The poor pet. Is it any wonder she’s acting up? Losing her mother so young. Joe’s a saint taking her on. Honestly. No one would blame him if he just walked away.
The whispers from the mammies in the school yard weren’t long in reaching my ears. And acting up? I wasn’t doing anything. I was just wandering around the playground on my own, rattling a stick against the railings.
Sure, when Kathleen had called for me to come on now, it was time to go home, I’d pretended not to hear her, even though her voice was high and scratchy and everyone else seemed to have gone quiet.
But that wasn’t acting up.
I just didn’t want to go home. Truth was, I didn’t know what home was any more. All I knew was that the only place I’d ever remembered living my whole entire life didn’t feel so safe and cosy now.
But if I said anything, anything at all, what would become of me?
When I did see Granny she seemed so sad all the time. She’d visit at least once a week, but she was never really present. Not the way she used to be. It seemed as if she’d given up on life. Grandad’s health was deteriorating. She was struggling. There was even less chance than before that they would be able to take me in. ‘Oh, wee doll, as nice as it is to see you, it’s like a knife to my heart at times. You’re so like your mammy was at that age,’ she would say and break into fresh tears. The last thing I wanted to do was to make her life any harder than it already was. Speaking up would’ve done that.
I already felt guilt-ridden just for reminding her of my mother, but that wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t help how I looked. Maybe if I cut my hair I’d look different. That’s what I was thinking the night I took the big scissors and hacked at my ponytail. I watched my curls fall to the ground. One strand followed by another, followed by another.
Maybe if I looked less like Mammy, Granny wouldn’t be so sad. She wouldn’t cry when she saw me.
Maybe she would invite me to stay more and I could show her what a great help I could be with Grandad, and that I didn’t take up much space, or eat much or need her to spend money on me.
Maybe if I looked less like Mammy, Joe wouldn’t look at me the way he did. He wouldn’t cross the landing at night-time to ‘see if I was okay’ and ‘offer to tuck me in’. He mightn’t tell me how beautiful I was and how I made his heart happy.
He wouldn’t call me his special girl.
Joe had been horrified when he saw what I’d done to my hair. He’d called for Kathleen, who was living with us at the time, and her mouth opened wide in shock like a cartoon character.
‘Oh, Heidi, what have you done to your lovely curls?’ she asked.
I looked downwards. Yes, maybe I’d got carried away with the scissors. I didn’t mean to cut my hair so short, but at the same time, I could see that it had got to Joe and that gave me a sense of satisfaction.
‘Can you do anything with it?’ he asked his sister.
‘Christ, Joe, I don’t think there’s anyone who could do anything with that. We’ll just have to try to tidy it up the best we can.’
Tidying it up the best they could, involved hauling me to the nearest old lady, style-and-set hairdressers. They begged a really rather fed up-looking hairdresser to do her best to fix it. She was clearly about to head home for the day, so they offered her a generous tip.
She did the best she could, but fashioned what could only be described as a crew cut out of it all. The result certainly provoked a reaction, but not one I might have hoped for.
‘Look at you! Just look at you, cutting all your hair off like that. Oh, Heidi, when it broke your poor mammy’s heart to lose her hair to the cancer and you’re after hacking your own hair off,’ Granny had wept and I had felt worse than I thought was possible.
Perhaps unexpectedly, Ciara had a cruel reaction. ‘Did you have nits or something? Because I’ll have to get Daddy to boil wash every towel and sheet in that horrible hovel of yours before I come and visit again,’ she sneered.
When I had curled up on my bed and sobbed, no longer buoyed by the thought my actions might actually make my life a little easier, Kathleen had come and sat beside me, tenderly resting her hand on my shoulder.
‘You know we all just need to be brave now, Heidi, don’t you? And we all have to work together to get through this. I know it’s very, very sore on you. And it’s not one bit fair, but try to remember there are other people hurting, too. Yes, you lost your mammy and that’s awful, sweetheart. But Joe lost his partner. He loved your mother very much and he’d hoped to spend the rest of his life with her. He’s hurting too and he doesn’t always get it right. But he does try. If we all try, it will come good. I promise.’
That was the first time I almost told her. The words were on the tip of my tongue. She was being kind. She was listening, at least. She was saying it was hard for us all. But she didn’t know the truth. She didn’t know that after my mother had died Joe had started to do those things to me. Maybe if I told her, she’d talk to him just like she was talking to me. She would tell him to stop. Tell him that he had to try harder, too.
I wanted so much to tell her, but I was eleven. I couldn’t find the words. I couldn’t say why it felt wrong, or how I knew it wasn’t natural, or how I just wanted it all to stop. So I curled up in a tighter ball and shrugged her hand away. I didn’t speak. Didn’t interact. And after a while she stood up and, without saying a word, left.
I think she had already made up her mind about me.