persisted Sue.
‘No.’
‘Harris?’ She tried to hide it, but she was watching me as if she thought I was pretending to be thick. ‘Or Mr Harris, even?’
‘I never called him anything.’
‘What if you wanted to call him over to look at something?’
Did I look frightened at the very idea? Who’d want him looking? I found a ladybird once, and he pulled her legs off, one by one, in front of my face. Then, holding me tight between his knees so I couldn’t get away, he crushed her tiny body slowly between his big fat thumbs. But in the end I couldn’t see for crying anyway. So I won there.
‘Right, then,’ I do remember Sue saying very firmly into the machine. ‘For now, we’re going to refer to Edward Taylor’s mother’s partner as “Harris” on this tape.’
And on we’d gone. ‘What did you eat? Did you have to tell them when you were hungry, or did they feed you anyway?’ ‘Who gave you food? Was it hot or cold?’ ‘Were you allowed to take food out of the cupboards by yourself or did you have to ask?’
Next time, they’d take another tack. I look back now and I can hardly believe that I had no idea what they were fishing for, with some of their questions. ‘Eddie, I must ask, did you see anyone apart from Harris and your mum? Did he have mates in ever?’ ‘Eddie, did Harris ever hit you?’ ‘Where on your body?’ ‘How often, Ed – can you tell me?’ ‘How hard? I know it isn’t easy to explain, but’ – Rob slapped a hand on his own thigh - ‘ this hard?Or was it harder, more like this?’ His hairy hand came down with such a thwack he made himself yelp.
After we’d giggled at that, it was Sue’s turn to lean forward. ‘Did your mum ever try to stop him hitting you?’
I tried so hard to hide the answer. But they were waiting. Waiting , just like Harris did.
Maybe I panicked. Anyhow, I must have nodded.
‘So what happened then?’
And when they’d finally dragged that answer out of me, and Rob had held me tight, and I’d stopped sobbing, he’d said, ‘Sorry, Eddie! God, I am so sorry ! I had no idea !’ And I looked across at Sue and she was scarlet in the face and scrabbling on the carpet on her hands and knees, picking up hundreds of tiny bits of grey foam rubber.
I hadn’t meant to rip that cushion into shreds. I didn’t realize I’d been clinging on to it so tightly. ‘We will tell Linda it was not your fault that it got torn,’ Rob promised me. And he made sure he did, as they were leaving. He even called me back so I could hear.
Linda looked down at the carpet, which was still speckled grey around my chair. ‘Never you mind. We’ve had far worse than that.’
I couldn’t understand what she was saying. What, I was worried, could be worse than what Harris did to Mum that time she tried to stop him?
That was the end, that day. But Sue and Rob came back again, and I remember being mystified at how someof the very same questions got asked over and over. I couldn’t understand why. It felt to me, back then, as if Mr Perkins had asked one of the people we visited, ‘Do the pancakes you’re tossing ever end up on the floor by mistake?’ and then, after she’d answered, kept asking the question again, but just a different way. I do remember worrying that they hadn’t listened, or they hadn’t believed my answers. Why else would they ask things like, ‘Was Harris ever nice to you?’ when they knew that he wasn’t? Or, ‘Did he ever come home with presents or promise you special things?’ or, ‘Did he or any of his friends ever put their arms around you or hug you – anything like that?’ I had already told them that no one ever came, and Harris didn’t touch me – no, never laid a hand on me, so long as I was crouched down quietly against that wall, gripping my legs so tightly to keep myself steady that I made bruises on myself, trying to stay safe by keeping what Harris called my ‘dirty little pink snout’ well out of it.
Being as
‘No.’
‘Harris?’ She tried to hide it, but she was watching me as if she thought I was pretending to be thick. ‘Or Mr Harris, even?’
‘I never called him anything.’
‘What if you wanted to call him over to look at something?’
Did I look frightened at the very idea? Who’d want him looking? I found a ladybird once, and he pulled her legs off, one by one, in front of my face. Then, holding me tight between his knees so I couldn’t get away, he crushed her tiny body slowly between his big fat thumbs. But in the end I couldn’t see for crying anyway. So I won there.
‘Right, then,’ I do remember Sue saying very firmly into the machine. ‘For now, we’re going to refer to Edward Taylor’s mother’s partner as “Harris” on this tape.’
And on we’d gone. ‘What did you eat? Did you have to tell them when you were hungry, or did they feed you anyway?’ ‘Who gave you food? Was it hot or cold?’ ‘Were you allowed to take food out of the cupboards by yourself or did you have to ask?’
Next time, they’d take another tack. I look back now and I can hardly believe that I had no idea what they were fishing for, with some of their questions. ‘Eddie, I must ask, did you see anyone apart from Harris and your mum? Did he have mates in ever?’ ‘Eddie, did Harris ever hit you?’ ‘Where on your body?’ ‘How often, Ed – can you tell me?’ ‘How hard? I know it isn’t easy to explain, but’ – Rob slapped a hand on his own thigh - ‘ this hard?Or was it harder, more like this?’ His hairy hand came down with such a thwack he made himself yelp.
After we’d giggled at that, it was Sue’s turn to lean forward. ‘Did your mum ever try to stop him hitting you?’
I tried so hard to hide the answer. But they were waiting. Waiting , just like Harris did.
Maybe I panicked. Anyhow, I must have nodded.
‘So what happened then?’
And when they’d finally dragged that answer out of me, and Rob had held me tight, and I’d stopped sobbing, he’d said, ‘Sorry, Eddie! God, I am so sorry ! I had no idea !’ And I looked across at Sue and she was scarlet in the face and scrabbling on the carpet on her hands and knees, picking up hundreds of tiny bits of grey foam rubber.
I hadn’t meant to rip that cushion into shreds. I didn’t realize I’d been clinging on to it so tightly. ‘We will tell Linda it was not your fault that it got torn,’ Rob promised me. And he made sure he did, as they were leaving. He even called me back so I could hear.
Linda looked down at the carpet, which was still speckled grey around my chair. ‘Never you mind. We’ve had far worse than that.’
I couldn’t understand what she was saying. What, I was worried, could be worse than what Harris did to Mum that time she tried to stop him?
That was the end, that day. But Sue and Rob came back again, and I remember being mystified at how someof the very same questions got asked over and over. I couldn’t understand why. It felt to me, back then, as if Mr Perkins had asked one of the people we visited, ‘Do the pancakes you’re tossing ever end up on the floor by mistake?’ and then, after she’d answered, kept asking the question again, but just a different way. I do remember worrying that they hadn’t listened, or they hadn’t believed my answers. Why else would they ask things like, ‘Was Harris ever nice to you?’ when they knew that he wasn’t? Or, ‘Did he ever come home with presents or promise you special things?’ or, ‘Did he or any of his friends ever put their arms around you or hug you – anything like that?’ I had already told them that no one ever came, and Harris didn’t touch me – no, never laid a hand on me, so long as I was crouched down quietly against that wall, gripping my legs so tightly to keep myself steady that I made bruises on myself, trying to stay safe by keeping what Harris called my ‘dirty little pink snout’ well out of it.
Being as
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