Silent Scream

Sixty-Three

She hit the call button. The battery flashed red.

‘What's up, Stace?’

‘Guv, I've been trawling back through some old posts on Facebook and I've come across something I think yer should know.’

‘Go on.’

‘About eight months ago one of the girls spotted Tom Curtis at Dudley Zoo with his family. She posted on the board commenting on his weight and wondering what they'd all seen in him back then.

‘A few childish jokes followed about him putting his hot dog in someone's bun and crap like that but then they started mentioning our three girls as well.’

Kim closed her eyes against what she knew was coming.

‘It's clear he was having sex with one of 'em, Guv.’

Kim thought about the pregnant fifteen-year-old. ‘Was Tracy mentioned by name?’

‘No, Guv, that's the thing. Tom Curtis was sleeping with Louise.’

Kim shook her head as the rage built within her.

‘You okay, Guv?’

‘I'm fine, Stace. Good work, now get off ...’

Her words trailed away as her phone charge ran out.

She put the phone in her pocket and kicked out at the wall.

‘Damn, damn, damn,’ Kim growled.

The anger that ripped through her veins had nowhere to go. These bastards had been entrusted with the safety of these girls and they had failed them badly. It seemed that every single one of them had found some way to further abuse these kids.

Child abuse was categorised into four main areas; physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional maltreatment and neglect. By Kim’s count, the staff at Crestwood had pretty much scored a strike on all four. The irony lay in the fact that most of the girls at Crestwood had been placed there to remove them from mistreatment.

No girl at Crestwood had been there by choice. She knew from her own experience that homes like this were dumping grounds; a civic amenity, like a landfill site. A place for unwanted and broken individuals where at best, kids were dehumanised and stripped of identity and at worst, they were abused even further.

Kim had seen it herself. Poor treatment became an expectation. And slowly, like a stump being hammered into the soil, your head could only remain above ground for so long.

Kim walked around the bike, trying to expel the heat from her veins. She clenched and unclenched her hands to relieve the building tension.

Each girl had arrived at Crestwood for various reasons, and none of them good.

Melanie had been discarded by her father so easily. Gifted to the state so there was one less mouth at his table. The selection criteria being that she was the less attractive child. How could Melanie not have known that to be the case? How did she reconcile that in her head? Thrown away by the one man who should have cared for her, all because she was ugly.

The child had begged for any scrap of attention, some validation that she was a person worthy of affection. Even trying to buy friendship to find her place. Happy to be the runt of the litter, just as long as the litter accepted her.

That was Melanie's story. But there was not one story. All the children in the system had a story. Kim herself had a story. But hers had not started alone.

A vision of Mikey swam before her eyes. It was not the picture she wanted but it was the one she always got. She stepped back into the darkness of the corner as the emotion thickened her throat.

Three weeks premature, Kim and Mikey had both been born with fragile health. Very soon Kim's health had improved, she had gained weight and her bones had strengthened. Mikey's had not.

Their mother, Patty, had taken them home when they were six weeks old, to a high-rise flat on Hollytree.

Kim's first memory dated back to three days after her fourth birthday and was a vision of her mother holding a pillow tightly over the face of her twin. His short legs had thrashed on the bed as his lungs fought for air. Kim tried to pull her mother away but her grip was firm.

Kim had thrown herself to the floor, opened her mouth wide and sunk her teeth into her mother's calf like a rabid dog. She applied every ounce of pressure she could muster and wouldn't let go. Her mother had spun around and the pillow fell from the bed, but still Kim didn't let go. Her mother had staggered around the room, screaming and trying to kick her free, but only when they were a safe distance from the bed did Kim unlock her jaw.

She remembered running over to the bed and shaking Mikey awake. He spluttered, coughed and gulped at the air. Kim ushered him behind her and stared up at her mother.

The hatred in the eyes of the woman who had birthed them took Kim’s breath away. She backed up the bed, keeping Mikey behind.

Her mother moved closer. ‘You stupid little bitch. Don't you know he's the fucking devil? He's got to die and then the voices will stop. Don't you fucking get it?’

Kim shook her head. No, she didn't. He wasn't the devil. He was her brother.

‘I'll get him, I promise you, I'll get him.’

From that point on, Kim had had to remain one step in front of her mother at all times. There were further attempts during the following year but Kim was never far from Mikey's side.

During the day she kept a badge in her pocket and pricked her lower arm to keep herself alert. At night she took handfuls of coffee from the jar and placed them straight into her mouth, absorbing the bitter granules into her tongue.

Only when she heard the rhythmic sound of her mother's snoring would she allow herself to rest.

There were occasional visits from social services. An overworked individual conducting a ten minute cursory inspection with a mental clipboard; a test she somehow managed to pass.

Kim had wondered many times since just how low the pass grade would have had to have been for them to remain in the care of their mother.

No evidence of crack cocaine – check.

No evidence of parent stumbling and drunk – check.

Children free of obvious scarring – check.

A week after their sixth birthday Kim had exited the lavatory, to find her brother attached to the radiator with handcuffs.

Kim looked at her mother with horror, confused for a few seconds. It was all the time her mother needed. Kim felt her hair being grabbed from behind and bunched in her mother's fist. She was dragged to the radiator and cuffed to her brother.

‘If I've gotta get you to get him then that's what I'll have to do.’

Those were the last words she ever heard from her mother.

By the end of that day Kim had managed to squirm her right foot beneath the bed and dislodge a pack of five cream crackers and a half bottle of Coke.

For two days she had been convinced that her mother would return. That one of her rare lucid moments would occur and they would be freed.

On day three she realised that their mother was not coming back and had left them to die. With only two crackers and a few mouthfuls of Coke remaining, Kim stopped eating completely. She divided the last two crackers in half and half again, making eight bites for Mikey.

Every few hours she would try and force her hand through the cuffs, removing slivers of skin each time.

By the end of day five the crackers were gone. A single mouthful of liquid remained in the Coke bottle.

Mikey turned his face towards her; so thin, so pale. ‘Kimmy, I peed again,’ he whispered.

She looked into his eyes; so distraught at one more puddle amongst the foulness beneath them. His earnest expression made her laugh out loud. And once she started laughing, she couldn't stop. Even though he didn't know why, Mikey joined in until the tears rolled over their cheeks.

And when the tears stopped falling, she held him close. Because she already knew. She whispered into his ear that Mummy was on her way with a meal and that he just had to hang on. She kissed the side of his head and told him she loved him.

Two hours later he died in her arms.

‘Sleep tight, sweet Mikey,’ she whispered, as the last breath left his battered, fragile body.

Hours or days later there was a loud noise and then people. Lots of people. Too many. They wanted to take Mikey and she was too weak to fight them off. She had to let him go. Again.

The fourteen day stay in hospital was a blur of tubes, needles and white coats. The days had melded into one.

Day fifteen was much clearer. She was taken from the hospital to the children's home. And she was given bed number nineteen.

‘Excuse me, Miss, are you okay?’ asked a voice from above.

Kim was startled to realise that she had slid down the wall and was now sitting on the ground.

She wiped away the tears and sprang to a standing position. ‘I'm fine, thank you, I'm fine.’

The ambulance driver hesitated for a second but nodded and then wandered away.

Kim stood and breathed deeply to dispel the overwhelming sadness as she placed the memories back in the box. Never would she forgive herself for her failure to protect her brother.

She unlocked the helmet from the wheel. Her body now filled with fight and determination.

No, she would not have it. Kim would not fail these girls because damn it, they mattered to someone. They bloody well mattered to her.