummy, there, which was strange. Daddy was there, which was just as strange.

He was sitting at the kitchen table like mummy did in my wishing-dream. With a mug of something. His eyes looked red, like he'd been crying. But daddy never cried. It must just be tiredness, or beer. Or both. And then, just like in my wishing-dream, only also not like it at all, he told me that she was gone. She'd left, and was never coming back. He didn't put his arm out for a hug, he didn't tell me it would be okay, and he wouldn't look at me.

You're lying.

I didn't say it out loud, but I knew it in my bones. Mummy would never. She would have woken me up and carried me out in my nightie.

Daddy cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. "So, I, er... I called the school. And explained. So you can have the day off. They said you have to go in tomorrow, though. Keep things normal for you, you know."

Normal? With mummy gone?

"OK," I said. I shuffled back to my bedroom, climbed back into my bed, and wrapped the blanket round me like a hug. Remembering the sound of her voice, I whispered, it'll be ok.

+

Daddy didn't call me back. He didn't give me any breakfast, or make me put clothes on. He just stared and drank and stared and drank. At some point, he switched from drinking something hot from a mug, to drinking beer again. I'm not sure when, or how much he had. I just tried to stay out of his way.

When the ache in my belly got too bad, I tiptoed into the kitchen and got myself some cereal. I ate it without milk, because the milk smelled bad, and I ate it fast, because I wasn't sure if I would be in trouble.

Later on, he didn't make any dinner, so I stole some bread and ate it in my room. He didn't make me get in the bath, or nag me to clean my teeth, or put any clean pyjamas on my bed. When I felt sleepy, I just crawled into bed, and went to sleep.

+

The next morning was horrible, because mummy was still gone. And because daddy didn't know about mornings. He was never here, or he slept through them. So he didn't wake me for the bus, and he yelled a lot because I was going to make him late for work. He didn't help me with breakfast, or a packed lunch, or my clothes for school, and I got in a muddle, and cried, and he yelled at me some more. I didn't even think about how mummy would normally have combed out my hair and tied it back neatly.

Hungry and miserable, I tried not to cry at school. The teacher was nice, but that only made it worse. When I blurted out how hungry I was, she made it so I could have a hot lunch. I had a baked potato with cheese, and I ate it all, even the skin, which I didn't usually like.

That night, daddy ordered takeaway food and fell asleep in front of the TV, so I could sneak a couple of slice of pizza from the box. I went to bed with grease on my school jumper. In the morning, he didn't make me wash, or change. My hair went unbrushed again.

+

I'm not sure how long it was. Not long. Maybe another day or two. But eventually, the police came and knocked on the door. They had some very bad news. Mummy had been found in a wood a couple of miles away. They took daddy away to ask him questions. I went to spend the day at Aunty Meri's house. That was mummy's sister, and she used to babysit me when I was really little, before I could remember properly.

I found out, years later, that Aunty Meri had helped mummy leave four times. Once, the first time he hit her. Again, when she was pregnant with me. Again when I was a baby, and then again, when I was a bit bigger. Then she said she couldn't help anymore, because it was too upsetting, and the last time, he'd gone round Aunty Meri's house and threatened her if she ever stuck her nose in his damn business again.

It was lucky, really, that daddy was such a shit father. He neglected me so much that Aunty Meri and the school worked together to get me away from him, and then things got better. Aunty Meri was kind. She did mummy-things, like, regular meals and baths, combing my hair and making me clean my teeth. She looked a bit like mummy as well, which was sometimes nice, and sometimes sad.

After a while, I stopped being scared he would come for me. I got brave enough to tell Aunty Meri about the might mummy "left". Her face went white and tight, and after that I had to talk to some police officers. Nothing ever came of it, though.

The years trickled by, and I learned more things about the case. She'd been beaten. Badly. Strangled. I knew he did it.

So now, I look in the mirror, and it's nearly like Mum is looking back at me. I comb my hair and tie it back neatly. My uniform looks smart. My badge is just as shiny as the police officers' in my wishing-dream. My shoes are shiny, too, and my face just as serious.

I'm going to prove he did it, and I'm going to arrest him for it.

+

Thank you for reading!