Helpless: The true story of a neglected girl betrayed and exploited by the neighbour she trusted. Toni Maguire

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СКАЧАТЬ is love that makes a child pretty and parental affection that puts a bloom in small children’s cheeks, then my lack of either explained why I was an unprepossessing pale-faced child; one dressed in badly fitting cast-offs from charity shops and one who seldom saw the inside of the tin bath. The expressions on both of my aunts’ faces left me in no doubt of their opinion of me.

      ‘Going to take more than a few minutes to get her ready,’ the elder one had said, after taking one look at me.

      ‘Bring her over the evening before so we can tidy her up. She’s such a little scrap we can put her in my bed to sleep – sure I won’t even notice her there.’

      So the evening before the wedding I was dutifully delivered into the care of my aunts. A beautiful pink silk dress was laid out on my aunt’s bed, ready for me to wear the next day.

      ‘Bath! ‘said my aunt after I had eaten my supper.

      ‘Here,’ she said to her sister, ‘help me out will you? I’ve still things to do for my big day.’

      My hand was taken and the next thing I knew my clothes were on the back of a chair and I was looking at a huge white bath filled with bubbles. ‘In you get,’ said the younger aunt, not unkindly.

      For a second I was scared. It was so big, surely I would drown in it? But my aunt’s strong adult arms held me tightly as she lifted me in. Soap was lathered over my face, neck and body, shampoo rubbed into my hair, and then with instructions to close my eyes she tipped me backwards. My head went under, my legs kicked out; soap was in my mouth, laughter in my ears. Choking, they raised me to the surface.

      ‘This time keep your mouth shut as well as your eyes,’ they warned me, then under I went again.

      ‘Blimey! Grubby little mare our niece is!’ said a voice I recognized as belonging to my younger aunt. ‘Wonder when she was last as clean as this?’

      ‘You could have flaked bits of grime off with your fingernails,’ I heard the older one say to her sister. ‘Whatever is that mother thinking of?’

      ‘Good thing she ain’t got nits, or you could count me out doing the pinning of her hair later.’

      It was me they were talking about. And knowing the shame of it, it the happiness and excitement of the day faded. Suddenly the arms that held me close now constricted me. The friendly laughter had become mockery and the comments had turned into criticism. I wriggled in protest.

      ‘Oh, come on love, don’t you get narky,’ said my aunt when she saw my discomfort. ‘Sure we’re all girls together tonight, aren’t we?’

      ‘Course we are,’ they both said in unison, and suddenly I was lifted up onto a knee, a fluffy white towel was wrapped around me and my aunts’ arms hugged and petted me. A sweet was popped into my mouth, my hair was given another quick rub, the tangles carefully combed out, then, while still wet, coils of my light-brown hair were wrapped in rags and pinned tightly to my head.

      ‘Don’t spoil it now, Marianne,’ the elder aunt said. ‘You are going to be so pretty tomorrow with your hair all done up.’

      ‘Yes,’ said the other one, ‘a special little girl, that’s what you’ll be.’

      ‘You sleep with your neck on the pillow as well your head,’ said her sister helpfully. ‘Don’t want to lose these rags.’ And with all the excitement I hardly noticed any discomfort as I tried to quell the excitement and sleep. The last thoughts as I finally fell into a deep sleep were ‘Tomorrow I’m going to wear a beautiful new dress and I’m going to be special.’

      The next morning, in a bedroom where the older bridesmaids were fluttering around mirrors and jostling to gain a better view of themselves, my younger aunt took the rags out of my hair, brushed it gently, then pinned it up into a soft roll. Next, new pink underwear was pulled on, white socks went onto my feet that were then slipped into shiny black shoes. I could hardly keep still for excitement when finally my wonderful new dress was pulled over my shoulders.

      ‘Close your eyes, Marianne.’ I squeezed them shut, felt my hair being smoothed back into place. Hands gently took my shoulders and turned me around to face a large mirror.

      ‘Look, Marianne, look how pretty you are!’

      Out of the glass a child I hardly recognized stared gravely back at me. As our eyes met a look of astonished delight spread across her face and I, feeling that joy, felt my mouth stretch into an answering wide smile. That was when they took the photograph.

      The wedding might have been the most important day in the bride’s life, but I felt it was mine as well. Every mirror I passed was stopped at for me to admire my reflection. At the end of the day I went home still wearing my new clothes.

      ‘They are for you to keep,’ my younger aunt told me when I thought they must be returned. And I beamed at her with happiness.

      She bent down and gave me a kiss, and as I inhaled a mixture of soap and perfume, I knew then what it was that I so wanted. For twenty-four hours it was as though a curtain separating our two worlds had been pulled back, allowing me to step into her world. I wanted to be part of it – a world where houses were full of laughter, children wore nice clothes and little girls were told they were pretty. I wanted to feel special again. It was to be another year before I felt that – it was when I met the man who called me his little lady.

Chapter Seven

      When I look back on my parents’ marriage I think it had taken those five and a half years of my being an only child for my father to come to terms with no longer being single; certainly matrimony was not a state he appeared to enjoy. I learnt as I grew older that my parents’ marriage had been a rushed event, with me being born less than five months after the ceremony. When his eyes fell on me he seemed to remember that I was the cause of all his unwanted responsibilities. His brows would lower, thunderous looks were cast in my direction and at a very young age I quickly learnt to keep out of his way.

      When the first of my siblings arrived, a boy, the birth of a son appeared to please my father more than my presence ever had. The tiny red-faced scrap was leant over, smiled at and even on some occasions spoken to. For a brief interlude my mother also appeared content, but no sooner was my little brother crawling than she announced that another baby was on the way.

      Maybe the imminent arrival of another mouth to feed made him seek fresh employment, or perhaps with his surly manners and quick temper he had upset his employer. Whichever it was, my father took work on another farm, one where the wages were higher and the rent-free cottage larger.

      ‘Got a new job,’ he had announced at the supper table and named the farm that would be employing him.

      ‘We’ll be moving too, so you can start packing,’ was all he said about it.

      My mother only asked him where the cottage that was going to be our new home was.

      The woman my mother had been, before I came along, might have questioned him more, but seven years of marriage had taken their toll. She showed very little interest in herself and far less in what was happening around her.

      Her husband’s drinking and frequent violence, the greyness of poverty, and her total lack of independence, for my father controlled what little money there was, had slowly stripped away nearly all her youth and confidence.

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