Street Kid (4 page)

On the second night, as I lay in my steel cot, arms tied and face covered, balaclava-like, with bandages, I tried to pierce the darkness with my eyes. I could hear the other children’s breathing and occasionally they would moan or say something in their sleep. But there was also another noise, which sounded sinister, as if something ghostly was roaming the room:
swish, swish, swish,
pause, then
swish, swish, swish
again. I felt like a fly trapped in a web waiting for a hairy, black spider to come and eat me.
Swish, swish, swish.
The noise was very close now, just the other side of my cot. Then I saw a face looking down at me and realized with relief that what I’d heard was simply the nurse’s starched uniform swishing against her legs as she patrolled the ward, pausing to check on her patients as she went.

When I was well enough to look around, I saw that I was in a big square room with white walls and a brown lino floor. The sun was streaming in through two tall windows, and along one wall was a row of four steel cots. Facing them were four beds for the older children. In the middle of the ward was a blue table and eight small chairs.

The gentle nurse I remembered from the night they brought me in was talking to me. ‘I know you’ll like being here between Christening and Lemon.’ She pointed at the kids in the cots on either side of me.
What daft names,
I thought. It was only later when another nurse came along to change my dressings that I realized that the children were in fact called Christine and Leonard. It was hard to hear anything clearly with my right ear.

Having my dressings changed was horrible. Only the gentle nurse removed them slowly and carefully. The others all assured me in their no-nonsense way that it was much less painful if they ripped them off really fast.

‘There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’ I hated that false chirpiness and the fact that they clearly didn’t want an answer from me.

My first meal was a bowl of disgusting brown liquid that looked like dirty water. It must have been beef broth, or something similar, but tasted of nothing. The nurse
spooned it into my mouth. ‘Come on, just a few more mouthfuls and then you can have jelly and custard.’ The spoon was very painful as my lips had cuts on them, so she brought a straw and I sucked up the lukewarm liquid with that. I really wanted the jelly and custard so I sucked away at the foul stuff until it was finished.

Four or five times a day a nurse would put each of us little ones on our potties. I’d be lifted out of my cot, still attached to all my tubes. A few days after I’d arrived, the nurse on duty forgot about me half way through her potty rounds. She’d been distracted by one of the other kids, a naughty red-headed boy who was often in trouble, and had forgotten to come back to me. I waited and waited and after an hour or so thought to myself,
I’m just going to have to go.
I wasn’t used to asking for help so it didn’t occur to me to do so now. I set about trying to get free instead. I wriggled and wriggled my wrists in their bandage ties until one of them came free, then I managed to untie the other. I tried to get out of the cot but my tubes were preventing me, so I took them out of my neck and arms and grabbed hold of the bars to pull myself to my feet. The cot was quite high off the ground, easily taller than me, but that didn’t stop me clambering over the side and dropping to the floor.

On wobbly legs, I made my way across the ward to the door I’d seen the older kids use when they needed the toilet. I was sitting there when I heard a huge commotion, a high-pitched raised voice and then a loud click-clack of shoes on the floor. A moment later, my door was flung open and the duty nurse stood there, extremely furious.

‘What are you doing, you silly, silly girl. Don’t you know you might have
died?’

I stared back at her, feeling shocked.
I could have died?
It was only at that moment that I realized how severe my injuries had been.

Later that day, a group of people walked into the ward. As they approached my cot, I realized with a sickening jolt that one of them was my father. He was a head taller than the rest and as our eyes met I felt quite breathless with fear. He fixed me with a look which said,
If you so much as utter one word I’ll kill you.
Stiffly, he walked over to my bed, accompanied by my doctor, two nurses and a man and woman wearing dark suits. My favourite nurse slid the side of my cot down, untied my hands from the bars and started gently removing the bandages from my head.

Sensing my alarm, she spoke to me soothingly. ‘Don’t worry, pet. We’re just going to have a little look and see how you’re doing.’

The other nurse, who was wearing a dark-blue uniform and cap, then spoke. ‘Judy, can you tell us how your head and face got hurt.’ I shot a nervous look at my father and when I saw his cold grey eyes boring into me, I shut my mouth tight.

Then the man with white hair took a step closer. ‘Do you remember how you hurt your legs, Judy. What happened?’

I shrank back from him and when I didn’t speak, the man turned to the doctor and said, ‘Can she hear me?’

The doctor then came closer and bent his head down. ‘Can you remember anything at all, anything about how you got hurt?’ I pressed my lips together and shook my head.

At that, my father stepped in, looking like he’d had well enough. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ he said. ‘She rode her bike down the hill and crashed into the school railings.’

I couldn’t tell the others what I knew: that the school wasn’t down a hill, and that I didn’t have a bicycle. But I sensed that the people round my bed didn’t believe his story anyway.

The white-haired man spoke again, this time to my father. ‘Mr Richardson, I’m afraid that during our investigations your daughter will have to stay here in hospital.’ My father stiffened a little but didn’t say anything.

Then it was over and they turned to go. My favourite nurse stayed with me and gently put my bandages back and tied my hands again. ‘You’ll see, Judy. We’ll have you as good as new in no time,’ she said with a smile.

Other than my dad, I didn’t have any visitors for a couple of weeks. Every day, after lunch, there was a queue of people waiting to be let into the ward to visit the kids. We could see them through the window that separated our room from the corridor. They stood there making faces and blowing kisses through the glass. I remember Leonard’s family coming to visit him in the second week. When he spied his parents he stood up in his cot, calling out and waving at them with both hands. Then his mum and dad came in and they swooped Leonard up and gave him a big cuddle. Later, when they’d gone, Leonard showed me two oranges they’d given him, holding them through the bars of his cot. I wished I could have had one.

Although I wasn’t really expecting anybody to come and see me, I still scanned the queue every day to see if I had any visitors. I’d pretty much given up when one day I saw Uncle George and Auntie Gertie smiling and waving at me through the glass. I felt so warm and happy, it was as if the sun had suddenly poked its head out from between the clouds. I beamed back at them from my cot. By then, my bandages had been taken off so I could sit up.

‘How’s my little injun?’ George asked, having settled himself on a chair next to my cot. ‘Feeling better?’

I told him that I was. Then Auntie Gertie leaned forward. ‘You’ve got a bit of something on your cheek, poppet.’ I’d only recently finished lunch. ‘Here, spit on this.’ She held out a hanky and I spat on it and she rubbed at my face. ‘There, all clean now,’ she said.

They didn’t stay long and when I saw Uncle George stirring in his chair and glancing at his watch I turned to Auntie Gertie. ‘Can I go home with you?’ I asked. ‘Please!’

‘No chuck, not yet. You have to stay here a bit longer.’ She stroked my hand. I saw a look pass between her and George and I knew that my question had upset them both. Feeling too old and powerless to do anything made them feel unnerved and I didn’t think they’d come again to visit. The thought of me, small and vulnerable, in my hospital cot pleading for a home would, I sensed, become a painful memory that they’d want to push away.

When they left, they blew kisses until they were out of sight. I had an immediate pang of homesickness when they left, but later on I felt comforted by their visit. I’d been sensitive to the fact that the other kids had been wondering what was so wrong with me that no one cared enough to come. Now I’d shown them that I did have friends after all.

I must have been in hospital another week before Auntie Gertie and Uncle George came again. This time it was to take me home. As I sat on one of the little blue chairs in the ward, I wondered where I would be taken. I hoped I might be going back to the Roberts’ house, but instead we went to the shop. I was relieved that there was no sign of Freda or my father when we got there; and, as the flat was empty, Uncle George and Auntie Gertie stayed over that night to look after me.

My father and Freda came back late in the afternoon the next day. I slipped quickly to my room and from there heard the row raging downstairs. The Roberts were really angry and I could pick out almost everything the four of them were saying.

‘We’ve been horribly deceived by you,’ Uncle George was saying. ‘We thought you were a trustworthy pair but you’re wicked, just wicked.’

‘Oh, and I suppose you know everything,’ Freda spat at him. ‘Mrs Craddock makes bloody sure of that.’

‘It wasn’t just her, Freda.’ It was Auntie Gertie’s turn. ‘Your fancy man’s wife came round to ours and told us every last detail. That poor little kiddie.’

My heart turned to ice at Auntie Gertie’s words and my thoughts were spinning round and round, out of control.
Mum came. She knew I was here. Why didn’t she take me home with her?
I felt my heart breaking.
Mum, you must have known how bad it was with him. Why didn’t you save me from them? Don’t you care for me at all?

Over the next couple of days, a stream of serious-looking visitors came to the house. From under the table I could see men with polished brown shoes and pinstriped trousers pacing the living room, and ladies with court shoes and nylon stockings sitting with their legs crossed, gloves and handbags placed close to their heels. They asked my dad and Freda a lot of questions in serious-sounding voices. At some point, Mrs Craddock was called in for her pennyworth. She used the ‘chicken’ word a lot and clucked her tongue in disgust as she reported how badly Freda had treated me.

The next thing I remember, I was on my own with Auntie Gertie and she was putting on my shoes and cardigan. The flat was quite empty. My dad and Freda had gone.

The bell sounded at the shop door. ‘Here she is,’ said Auntie Gertie, taking my hand and ushering me through the shop. A young nun was standing just inside the door. ‘Now Judy, you be a good girl and go with this nice lady.’ She gave me a little hug and patted my back. It never occurred to me that this was a final goodbye and that I wouldn’t be coming back.

Chapter Four

I
’d been many times to the gardens of St Joseph’s Orphanage. The flowers and trees kept on drawing me back. After a while, the nuns had got used to seeing me there. I never came close and they never bothered me.

I hadn’t been inside the big, grey stone building since that first time. It still scared me. Now, as the nun led me through the polished hall, I wondered if I was going to be given bread and jam again. Instead, I was put in a large room and told to stay there and play. I didn’t understand what I was meant to do: I’d never been told to play before. I wanted to go back to the shop and hide under my table in the kitchen. Instead, I crawled into a gap between a bookcase and a piano and hid away there.

It wasn’t long before a bell rang. The bell had always been my signal to return to the yard so I jumped up, ready to flee. But before I could do so, the young nun came back.

I tried to wriggle past her, but she took me firmly by the hand.

‘You’re to stay here now, Judith. At the orphanage.’

The nun then led me firmly by the hand down a long corridor to a huge echoey hall. It was full of children, all making their way to long tables laid with cutlery and
glasses, jugs of water, and plates of bread. I was taken to a seat at one of the tables. There was another nun at the head of the table standing behind her chair, hands clasped in front of her. I didn’t know what I was meant to do, so I sat down. Seeing the plate of bread, and being used to scavenging for any food I could lay my hands on, I reached over and snatched a slice, hastily stuffing it into my mouth.

I felt a hand yank me up by the back of my collar. ‘That is
not
how you behave here, Judith.’ The nun looked at me, sternly. ‘And the rest of you, be quiet.’ At that, all heads ducked down, eyes lowered.

I stood up, instinctively realizing that I’d better copy the other children. Then a much older nun spoke from the table at the top of the room.

‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.’

There was a murmured ‘Amen’ before everyone drew back their chairs and sat down. I did the same. Some older girls then brought bowls of stew and potatoes to the tables. They ladled it onto plates and I waited until the nun at the head of my table raised her fork to her mouth before I dared move. I had never used cutlery before so I dug in with my fingers, stuffing the stew and potatoes in my mouth. The other children stared.

‘Judith, you will
not
behave like that here,’ she said. ‘It’s certainly not the way to show our Lord how grateful you are.’

I didn’t know what a lord was, or what grateful meant.

After dinner, I was taken to the nursery by the nun who’d brought me back from the shop. The room was white and bare except for twenty cots standing against the walls. She took me over to one of them.

‘That’s your bed, Judith.’ She handed me a nighty. ‘Now, get undressed.’

I did as I was told and the nun took my clothes away and brought me some others from a cupboard at the end of the room, putting them on the chair beside my cot. She waited while I got under the covers and then left the room without a word. I hunkered down so that only the top of my head showed above the covers. I wrapped my own arms around me for comfort, imagining they were Mary’s, and my breathing slowly steadied until finally I fell asleep.