ONE - ROCK
Twenty years ago...
The key turns and yet again I'm locked in the attic with Jessica. I'm long used to it and don't bother crying but Jessica sobs and begs to be let out. She hammers on the door but he ignores us both, heading back down the ladder, leaving us alone.
"It's not so bad," I say to Jessica, my arm around her shoulder. "At least we've got each other."
She rails at the unfairness of it. "But I didn't do anything."
"I know," I say, falling silent beside her.
Eventually her tears subside. I learned years earlier that no matter how long you cry for, it makes no difference. You're still in the same situation. You might as well not bother. I wish I could teach Jessica how to lock her emotions away. She would feel better.
The attic is the place we know best in the house. It's the place we get put when we've been bad, when father wants some alone time with mother, when he's just sick of the sight of us, which is most of the time.
I'm starting to realise he's not just doing it to punish us. He does it to punish mother. When she protests about him, he no longer hits her, he hits us instead, carefully, trying not to leave marks. He doesn't always succeed, I have a fading bruise on my arm and a swelling on my forehead that made my vision blurred for two days. Jessica has it worse. I hate that.
As the last of her sniffles die away, we decide to play a game. I have a curling pack of cards hidden behind a rafter, found in one of the ancient boxes dotted around us. Most of the cards are coated in black mould but they serve for our purpose.
Jessica draws a wobbly circle in the dust and then we sit behind our markers, flicking the cards towards the circle. "You're cheating," Jessica says through her sniffles as on the fifth throw, I manage to get one to land right on the bullseye.
"Sit closer then," I reply, watching as she bum-shuffles across the floor.
She flicks the next card, grinning as it scoots mine out of the circle. "Ha!" she cries out loud, immediately putting her hand over her mouth.
We both know the risk of making too much noise up here. If father has to come back up, we will both "pay the price," as he puts it.
We play three times through the pack before getting bored. "I'm hungry," Jessica says.
"Me too," I reply.
I doubt we will get fed again today. If we're lucky, mother slips us a meal when he's not looking but she takes a risk in doing so. He's not averse to locking her up too, though in a private room we're not allowed to enter, down in the basement. He built it himself, cutting the wood, nailing the panels into place, wiring it up with a lot of electricity, more than you need for just a light.
We sometimes hear her scream in there. We sometimes hear him laugh. He doesn't laugh very often.
This is our whole world, this house. I hold Jessica's hand as we cross to the book box. We are as quiet as can be as we reach in and pull out the top book.
Mother taught me to read. He doesn't know. She did it when he was asleep, making me promise not to tell him. I kept the promise. Now I'm teaching Jessica. She's a faster learner than me.
Each time we're dumped in the attic, I do a little more. We have to be careful. I know what he'll do if he realises there are books up here.
"Books are not for children," he'll say, taking them outside to burn with the rest.
I listen intently before retrieving the book. A wrinkled, water damaged copy of A Christmas Carol. It has many words in that I don't know but it is enough to teach Jessica the basics of sentences.
She does well, reading four words on her own while I provide praise.
We hear a noise outside and my heart soars.
She is there.
Standing up, we walk across to the grime covered window. It is tiny, only four inches high and eight across, cracked and covered in cobwebs.
We dare not clean it lest he notice it is there and hammer a board across, taking one more pleasure from us.
Through the glass, we can see next door's back yard. There's a girl about Jessica's age out there, playing on a swing and laughing happily.
I want to be with her. I'm jealous of her for having the freedom to play outside, her parents aren't even in sight.
She is so beautiful, she takes my breath away. I don't know why I feel this way but looking at her makes me feel funny inside. I know I'll never meet her but it doesn't stop me dreaming. In my dreams we play together, I'm not shouted at or beaten for having the audacity to enjoy myself. I climb the trees and she cheers me for my bravado.
I know Jessica is dreaming beside me, dreaming of the day she might have a friend her own age, not just her brother, to play with and talk to.
I don't know the girl's name. I just know how she looks. I've watched her closely every time I'm up here, enjoyed her playing as if I'm doing it too.
She moves from the swing to a sandpit, starting to build a castle, her tongue sticking out in concentration.
Sometimes I think she looks up and sees us but I know she's just looking into the sky. I see her eyes when she does and I picture myself beside her, wishing with all my heart that she was up here with me if I can't be down there, her presence bringing light into the darkness of the attic.
All too soon she goes back inside, her mother on the doorstep beckoning her in. Her mother looks up at our house, smile fading as she turns and heads inside. We are alone again.
The vision of our neighbour sustains me into the night, helping to dull the ache of hunger that grows, gnawing away at me in a familiar but still unpleasant way. Jessica sleeps beside me, shivering in the cold. I press against her, trying to keep her warm.
I wonder if the girl gets punished like we do, if she misbehaves as much as us. Is she beaten? Does she go hungry? She seems to smile a lot. Does she have more willpower than us? She looks happy whenever she is outside, not afraid of her father when he comes home.
I try smiling, the movement of the muscles feels strange. It has been a long time since I've done it. Smile in front of father and he takes it as a personal affront.
I am told that I must love father and mother equally but to my shame the love does not feel equal, I feel that I love mother more. She has never hit me, not once. She has even stepped between us and father, taken the blows he was aiming at us.
I close my eyes and think of the girl next door. I am her hero. She is falling from one of the trees in her garden. I catch her. She smiles at me and kisses my cheek. I blush, happy to be there for her. I jolt awake and realise it the morning.
By the trapdoor is a slice of bread. Mother must have put it there in the night. I dart over and grab it, hiding it under me. I want to eat it but Jessica is more hungry than me, thinner than me, not that there is much in it. My stomach growls in protest but I stamp down on the feeling within me. I have to protect her, I have to keep her safe. One day, I will take her away from this place, we will go somewhere together, somewhere peaceful. Somewhere with no attic and no basement.
Jessica is having a bad dream, I comfort her with my hand on her forehead. I hope he will let us out today. It's not unknown for us to be locked up here for more than one night. Those are the times we are most likely to hear mother scream. I do not know what he does to her but I wish he would stop doing it.
I do not know it but I am about to have my wish granted in the worst way. Mother's screams will soon stop but then in their place, Jessica will scream so loudly, it will curdle my blood.
I feed her the bread when she wakes up, not knowing it will be the last meal she ever has.