What Daddy Did by Donna Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

of, it was my stepmother's moods. I waited for her next move towards me. It came soon enough.
     
She had got dressed and was about to take the blankets down to the back green to hang out to dry. However, due to my poor attempts at wringing, water splashed onto her as she picked the basket out of the bath. That was like a red rag to a bull. She thundered along the lobby towards my room, shouting and screaming: 'You little bastard! You nasty little bitch! You did that deliberately, didn't you?' I was terrified and braced myself for what was to come. I was trembling and, in my fear, I completely forgot that I was sitting on the bed when I hadn't been given explicit permission to do so. When Helen charged into my room, she was therefore faced with yet another crime I had committed which would allow her to vent her anger on me.
     
'You little bastard,' she screamed again. 'Look at the fucking mess you've made! And who told you to sit down anyway? Having a nice fucking layabout, are you?' She grabbed me by the hair and dragged me up the lobby to the bathroom, shouting and screaming all the way. When we got to the bathroom she hissed, 'Over the bath. Get over the bath.' Trembling, silently crying, and bracing myself for what was to come, I bent over the old cast-iron bath, feeling the cold through my threadbare vest. I gripped the curled metal edge of the bath and waited for the first wallop of the leather belt across my back and legs. It came soon enough. The leather slaps rained down, every wallop stinging and biting my flesh as she screamed at me and told me to say over and over, 'I am bad! I deserve to be punished! I am a horrible little girl!' It went on and on until she'd decided that she'd given me enough. When she was finished, she yelled at me to get the job done properly this time and to cut out the tears and petted lip. So I got on with it – wringing and wringing the blankets out, over and over, until she was finally satisfied. I was hurting, cold and hungry but I had been really, really bad so I needed to be punished further.
     
It was barely morning, but I was already on to the next step of punishment that Helen had ruled necessary for me. 'You will stand there, you ugly little witch, and you will keep your hands by your sides without moving a fucking muscle, or I will know.' She screwed up her eyes at me behind those huge glasses and added, 'And that'll be your day until your Dad gets home.'
     
I could feel the welts rising on the skin on the backs of my legs and my back. I was morbidly comforted by the warm glow of my wounds. Beatings always hurt afterwards but not as much as when I received them, and I had got used to that 'after beating' feeling, taking a little comfort in the fact that for now it was over. With my hands by my sides, I surveyed my surroundings and used all the little tricks I had developed to help get me through the hours. I counted the cracks and the tiles. I sang songs in my head – '10 Green Bottles', 'Ye Cannae Shove Yer Grannie aff the Bus' – any song I knew that had lots of verses, and nursery rhymes such as 'Jack and Jill', 'Old King Cole', 'Baa Baa Black Sheep'. I'd do anything to relieve the boredom.
     
To stop myself from getting numb, I'd step from foot to foot. I'd sometimes stand with one foot on the other. Occasionally, a weevil would work its way out from under the bath and I'd amuse myself as I watched its journey, thinking how lucky it was to have so much freedom. Sometimes I would just close my eyes and listen to all the sounds outside that room: the television, the children playing in the back greens below me, dogs barking and gulls calling. Then I'd be making plans for the things I would do when I finally got away from there. Sometimes I took a risk by going to the toilet because, even though I stood there all day, I was not allowed to use it until I was told to by Helen. Most of the time it was just her in the living room as the boys were out all day.
     
My only break