Page 64 of Seven Days

‘I’ll bring some ibuprofen.’

Maggie looked at Seb. ‘Don’t you want to know his name?’

The man looked at her, his head tilted. He looked puzzled. ‘No. Why would I want to know that?’

‘I thought you might.’

‘Well I don’t. Call it whatever you want.’

And then he left.

5

She cradled her baby and kissed his soft lips. She watched his eyelids twitch as he dreamed. She couldn’t believe she was a mother. There was joy, yes, unbridled joy, but also sadness. Sadness for him at where he was. For the moment, it didn’t matter – this would be the perfect place for him. He would have everything he needed. Food, warmth, his mum. It was only as he grew older that he would really miss out. He wouldn’t know what he was missing, not first hand, but Maggie would tell him. She would explain about playing football with your friends and swimming in rivers and lakes and gazing at the stars, so that when they got out he was as prepared as possible for the world he would find.

That would be her mission from now on: to get her son ready for the day they left. She would teach him to read and write and do maths. She would explain about kindness and compassion and love. She would tell him about his grandparents and uncle and all the other people who would be there for him when the time came.

That would be her focus. It would give meaning and purpose to her life. It would make everything worthwhile. And it would not be wasted, because they would get out.

She knew they would because one day Seb would be bigger and stronger than the man, and together they would be able to overpower him. It might take years, but it would happen.

The man had sowed the seed of his own destruction. So she would wait. And the longer she waited, the stronger she – and Seb – would become.

She felt, for the first time since she had been here, at peace.

Thursday, 21 June 2018

Two Days to Go

1

The man put two buckets on the floor next to the dinner tray. He stood up, wincing as he straightened his back.

‘I’ll be back for the stuff later,’ he said.

Maggie waited until she heard the scraping sound that meant he was gone, then picked up the tray.

Two plates. Two slices of cold pizza and two bowls of mandarin slices. Eating was impossible. She wasn’t sure if she was coming down with something but even if she wasn’t the sense of dread – it never left her now – about Max’s birthday had destroyed her appetite.

She handed a plate to Max.

‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘I’m not hungry at the moment.’

He picked up a slice of pizza and lifted it to his mouth. Maggie went back and picked up the buckets.

One of them was full of sand. In the other were two bottles, one of bleach and one of a blue liquid labelled ‘Toilet Holding Tank Deodorant.’

It was Toilet Day.

One of the things she had had to get used to early on was the toilet. It was a bucket with a hinged seat on top. Next to it was a second bucket full of sand, mixed with the blue liquid. You did your business – piss or shit – in the toilet-bucket and then scooped sand in on top.

She lifted them up and carried them to the corner. She took off the hinged lid from the toilet and emptied it into the bucket without the sand in it. The man would come and take it away later. Then poured bleach into the toilet bucket, making sure it covered the sides, and put the bottle on the floor. She opened the bottle of blue liquid and started to add it to the sand. It worked well; whatever the blue stuff was, it masked the smell of the shit and piss in there.

And, oddly enough, the smell always brought a smile to her face. It reminded her of a camping holiday in France when they had used a chemical toilet for two weeks. Although the blue liquid was pretty foul stuff it had a sweet, strangely alluring smell. It was like petrol: even though you knew it would be horrible to drink, it smelled irresistible.

She had asked her dad why horrible things could smell good, and he had laughed. Because we’re not always attracted to what’s good for us, he said. That’s one of the things you have to learn to recognize when you get older. Things that look good but aren’t.

How do you know them? she said.