4. Anderson

Anderson

32 Lewis Crescent

Silent Falls

He didn’t mean it. He really didn’t. But he had a temper, he couldn’t deny it. Usually he’d just explode with fury, just say what he felt, punch a few walls, then spend sometime alone. After that the anger would be away, even if the problem wasn’t.

This time, however, was different. He couldn’t shout at Jessica every time she came home from school in tears. It wasn’t her fault. He couldn’t comfort her the way her mother would with hugs and hot chocolate. And that hurt even more. He couldn’t really make her feel better. They didn’t hug at all really. Jessica was twelve and just too old for hugs from Daddy. And the hot chocolate? Well, that was impossible. No matter how hard he tried, he could never make it like her mother did. There was no point in trying really.

Pizza helped, and chocolate ice cream, Jessica’s favourites, especially when delivered from Freddy’s in town. Every time she came home crying, that was what he’d say.

“Come on sweetheart, we’ll just get some pizza and ice cream and forget about them.”

And it helped, for a while. They’d eat the food and laugh at something funny he’d always find on television. But he couldn’t deny his daughter was a great comfort eater, and even after the two of them finished the large pizza and ice cream, she’d be eating crisps and sweets. Looking back, he should have stopped that there and then.

But what could he say without hurting her? She’d lost faith in everyone but him. Everyone looked at her, and taunted her about her weight. Piggy they called her. That was cruel.

It happened more and more often, and every time, he’d have the same answer: pizza and ice cream. How could he have been so stupid? It helped when she was at home, but not when she had to go back to school the next day. And a diet of junk food was no good for a girl like Jessica, for gradually she began to get bigger, and bigger. Even her skin, which had once been so clear and beautiful, began to break out. That was when she was renamed Piggy Pizza Face.

She must have noticed herself, because she began to refuse pizza and ice cream, and cry when he couldn’t make home made soup or salad like her mother. She stopped taking her packed lunch to school as well, saying she would eat a school lunch, but he didn’t believe her. She’d stopped eating a school lunch because she hated standing in the line at the canteen, where everyone would stare as she ordered her food. Even a lunch lady asked one day when she asked for chips: “Are you sure you want chips?” looking her up and down. Everyone had laughed at her. That had been the last time she bought a school lunch. After that, she resorted to a packed lunch. So he found it very difficult to believe she was buying them again, especially since she often forgot to take money to school.

All of this had made him angry, made him want to scream, but how could he shout at her? He’d phoned the head teacher of the school a thousand times, even been in to see her twice. It didn’t help, only made things worse. Not only was Jessica Piggy Pizza Face, she was also a grass, teachers pet, everything a child didn’t want to be.

Every time she cried, it seemed there was less he could do. After she refused pizza, he would try and cook something healthy. That never worked. It wasn’t the same as her mothers. He even tried to persuade her to go swimming, a sport they had both enjoyed since she was a baby, but she was too ashamed of her body to go now. Someone from school would see her.

The less he could do, the angrier he got. And he couldn’t let it out. One afternoon she came home early, and humiliated. Her trousers had burst during a game of netball in PE. Everyone had laughed. Some of them had even thrown the balls at her. She’d been told to go home for another pair and come back for the afternoon classes, but he wasn’t sending her back.

“You’re just growing,” he told her as she lay face down on her bed in tears. She‘d changed into a nightdress that was too big. “Everyone’s clothes get too small for them eventually. Why don’t we go shopping this afternoon while they’re all still in school and get you some new clothes?”

He was surprised when she looked up and smiled at him. Every girl loved to shop. How could he not have seen it before? And it was even better this time because she was getting the afternoon off school to do it. And she could have anything she wanted, he decided. She deserved it: new jeans, new jumpers, summer dresses, t-shirts, jackets and trainers. It didn’t matter how much it cost him. They had dinner in a restaurant where she could have nice soup and salad. It was the first time he’d seen her happy in months. And the anger inside him began to calm down.

She was still happy as she set out to school the next morning, wearing her new clothes. They helped disguise her weight, he’d noticed. He felt relaxed for the first time in a long while. He lay on the couch to watch TV, his mind free from worry, and slowly fell into a deep sleep.

He was awoken by Jessica’s hysterical screams. It was dark. He must have slept for hours. Jessica was upstairs. He rushed up to find her in the bathroom, her screams echoing off the tiled walls. She lay on the floor wearing the same nightdress she’d put on the day before. She let out short staccato screams as she punched her chubby stomach.

He spoke to her. She didn’t hear over her own screams. He shouted her name. Nothing. She was oblivious. He shouted again. Then again, as loud as he could. She looked up at let him see her face. What had they done to her?

He could barely see his own daughter through the cuts and bruises. Then he saw they were all the way up her legs as well. He asked her what happened, but she didn’t answer, just continued to scream and punch the fat she despised so much, that had caused all the trouble in the first place.

She got up onto her knees and knelt in front of the toilet, still crying. She put her two fingers down her throat, making herself sick. It didn’t all make it to the toilet, some of it dribbling down her arm and nightdress.

He had remained frozen while she did this, but he moved now. “Jessica, stay there. You need to get cleaned up.”

He turned on the shower. “Have a wash, you’ll feel better.” She just lay back down on the floor, looking up at him blankly. He was shaking. The anger had returned, and he was fuming. “Please!” he said sharply. “Get in the shower.”

Weakly, she struggled to sit up. He couldn’t look at her anymore. She was destroyed. He turned his back on her and walked down the hall to the towel cupboard, lifting out a large pink towel, then into her room for pyjamas.

The new clothes she’d left in that morning were scattered over her floor, ruined. The jacket was the first thing he noticed, caked in dirt and ripped to shreds, maybe with a knife. Her trousers and jumper were the same, although the tears weren’t as precise, as deliberate. He then saw just one of her new trainers, that had been bright white that morning, but were now almost black with dirt. He picked it up. It was soaking, although he didn’t think it had rained that day. It had been done on purpose.

Jessica had left that morning full of confidence in her new clothes, and they had destroyed them, and her. They had taken away the things that made her happy and demolished them, then made sure she felt the pain. They couldn’t get away with that.

He walked past the bathroom, where Jessica’s screams had reduced to whimpering. He wasn’t sure he would ever be able to look at her again. He couldn’t even shout in to see if she’d gotten in the shower.

Slowly, he walked downstairs to the kitchen. He opened the drawer and found a sharp kitchen knife sat there, as though waiting for him. He then walked out the door slamming it shut and locking it behind him. She’d be safe at home, he knew. 

It was Friday night. They would be in the park, drinking probably, laughing proudly at what they’d done to his daughter. The streets seemed deserted as he walked towards the park, carrying the knife.

The walk there seemed to last forever, but eventually he got there. And found them, hanging around a bench, drinking alcohol from juice bottles. And just as he suspected, making fun of his daughter. They didn’t see him in the darkness, and he remained still as he listened to them boasting about their cruelty.

He heard them talk about how she’d walked into school that morning thinking she was “all that just cause she had clothes that fitted”, and how they decided to show her by destroying her clothes and then giving her “a good doing.” She’d ran away from them crying, and hid. But they found her, and decided to “get her again” just for the fun of it. They thought she’d hidden again after that, but couldn’t find her. Because she’d come home.

His hands tensed around the knife as he walked towards them. “You think destroying my daughter is funny?” He shouted at them. They looked up, horrified to see him, but didn’t answer. “Well, do you? Does it make you proud to know you have actually destroyed her?” No response. “Well, let me show you what I find funny.”

They weren’t that difficult to kill. There wasn’t anyone else in the park to help them, and even those that had the chance to run didn’t get far. His fury helped him outrun everyone of them and watch as they begged for life.

He walked home. His anger had been released. Still, the streets were deserted, as if he wasn’t supposed to be caught. When he got home, he found Jessica asleep in bed. She had showered and changed into pyjamas as he’d told her to.

He wanted to leave her sleeping. She looked peaceful. But he shook her gently awake and took her by the hand, leading her outside. He was covered in blood, but she didn’t notice. Then they walked. He didn’t know where they were going, didn’t even care. But he knew they were leaving this place, where Jessica’s horrors lived. They were going somewhere she would be safe.