Punished: A mother’s cruelty. A daughter’s survival. A secret that couldn’t be told. by Vanessa Steel Read Free Book Online Page B

often come out and wave the plate of sandwiches and maybe even tiny cakes under our noses so we could see what we were missing.
    ‘These are only for good children,’ she’d say. ‘You’re too naughty to have any.’ Then she would take the plate away again, shutting the garage door behind her as she went up the step into the kitchen. Nigel and I called her ‘Nasty Nanny’ and talked about how we wished we could go and see Nan Casey instead.
    Grandpa Pittam was a big man with white, slightly curly hair and a rugged face. He wore a monocle and scratchy, tweedy clothes. He was a watch-and clockmaker by profession and there was always a fob watch on a chain pinned to his waistcoat. I hated the way he used to bounce me on his knee and kiss me on the lips and I hated the smell of stale tobacco that lingered in a cloud around him. He had a loud, raspy voice and he’d pretend to be jovial with us, but his smile would never reach his eyes.
    Grandpa Pittam had an aviary full of blue, green and yellow budgerigars in the back garden. Sometimes he’d take Nigel and me out to look at them but unlike the visits to Granddad Casey’s racing pigeons, we hated being on our own out there with him. He’d make me go inside the aviary where all the birds fluttered round my head, making me scream. I was frightened their claws would get caught in my hair, or that they’d peck me as they darted around twitching and blinking, but Grandpa just laughed at my distress.
    I never felt comfortable when he lifted me on to his lap and bounced me up and down, but Mum said ‘Be nice to your grandfather. He loves you very much.’
    I’d say, ‘But I want to sit on the floor’ and she’d say, ‘Do what your grandfather wants.’
    She was very affectionate with him, often kissing his cheek and being flirtatious and giggly, the same way she was with Dad when he got home from work. He’d pat her bottom and tell her to behave herself, which just made her giggle more.
    Grandpa’s eyes were deeply set in his head and he used to look at me in a strange sort of a way, as though he was seeing someone else and not me. Was it just myimagination? I got the impression sometimes that he was quite sad and lonely, but I didn’t feel sympathy. He was far too creepy for that.
    On the whole, I tried to behave my very best when we visited Grandma and Grandpa Pittam but I hated going there. One day, when Mum was getting us ready to go over there, I said out loud: ‘I don’t want to go to Grandma Pittam’s. I want to go to Nan Casey’s.’
    ‘You’ll go where you’re told and like it. Now hold your tongue.’ She accompanied this with a hard smack round the head. A bitter little seed of rebellion was planted inside me.
    As we travelled there on the bus, a voice whispered in my head that I should tell Grandma Pittam that I didn’t like her. She had to know. I could ask her why she was so nasty to me. Was it because she didn’t like little girls, or because I was sometimes naughty? Or was it because I wasn’t pretty? I was nervous but convinced myself that it was right for me to speak my mind.
    We arrived at Yardley Wood and Mum pressed the front door chime. Grandma opened the door and gave Mum a kiss on the cheek, saying, ‘Hello, dear, I’ve just put the kettle on.’ Then she looked down at us. ‘I’m in no mood for children today so you two can play quietly in the garden. You’re not coming in.’
    The bitter seed in me burst out and I told her: ‘I don’t like you. You’re not a nice lady. I hate coming to your house and I wish we were going to Nan Casey’s because she’s kind and she plays with us.’ Once I’d started the words just came tumbling out.
    Grandma’s eyes widened and she looked at Mum in horror. Mum grabbed me by the hair and snapped, ‘Youungrateful brat! Apologize to your grandmother at once. Tell her you’re sorry for being unkind.’
    ‘I won’t,’ I said defiantly. ‘I meant it all.’ In my naive, four-year-old