Helpless by Marianne Marsh Read Free Book Online

were the first words I heard him say. ‘Why’s a pretty girl like you crying?’ And I, unused to kind words, looked up into his face for the first time. I saw warm brown eyes seemingly full of concern for my distress looking back at me. He smiled at my mother, then held his hand out.
    ‘Come,’ he said, ‘I have something that will make you feel better,’ and I unquestioningly slipped my small one into his. He pulled me gently to my feet and drew me over to his large black car.
    Opening the door he took out a bag of brightly coloured dolly mixture sweets from his glove compartment and tipped a small mound into my hand.
    ‘I just knew they would be your favourite,’ he said. And I, with the instant trust that only a child can feel, gazed up at him. ‘How had he known that?’ I asked myself. ‘How did he know when he has never seen me before?’ The picture of the dead bird started fading from my mind and, with my free hand tucked into his, I followed him into my mother’s kitchen.
    He sat on our settee and I, with a need to be near him, perched on its arm.
    ‘It’s what cats do, Marianne,’ he told me softly and wiped the last streaks of my tears away gently with a clean white handkerchief. ‘They find what’s weak and kill it. But it’s part of their nature and we can never change that, can we? No, we can never change our nature.’
    And I, still far too young to understand, just nodded.

    He put his arm lightly across my shoulders, drew me closer and whispered softly to me, ‘There’s my good little lady.’

Chapter Ten
     
     
    I shivered as those memories came back.
    I thought of the care I had taken over my children as they grew. I had never been able to become a parent content just to warn her children not to speak to strangers. Instead every one of my husband’s friends was examined with suspicion, each male neighbour viewed with caution, and should a friendly hand move to touch the head of one of my sons, while a male voice murmured the comment of ‘What a fine boy you have there,’ my body would stiffen with something approaching revulsion.
    Invitations for my sons to visit their friends’ houses were inspected carefully, questions as to whether both parents would be there frequently asked.
    ‘Don’t make such a fuss, Mum,’ said my sons with some irritation when faced with my vigilance. ‘We know not to take sweets from strangers!’
    Then I would remember the vulnerable little girl I had once been and the man who had sought out a needy child and how he had gained her trust before controlling her by fear.
    For how could I explain to my sons that it was not strangers I was scared of?
        
    Our new home was further away from my school. It took me nearly an hour to walk to the bus stop, but I did not really mind. I liked where we lived, liked the fact it was clean and that my mother seemed happier. Even my father appeared more content.
    It was spring when we moved, and for the first few weeks the sun shone. I could smell the promise of summer in the air, and summer meant long weeks of holidays and freedom from school. But when the treacherous English sun disappeared behind dark clouds and squally winds blew across the fields, bending the trees and scattering their leaves, the lanes seemed to grow longer and my home too far away. It was then that I shivered from both the cold and a tiny kernel of apprehension.
    It was on one of those blustery days when rain trickled down the back of my neck, my Wellington boots chafed damp bare legs and my satchel grew heavier with every step I took, that I heard the sound of a car slowing down behind me.
    As I stood on the verge waiting for it to pass I heard the sound of the engine slowing as the car came to a stop, and with an inherent fear I was suddenly aware of how dark it had become and how far away the nearest house was.
    ‘Can’t have my little lady getting wet now, can we?’
    For a second I froze. Although the reasons had never been made