For
the first part of this column, see the November issue - click
here.
Being
left on his own with nothing to do was also important in the
way things worked out for Mikey. With no books or toys, his
bright curiosity led him into all kinds of scrapes over the
next few years as he checked how the wall paper stuck to the
wall and what happened if you pulled bits off, or how the clock
worked, - pity all the pieces would not fit back into the casing,
- or if you could swing on the curtains, let go and land on
the bed.
Of
course, while doing these things he had several more accidents,
resulting in bumps and bruises that nobody ever seemed concerned
about. Nobody got down to the fact that he was having these
accidents because he was locked in his room for hours with nothing
to do, as our mother battled to ‘stamp out the bad in
him’.
Mikey’s
behaviour became more and more desperate while hers became more
and more irrational. I expect now people would realise that
Mum was suffering from post-natal depression and that she was
finding it hard to cope with the two of us. Of course, part
of the pressure was financial, as the costs of two children
made the pretence of being the family of a well-paid professional
harder to sustain.
There
was also the cost of putting right all the things Mikey damaged.
She got more stressed, he got more desperate to regain proof
of her love and things were really hellish. Father on the other
hand must have been living in his own little hell. He could
never really have friends locally, or at work, in case his accountant
charade came out. He used to glide in and out of the house,
silent and distant, terrified, I expect, in case mother became
‘emotional’.
The
only times he got to talk to any other men socially was when
we went on holiday, which we continued to do, year after year,
although where the money came from I can’t think. Even
then he had to be very guarded and help keep up the pretence
of the idyllic family, from ‘close, but not too close,
to London’. My parents always took care never to exchange
addresses with other families and the odd times they chanced
upon anyone from anywhere near where we lived the manoeuvring
to avoid further contact was masterly. Altogether we lived a
very isolated life, full of lies and pretence. But if you grow
up with it you accept almost anything as normal I think.
I
like to think that Mikey still enjoyed those holidays even after
I had usurped him. At least he was able to be out and about
and join in. We had terrific fun on the beach. Some days even
Dad joined in.
I
never remember Mum playing on the sands, or splashing in the
sea though. She used to sit and read and I do remember her pushing
Mikey away when he rushed up to cuddle her when he came out
of the sea. She said he was wet and sandy, but she took me on
to her lap and wrapped a towel round me. Poor old Mikey.
It
must have been about now, when I was learning to talk, that
I started to call him Mikey. Needless to say mother hated it
and tried to stop me. But we were always Jon-Jon and Mikey to
each other, when there was no-one to hear us.
Later
on people would say he was indifferent to physical pain and
that he lacked affect. I can tell you he wasn’t ever like
that with me, but looking back I can see how a lot of things
happened to make him that way. I think it was self-preservation.
Don’t let anyone see that they can hurt you physically
or emotionally and don’t let anyone get close –
except for little brother Jon-Jon.
At
home, things really took a turn for the worse when Mikey found
out he was adopted. We had dear old Grandma to thank for the
hideous way in which it came out. It started with little comments
to Mikey like, “I would be very careful if I were you”.
Poor Mikey was already just about killing himself trying to
be careful, trying to be loved. Then one day there was something
about “They might send you back”. Finally we both
heard her shouting at Mum one day, “I told you, you would
live to regret adopting a stranger’s child. You don’t
know anything about his background. But you can be sure evil
will out”.
We
stood there side by side in the sitting room doorway. Little
as I was, I understood what she had said and I thought it must
be me she was talking about. I started to cry and Mum immediately
swept me up in a tight hug, muttering, “Shut up. Shut
up”, to Grandma.
On
any other day Mikey and I would have laughed about it later.
The sight of Grandma’s face and her mouth opening and
closing and for once no venom pouring out was priceless. Strangely
Mikey didn’t laugh, cry or do anything. He stood there
white-faced and utterly still. Neither Grandma nor Mum seemed
to notice him. At last Mikey turned and went up to our bedroom,
but he must have heard Grandma saying, “Well, the truth
had to come out some time. Better he should know. He needs to
know what he owes you. Now maybe he’ll behave himself”.
I
don’t suppose he heard Mum hiss another “Shut up”,
to Grandma. But we all heard the sobs as he went up the stairs.
Light dawned on me and I wriggled free and ran after him. For
a long time we clung together on the floor in our bedroom. It
got dark, but Mum seemed to have forgotten our lunch and tea.
Many years after, Dad told me that when he came home she was
just sitting in the sitting room, crying in the dark.
When
he found out what had happened, Dad tried to explain. We all
four sat down together and he told us so kindly and gently how
he and Mum had wanted a baby so much, but thought they would
never have one of their own. Of course being our parents, they
didn’t actually say anything about where babies come from.
Anyway, he said that at last they were offered the chance to
choose a baby whose own mummy couldn’t take care of it.
They chose Mikey. They had been thrilled and had loved him to
bits. He had been such a good little baby and they had been
so happy. They had felt like a proper family and could not wish
for more. Then one day they found out that they were going to
get a baby that was really their very own. They had been glad
of course. But they were specially pleased that the new baby
was going to have Mikey for a big brother and that Mikey was
going to have a little brother or sister.
It
all sounded pretty good and it was great to see Mikey’s
shoulders go back and his head come up. He snuggled up to Dad.
He tried to reach out to Mum, but she pretended not to see.
She seemed to be staring at something behind me. I checked the
sitting room wall, but it looked OK to me, so I didn’t
know what she was worrying about. We spent years not knowing
what she was looking at, thinking or worrying about. She would
be there, but not with us.
Things
began to spiral out of control for Mikey after that day. He
got closer to Dad, but he was not there for most of the time.
In telling us about Mikey’s adoption Dad had struck a
real chord with Mikey, but mostly we just clung to each other.
Mikey got more desperate to please, but he was also more insecure
and had to keep testing if people really liked him or cared
about him.
It
wasn’t long before he was in trouble at school and lost
his place at the ‘good school’ Mum had insisted
on. They could choose who they wanted and they didn’t
want anybody who caused trouble and rocked the boat. Mikey really
did not fit into the local school at all and before long they
were holding case conferences about him and, most shameful of
all as far as my mother was concerned, Social Services “became
involved”, as they say.
To be continued next month.
