‘Denise’s parents were desperate to reconnect with her. But from what Jean told me, the reunion did not go well. When your real grandparents, Sam and Jacqueline Norton, were first reunited with Denise, she physically attacked them, particularly her father. The anger of fourteen years all came tumbling out in resentment against the people who loved her the most. Also, and this might disturb you, they believed they could bring Denise home after her treatment, but they would not countenance taking you. You were his child. You have to look at it from their point of view. If they took you into their home, they would be taking part of Conor Geary too.’
I thought of the vicious letter calling me the spawn of the devil.
‘After Denise’s death in the psychiatric unit, they were broken people. They moved away to France.’
‘Didn’t they ever get in contact to find out what happened to me, Aunt Christine?’
‘I assume they considered it many times, but perhaps you might have only been a reminder of the daughter they’d lost. Sally, are you absolutely sure you recognize that bear, you know for sure that he’s yours?’
‘He’s mine,’ I said, squeezing him tighter.
They kept changing the subject, hopping around from one thing to the next. I poured more whiskey. So did Aunt Christine. She offered some to Angela, but Angela shook her head.
‘Darling,’ said Aunt Christine in a soft voice, ‘your birth father fled days before the guards discovered you and Denise. He cleared his bank account and abandoned his car at the East Pier in Dún Laoghaire. He could have drowned himself, but no body was ever recovered. They think he got on a ferry to Holyhead. He certainly left the country. He didn’t have a passport – you didn’t need one to get to the UK in those days – but he had money. Why would he take all of his money out of his accounts if he intended to kill himself? Nobody knows where he went. He was never caught.’
‘I think he sent you the bear,’ said Angela.
My hands flew automatically to my hair, but then back to Toby. I couldn’t let go of him.
18
Peter, 1974
Dad was wrong about me never having to see the ghost in the room next door. In mid-September, Dad said he had to go away for the weekend and that I had to stay in her room while he was away.
‘With the ghost?’
‘Yes, but she won’t hurt you. She’s your mother.’
I was terrified at the prospect.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘it’s only two days, and you’re in charge of her. She has to do whatever you say, and if she doesn’t, you can take her food away. If she does anything you don’t like, you have my permission to kick her. Do not answer any of her questions. That’s the only rule.’
‘I thought it was naughty to kick people.’
‘She’s not a person, she’s a ghost. It’s fine.’
I became upset. ‘I don’t want to stay with the ghost,’ I cried.
‘You’re too small to be on your own for a whole weekend, and besides, the ghost wants to see you. She’s been begging me to see you for … years.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s your mother.’
‘Will she try to hurt me?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Is she dead?’ I had a vague notion that ghosts were dead people.
‘No, not really.’
‘But why is she in that room?’
‘You’re too young to understand some things. No more questions. I’m going to put a camp bed in there and you can bring your favourite blanket, and two of your books. You can have your bedside lamp as well.’
None of this did anything to allay my fears.
On the Friday after dinner, Dad led me into her room. It was dark and quiet, until he plugged my lamp into a socket beside the door. Then I heard the ghost. ‘Peter? Is that you?’ Her voice was trembling, and she emerged from under a blanket and reached out towards me. Dad went right over and smacked her across the face. ‘See? That’s what you do if she does anything you don’t like. She won’t hurt you. She knows what will happen if she does anything to upset you.’ His voice was light and even and comforting to me.
He set down a large paper bag full of food beside me. ‘That’s for you, not for her, okay? She has her own food.’ She crawled back under the blanket and I didn’t get to see her face properly. He showed me the camp bed, which was right beside the door we had entered. He showed me the light switch for the toilet and the washbasin and reminded me to brush my teeth and wash my face each night. He showed me the fridge and the cooker in the corner of the room and told me she would make mashed potatoes with peas and bacon for my dinner tomorrow. He would be back on Sunday morning.
‘I don’t like it here,’ I said. It was smelly and dark and stuffy. Dad lifted me up into his arms. ‘You have nothing to worry about, I promise.’ He kissed the top of my head and went to the door and I heard the lock switch as he got to the other side of it. I immediately ran to the door and hammered my small fists against it. ‘Please don’t leave me here. I’m scared of the ghost!’ I screamed. But I heard nothing from the other side of the door. He was gone.
She stuck her head up out of the blanket again. She sat up. ‘Peter, don’t be scared. I’ve missed you so much,’ she said. Her hair was long and tangled, and some of her teeth were missing, but her eyes sparkled. A dark bruise covered the lower half of one side of her face. ‘I’m your mummy, don’t you remember me?’ I cowered against the door.
There was something familiar about her, but she terrified me.
‘You lived here with me, until he took you away, as soon as you could walk and talk and were toilet trained. He forced me to wean you eventually, but I had no idea he’d take you from me. I haven’t been outside this room in … I don’t even know how many years –’
She was speaking so fast, her words tumbled on top of each other. She stood up and I saw that one of her ankles was chained to a bolt in the wall. She could get to the toilet and kitchen area, but she couldn’t reach me. Her arms and legs were thin but her belly was large and she dropped her arms to place her two hands underneath it. She wore a shirt that was too big for her, and a skirt that lifted up at the front. She wore a pair of woollen socks on her feet.
‘What date is it?’
I didn’t want to speak to her. I quickly ran to the toilet and turned the light on and left the door open and weed into the toilet bowl. When I came out, she was within reaching distance of me. She held out her hand to me. ‘I wanted to call you Sam after my dad, but he said it had to be Peter. I gave birth to you, right here in this room.’
I pushed her hand away roughly. Dad said I could kick her. I lashed out with my right foot and hit her on the shin.
‘Owww,’ she said, but she didn’t cry.
‘Open the curtains,’ I said.
She looked at me with big eyes. ‘There aren’t any. There isn’t a window.’
I smacked her across the face like Dad did.
‘Please don’t hit me,’ she said. ‘Did he not teach you that it’s bad to hit people?’
‘Dad said I could hit you. Why isn’t there a window? I have a window in my room.’