Unspoken - Kiss of the Wolf Spider, Part I by Sharianne Bailey Page B

scream at each other for ages. Let
them tear each other’s throats out. It was all their faults anyway.
    I waited tensely, knowing
that Joanne’s quiet response had been the first rumble before the volcano
erupted. Finally, the door burst open and Joanne gave vent to her anger. When
she’d finished yelling and cursing at me, throwing clothes and books on the
floor and launching a small vase at the wall, she issued a warning with dire
consequences.
    “…and now you listen very
carefully to me ....” She closed in and held me by the upper arms, nails biting
through my skin. Her teeth were clenched so tightly I wondered if they would
break and her breath was warm against my face.
    “I never want you
near my children again. You stay away from them with your filthy mind and
disgusting lies. Do not ask me for anything. Ever! Not even as much as a slice
of bread. In the holidays, you will go to work with your father or stay with
your mother, though not surprisingly, even she doesn’t want anything to do with
you, you deceitful little toad.” Her pitch and volume rose, reminding me of the
witch in Snow White .
    “Here I go busting my gut
trying to work out a trip to the doctor and all the time, I knew you
were lying … I just knew it!” She shook me till my teeth rattled and
whispered more threats at me. At last she walked to the door. I started to
breathe when suddenly she turned back and grabbed a handful of my dark hair.
Dragging me towards my cupboard, she added, “And by the way, pack your bags.
You are going back to school now ! If your father won’t take you I
will.” 
    Dad did refuse, so Joanne
roared out of the garage to drop her kids with their aunt. As she pulled back
into the driveway to collect me, Dad jumped into the vacant passenger seat. I
put my case in the boot and hugging my hot-water bottle, climbed in the back.
    “He’s so afraid I’ll tell
on him,” I thought, and despised him all the more. “As if Joanne would ever
believe even one word from me now.”
    The trip back was awful.
Joanne continued telling me what a terrible person I was and how I didn’t
deserve my father.  He just sat there in silence until Joanne started to
interrogate me about boyfriends and sex.
    Dad ended it angrily. “Leave
her alone for pity’s sake. The kid doesn’t know if she is Arthur or Martha.
Just cut it out now, Jo. Obviously something happened and at least she’s no
longer pregnant.”
    “I never was, I never
was,” I kept saying to myself. “Please God make him wrong.”

Chapter 12
     
     
    “But you, O God, do see trouble and grief;
    you consider it to take it in hand.
    The victim commits himself to you;
    you are the helper of the fatherless.”
    Psalm 10:14
     
    I ended up in
the school infirmary which we called the sick-bay, until my terrible stomach
pains and heavy period eased. Matron Ruth said if it was ever again that
severe, I ought to see a doctor. When she told me she thought my parents were
very insensitive to have brought me back to school so unwell, I began to see
another side to my Matron.
    After I left
the sick-bay, I was initially bombarded with concerned questions from my
friends but s oon
enough, this made way for irritation and pleas to ‘grow up’ and stop crying.
    All the stress and
distress of that terrible week at home resulted in my becoming more moody and
listless. My school-work suffered and instead of the borderline passes, I
started to fail my tests. It wasn’t long before I was called into the office.
    “Good morning Jane,” said
Mrs Martingale as I walked into the daunting teak and lavender surrounds.
    Terrified, I greeted her
in a whisper and was told to sit in a huge mauve chair. Mrs Martingale was a
sturdy, tall woman, slightly greying, probably in her fifties. Most of the
girls had to look up into her face unless they were heading for six foot
themselves. She carried pride and sternness in her bearing, but, looking back,
I don’t think she ever tormented us