‘I don’t understand.’
‘We all knew it was happening. She tried to cover the bruises with make-up but you never can, not really. But back in those days you didn’t get involved. I think a few well-meaning parents told her to contact the police but nothing ever came of it. You must have overheard some playground gossip, that’s all.’
‘What was the dress about?’
‘She said her wedding dress had been white, white and with a silver bow. I think that freaked her out more than you knowing she was getting beaten up.’
‘How could I have known?’ I ask quietly.
‘I don’t know, darling. Children just pick up these things.’ Her tone is dismissive but she doesn’t meet my eyes.
‘What else was there?’
‘Do we have to do this now? I was going to meet Henry later.’
‘It’s important.’
‘I don’t see how,’ she mutters. She sighs. ‘There was the thing with your father.’
‘Go on.’
‘He started seeing his secretary.’ Her lip curls. ‘A blonde thing with stiletto heels and too much lipstick.’ Even though it happened more than twenty years ago and after they’d split up, it’s obvious my mother still feels bitter pain about it. ‘You were the one who knew. He denied it, of course, but you kept going on about the woman with pointy shoes who was kissing him...’ She picks at her nail varnish. ‘The idea that he’d let his own daughter see that. It’s disgusting.’
My stomach tightens. Maybe he didn’t let me see it. And maybe there was really nothing going on. It might have been one of his dreams. ‘What about the birdman?’
‘He featured most often. He didn’t seem to do anything but you were very scared of him. There wasn’t anyone like that living near us.’ She laughs. ‘Not anyone with wings anyway. I was worried if it was someone else ... some man...’
I change the subject. ‘It might just have been someone from the television.’
‘Yes.’ She sounds about as convinced as I am.
I take a deep breath. ‘Why did it stop? You said I was five?’
She sighs. ‘It went on for months and I was at my wits’ end. Other children wouldn’t play with you any more but they couldn’t explain why. Your teacher jumped whenever you came into the room. It was an awful time. Then Mr Salib showed up and worked miracles.’
I scan her face. ‘Mr Salib?’
‘He was a lovely gentleman from Malta. Not that you’d know it – he sounded as broad as any Glaswegian you’d meet in the street. He’d heard about your predicament from the school and offered to help.’
Something didn’t sound right. ‘How would he hear about me from school? What about confidentiality?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, darling. Does it matter?’
It might. I’m wary of upsetting her though. I need to hear the full story. ‘What did he do to stop the dreams?’
She cups my face in her hands and lightly presses both her index fingers on my temples. I’m confused. ‘What on earth are you doing?’ I ask, pulling away.
My mum shrugs. ‘What he did. He came round, had a cup of tea, spoke to you and did that. You never had another night terror again.’
‘That’s crazy.’
‘I’m telling you what happened.’ She searches my face. ‘Are you having bad dreams again? Is that what this is about?’
‘No, Mum, I’m fine.’ I shake my head to add weight to my words. ‘I’ve just been having a bit of trouble sleeping, that’s all. But you’re right. It doesn’t sound like what happened back then had anything to do with my agoraphobia.’ I smile. ‘I guess I was over-thinking things.’
‘You’re spending too much time on your own, Zoe. It’s not healthy.’
‘I’ll call the girls. Maybe we can have a film night or something.’
‘That’d be good. You’ve not seen your friends for so long...’
‘I’ll call them,’ I promise.
I see her out of the door, all beaming grins and happy waves. As soon as she gets into her car and drives away, however, my smile vanishes.
Who the fuck is Mr Salib and what did he really do to me?
*
I turn to Google, that stalwart provider of answers. There’s no trace of anyone with either the first name or surname of Salib. There are no shops, no businesses, no doctors ... nothing. I even go back to the Somnolence page and try using Salib as a password to gain entry but I’m still denied.
I bang my fist on the desk in frustration and make the Chairman, snoozing on an old beanbag in the corner, jump up, his round black pupils gazing at me in alarm. I reach over and stroke him, apologising for interrupting his sleep.