Saturday - the Truth is out there Somewhere

Saturday was – how can I describe it? Confusing, elating… maybe best described by filling me with incredibly conflicting emotions. I caught all three trains, thankfully they were on time. Up to Clapham Junction, next train to East Croydon and then discovered there was a problem with the signals on the Uckfield line. Was the train going to run and if so, would it be on time? An anxious few minutes, since I knew full well that, even if Simon did turn up, he certainly wouldn’t wait. It was, apparently, my lucky day. The train had just left London Bridge. I raced over to the Platform and waited. It was crowded, vaguely uncomfortable but on time and I got there 40 minutes before I was due to see Flavia and Simon. It was cold but, thankfully the sun was shining. Since I didn’t really trust Simon to turn up, merely say he had but I hadn’t we had determined that I would buy something to prove my presence. I waited until the train left, before I went in to Somerfield. My idea was to buy a bread roll. First problem. Their bakery section wasn’t working and so I had to improvise. Receipt safely tucked away I wandered around the twenty or so shops that make up Uckfield and waited. At ten to two I walked the few hundred yards back to the railway station. If Simon did turn up I had no doubt he would wait less than 30 seconds. At five to two I was there. Waiting. Wondering. Watching the road. One minute to two and I saw his car. I hated the fact that I wasn’t excited to see her. Did she want to see me? How would she react? Part of me wanted to turn around and run, but there was no where to go. The next train didn’t arrive for another half an hour. I walked towards the entrance, wary. I stood ten feet away and looked at her. She half smiled at me, hesitant and I knew how she felt. I was just the same. They got out of the car and I wondered whether Simon would say anything to me. Mark was no where around and so he could verbally abuse me with impunity. Flavia held out a little present and eagerly described it to me. I looked at it. We hadn’t touched, hadn’t kissed or hugged and I wasn’t sure if that was because I was unsure whether she wanted to or if it was because she was nervous of me. Simon stood, as though guarding, listening to our conversation about her gift. I refused to either look at or speak to him. I loathed him for what he was doing and how he made me feel. I despised him. Finally, after what seemed an age, he got back in the car and drove off. We were alone for three hours. Flavia was dressed simply. A shirt I had bought her a couple of summers before, a pair of dungarees and a thin zip up top. I had three layers on under my thick coat and I could feel the chill of the air. Why on earth had Simon dressed her so inappropriately? He knew we were going to be outdoors for the next few hours! We started wandering around the shops, Flavia proudly brandishing three pounds in her purse. I was desperate to ask her about Simon’s allegations but didn’t want to just launch in to it. Get some good relations going first. We walked in to one of her favourite shops and she bought me a present, then asked what Mark would like for Christmas. I could hardly speak, I felt so choked. Finally I couldn’t stand it any more and led her to the local park. I needed to know. I had to know. It might damage the rest of the time we had together but I couldn’t wait any longer. I was going mad, I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It consumed me. We sat on a bench. The sun shone and the occasional shopper walked past us, laden with bags. Otherwise it was quiet. I glanced at her, uncertain. How the hell should I broach it? I tried, ‘What’s happened?’ It seemed non-confrontational enough. ‘Jack died.’ I made sympathetic noises, all the time thinking, ‘I don’t care about the bloody guinea pig!!’. I tried again, again non-confrontational. For the next few minutes we talked our way through the points raised by Simon. In some ways it was enlightening but in reality it wasn’t. she had no idea what was happening. She thought the suggestion that she was scared of Mark was ridiculous, laughing that he was a ‘big softy’. Had Daddy had to force her to come to us? Did she say she didn’t want to speak to us again? To see us again? Throughout it, I kept my tongue firmly between my teeth and never accused Simon. I wanted to. I wanted to tell her how much I loathed him, but I couldn’t. He was her father. How could I do that to her? Each time the answer was in the negative. She was as confused as I had been. For the rest of our time together we were far more at ease and, as it happened, certain things emerged. Time and again she begged me if she could come to our house. It became evident that she thought we didn’t want her, rather than the other way around. She also begged to be with us at Christmas, as we had previously arranged and kept suggesting wild schemes for her to see Mark. At one point she asked whether we had thrown all her belongings out. At four fifty-five we made our way back to the railway station. It was dark and bitterly cold. I pitied Flavia. I had lent her my gloves and scarf but there was no way my coat would fit on her. My poor baby was freezing thanks to her father. For the last time I checked that non of Simon's accusations were true. Then we were at the railway station and he was there, the engine running, eager to leave. We hugged and kissed and said goodbye. She said she was going to ask her father if she could 'phone us on Thursday and spend Christmas with us. I didn't state the blindingly obvious, but knew the answer. I got home three hours later. Very cold, extremely tired. Exhausted, almost. Mark greeted me with a bear hug and a kiss, closely followed by a hot meal and a shot of Southern Comfort. I sat on the sofa, drained, repeating myself whilst Mark refused (nobly) to say 'I told you so.' Maybe we would deal with the last telephone call she had made at some point but for now it was enough. Simon had lied. Again. Flavia didn't fear Mark, didn't dread coming to us, did not say she didn't want to see or speak to us. She did. He had done what had succeeded all those years ago with my family. Told me they didn't want anything to do with me and told them I didn't want to see or speak to them. Not being a close family, that time it had worked. This time, to his surprise and fury, it hadn't. I had no doubt the pressure he had been exerting on Flavia to say what he wanted was incredible. She must have been subject to terrible mental trickery by him, yet when she saw me the truth came out. Those who haven't been abused have no idea of what it's like. I'm not talking the physical stuff. People can imagine that. They can even imagine the sexual abuse. It's the other stuff. The mind games, the wearing down. They have no idea. You end up believing them. You doubt yourself, your perceptions. They can convince you black is white and that one plus one equals 3. I know. It happened to me and now it is being visited on my daughter. Please God (and I doubt he cares, but I'm desperate) that we can save her.