Page 59 of Darling Girls

‘My feet barely touched the floor as he dragged me out of the room and into the kitchen. I didn’t know what to think when he reached for the bar of soap. I was perplexed until the moment he shoved it into my mouth so far I retched.

‘“This is what happens to people who talk back.” He clamped his hand over my mouth.

‘I had heard of this happening to other kids, but it was not at all how I imagined it. I’d thought that at worst there would be an irritating soapy taste. Instead, it was an assault. Every time I sucked in a breath I inhaled bubbles instead of air. I couldn’t cough. My body became drenched with panicked sweat. I thought my mother would tell him to stop, that she would be horrified. But other than an initial, “John . . .” she said nothing.

‘When he finally pulled his hand away, I ran to the sink and began rinsing my mouth.

‘“I trust we won’t hear any more backchat from you,” John said before storming from the room.

‘When he was gone, I thought my mother would apologise for what her husband had done. But she didn’t. And I realised that my mother was every bit as lost to me as my father.’

Dr Warren shakes his head, aghast.

‘John punished me often after that,’ I continue. ‘Usually when I failed to do my chores. He was militant about chores, and I was always falling short. Mind you, I don’t think it was possible to meet his standards. Even on days I’d double- or triple-checked, he’d always find fault.’

‘And then he’d wash your mouth out?’ Dr Warren asks, slightly breathless.

‘No. That was reserved for talking back. He had different punishments for cleaning infractions. One time, when he decided I’d failed to clean the kitchen floors adequately, he grabbed me by the ear and dragged me to the doorway under the stairs, opened it, pushed me inside and latched it shut. I contemplated screaming, but I decided it was better to remain quiet as I waited for what came next. Stupidly, I hadn’t given up hope that my mother would save me. Needless to say, that didn’t happen.’

‘Whatdidhappen?’

I may be imagining it, but it looks like Dr Warren’s pupils are dilated.

‘Nothing. I kept waiting for someone to open the door, but no one did. They left me there. When I was finally let out, I’d been in the basement fortwenty-four hours.’

‘No,’ Dr Warren exclaims.

I nod. ‘I was lying on the floor, weak with hunger and thirst, my face dirty from licking the floor to wet my lips. In the stream of light that flooded in from upstairs, I saw John descending the stairs, followed by my mother. John came to a stop by my feet.

‘“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked.

‘When I didn’t respond, he kicked my foot. It wasn’t especially hard, but this time my mother dropped to her knees by my side. “Give her a minute,” she begged.

‘“I have . . . learned,” I managed to croak.

‘“Will you be respectful from now on?”

‘“Yes.”

‘“Whose house is this?”’

‘My gaze darted to my mother.

‘“Don’t look at her,” John bellowed. “Look atme. Whose house is it?”

‘“Yours.”

‘“Whose rules must you follow?”

‘“Yours.”

‘At this, he nodded. It took me a moment to realise he was waiting for me to stand. I hauled myself to my feet, but was so weak I nearly fell down again. My mother reached for me then stopped short, glancing at John as if this might not be allowed. Apparently it wasn’t.

‘John led the way up the stairs. As he did, I looked at my mother. Later, I consoled myself with the fact that at least my mother was too ashamed to meet my eye.’

‘So you blamed your mother for that?’ Dr Warren asks. ‘Even though John was the one who threw you in the basement?’

He is watching me avidly.