'being Sian' - Secrets Are Out

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‘Being Sian’ Secrets Are Out I thought that by telling him everything, it would create a bond. The only thing was, the more I told him, the more eager he was to embellish my story. “I was abused by my father,” I confessed. “He touched me where he shouldn’t have, and I was barely four.” He didn’t look shocked or surprised. He just stared as usual. “I didn’t tell anyone about it for years. One day I told some girls at school, but they went and informed my teacher, Mrs Brown. We never got on anyway, because whenever I got bullied by someone I would tell her, but she always made it out to be my fault somehow.” I paused to light up my cigarette. By now my throat was beginning to feel sore with so many cigarettes. “Anyway, the same day Mrs Brown pulled me into her classroom. ‘What have you been saying to my girls?’ She demanded. Of course, I was so scared that I didn’t say a single word. She got angry and sent me to the corner of the room for the rest of the day. I was terrified.” I stopped, filling with anger at the memory.

3 “I had to endure the humiliation of all the older classes coming in to take their lessons. I got so paranoid, I thought that she would ring up the Social Services and they would come and put me in Care.” “Have you ever been in Care?” He asked, curious. “Yes, I have.” I sighed. “My parents were getting divorced at the time. It was well known to the Authorities, what my father did to me.” I paused and Terence refilled our glasses. I noticed that he filled mine up first. I couldn’t help thinking how polite that was. “I’ve never been able to work out why Mrs Brown punished me so much. I mean, she obviously heard what the girls told her.” He looked at me, inspired. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? If she didn’t like you, and she never took your side when you were bullied, she wasn’t prepared to change. She didn’t want to say, ‘Okay, I’m sorry this happened to you and I’ll be nicer to you now that I know.’” I was amazed at his perception. “Of course! She wasn’t willing to change her attitude! She was too used to hating me, right?” “Right.” He agreed.

4 Looking back, this was the only thing I agreed with him on. He went on to suggest some terrible things about my childhood, which, although they may have been possible, still gave him no right to say; it wasn’t polite. Yet I was caught up in his charisma. I ploughed on regardless, grateful to find a listening ear. “My mother married twice.” I informed him. “The trouble is, they were both paedophiles.” It was true. When my mother was twenty, she married Bernard. Fortunately, he never got the chance to abuse Craig and Deirdre, my half siblings, as they divorced very early. (He went on to marry a second wife, and abused their daughters, going to jail for child molestation). Then, at the age of thirty, my mother married my father, and he tried to rape my half sister Deirdre when she was nine. Not long after my birth, they divorced. He abused me from the age of fifteen months, during access to me alone in his flat. I stubbed out my cigarette furiously. “I mean, it’s too much, isn’t it?” The birdlike stare was as blank as ever, but I could see he was getting inspired again. “Has it ever occurred to you,” He said carefully, “that maybe your mother was the paedophile? That she taught her husbands’ her ways?” The possibility horrified me. My heart pounded and I grew weak at the knees.

5 “I don’t think so. I hope not.” I gasped, covering my mouth. “I don’t remember everything about my childhood, but I don’t remember her doing anything. It was always my father.” “Well,” He replied, pushing his point home, “You never know. Maybe you blocked that part out. I suggest you see a psychiatrist and get hypnosis. It’s the only way to be completely sure.” “Shit. I really hope this isn’t true.” I said, genuinely alarmed. The wine and the tiredness was making me emotional and paranoid, and open to ideas. He tried his best to help me remember. I got to the point where I thought I did actually recall things, but I couldn’t be sure whether it was actual memory, or me imagining his suggestions. I took a small break from the conversation and went to the bathroom. My head was spinning from all these implications. Then suddenly, I did recall something. I rushed out to the living room again, almost breathless. “Terence! I do remember something. I was in the bath with my mother. I was about four. D’you think that’s weird?” “I don’t know,” He replied. “It depends.” “In fact, I remember putting a flannel over her private parts, or was it mine? I can’t remember exactly.” “Or maybe you were playing with her.” He suggested crudely. I wasn’t totally sure of my memory, and any doubt left room for possibility. I didn’t recall her abusing me, yet how did I know it didn’t

6 happen, if I couldn’t remember clearly? The thought of it scared me, and I sat on the floor chewing my nails. “Like I said, the only way you’ll know for sure is to see a shrink and get that hypnosis.” He said finally. Terence wasn’t finished with his amateur therapy; as long as I provided the material, he was only too happy to embellish it. I was like a volcano that couldn’t stop erupting. I went on to talk about when I was seven. Back then, I lived with my real brother John for the first time since coming out of Care. I’d never lived with him before, as he was either in Care himself or living with our father, so we were virtually complete strangers. I felt a pang at the memory. We never got on. He was bitter and he showed it by bullying me, though he should have known better, being seven years older. “Anyway, he beat me up for a long time. My mother said I had to be controlled, and she didn’t want to have to hit me herself. So John did the dirty work for her. She stood behind him all the way.” “Like a father figure?” He suggested. “Exactly.” I said, pleased at being so understood. “Anyway, the way she stood behind Joseph is similar to what Deirdre says about her. She claims that when my father hit her brother Craig, she told him to do it.” “So she’s doing the same thing again. Are you sure there wasn’t more to it, if you get what I’m hinting at.”

7 “No, what?” I didn’t understand. “That your mother was....fucking your brother.” He finished. The idea was hilarious. I laughed out loud. “No. That’s one thing I can safely say didn’t happen.” I assured him. I was getting a bit pissed off with his ideas. He was going too far now, and he didn’t know when to stop. I was so tired by this stage. It was growing close to five o clock in the morning, and Terence showed no sign of abating. He sat stiff and alert, watching my face steadily. I had to keep on talking… I felt that it was expected of me now, the silence would have been so embarrassing; he wouldn’t stop watching me. “There’s so much other stuff.” I sighed. “I mean, my mother is such a prude. She’s against the idea of sex before marriage, for example. It’s her stupid religion.” “What religion is she?” “Oh, she’s a Jehovah’s Witness, but I mean, I can remember her breaking her own rules. When I was five years old, I saw her in bed with this Canadian guy.” Terence stared thoughtfully. His huge eyes never wavered for a second. I wondered what he was thinking now. “So what happened when you saw them in bed?” “Nothing. I felt awkward, like I shouldn’t have burst in on them like that.”

8 “Are you sure your mother didn’t call you?” “No, why would she?” He studied me carefully. “Well, it’s possible that she wanted you to join in, as a threesome.” “That’s ridiculous!” “Is it? Do you remember being in bed with them after that? You know, to jerk him off and play with her.” I was outraged. Perhaps she did let me climb in bed beside her, but I knew that what he was saying was just plain absurd. It just didn’t happen. “I think something did happen.” Insisted Terence. “After your father! This Canadian guy. You don’t even know who who he was, do you?” “What d’you mean?” “He could have been one of several men, who came in to have sex games with you.” “No, Terence. This guy was our neighbour. He lived across our landing.” “How do you know that?” He argued. “It might be something your mother told you. Did you see him around, or only when he visited?” “Come on, I didn’t pay that much attention. Besides, a Scottish bloke moved into that flat soon after. I remember him being there for years afterward, but that doesn’t mean the Canadian guy didn’t live there before, does it?”

9 It was beginning to get stupid now. Whatever I said, doubt was cast on it straightaway. I pushed home my point. “There were no other men coming in, just him. I’m positive nothing sexual went on there. Let’s stick to what I do remember!” “Okay.” Terence smiled understandingly. Who did he think he was, a qualified psychiatrist? I thought he was doing a good job of it at first, but he couldn’t stop hypothesising about what might have happened, branching off so far from the tree itself. I had a distinct memory of my father, the creep that he was. Just thinking of him made me sick to the soul. A tall wiry creature, he had pale watery blue eyes, which flickered from side to side in a nervous habit. He seemed almost albino, he was so pale. He was so detestable, you could really kick him. “I was lying on the bed, and my father was examining me because I said I had an itch. But he was really playing with me. I thought I’d invited this, by telling him that I was itchy, you know?” “He probably gave you an infection.” “Maybe. Anyway I remember another time when I was sitting on the toilet. He always insisted on wiping me after I’d finished; he always took so long doing it. First, he’d meticulously fold the tissue in half, making a big deal of it.”

10 “Maybe he’d just wanked all over you.” He said hopefully. “It’s possible,” I agreed, cringing. “That’s probably why he took so long.” “Sperm’s hard to wipe off.” He confirmed. I wondered what to make of the long conversation we’d had. What parts would I get paranoid about? What did I really remember? Even more importantly, what did I believe was possible? “At the end of the day,” I said firmly, “I don’t seriously believe my mother ever did anything to me.” “Don’t you remember her touching you?” He asked, almost disappointed. “No, I don’t, really! I did wonder at first, but now I’m pretty sure.” “Do you trust her?” I paused. In some ways, I didn’t. She had a lot to hide, but not the kind of things Terence thought, but I had to be truthful. “No, I don’t.” I felt regret that I’d told him anything at all. Now, someone I hardly know has my whole childhood packed away in his memory forever. He will think I owe him something, now we’re no longer strangers. Did I really want this? It was now six thirty in the morning and I needed to get away from the constant stares, the clever ideas, and the sensation of being owned by him. It was like I was his property now, even though it was my flat… he

11 seemed to be the boss. We were silent. I wondered if he was thinking of leaving. If not, how would I be able to tell him to go? It was an obvious thing to do, did he really have no idea about basic manners? Or was he taking advantage…. Terence started to yawn. “Well, I’d better be going. I’ll be round again tomorrow.” He promised. Well, that’s something I can live without knowing. My face muscles were aching from the constant smiles. I had plastered a grin on my face from beginning to end, fearing that if I didn’t, my face would appear stern and annoyed. I didn’t want him to know how I really felt, in case it hurt his feelings. The trouble was, once I dropped my face to relieve the ache, I was tempted to leave it that way, but Terence might think I was in a bad mood. He’d be concerned; and then I’d have to reassure him that I was okay; it was easier to smile. “I’ll be going shopping at some point.” I said, pretending that I didn’t want him to come if I wasn’t at home. He fell silent, bringing it up again anxiously as I went to open the door. “So when will I find you in?” I tried to hide my irritation. I hated being forced into anything, and especially being pinned down to a time. “Oh, about three o” clock.” I said, wishing he would just go. He hovered, yawning again. “Well, I’d better be off.”

12 No, really? I thought you were going to vegetate and grow roots. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” He reminded me cheerfully. I was very tired. We had talked from two o clock yesterday until six-thirty today….sixteen hours! Was that possible? Okay, some of the time was spent doing odd jobs around the house; but the rest was spent talking? Wasn’t this a bit too much, I thought. Most people would have gone home a long, long time ago. Terence will have more power over me now that he knows everything. It will be like having a one-night stand, except that I won’t even be able to say goodbye. Terence had arranged to come here again, to put back the bloody doors, and I’d promised to buy him the tobacco. I couldn’t very well not get it for him. Oh, shit. What had I dragged myself into? At least I had a microwave. I wouldn’t starve, I could feed myself. As usual, survival instinct kicks in and desperate reasonings push to the fore. At the back of my mind though, as I drifted off to sleep, I wondered, was a microwave worth putting up with a guy like Terence? He had turned out to be a clinging leech. Was he going to turn into a stalker? I collapsed onto my bed exhausted. It was a quarter to seven in the morning.

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