Page 125 of Silent Scream

Kim shook her head as the rage built within her.

‘You okay, Guv?’

‘I'm fine, Stace. Good work, now get off ...’

Her words trailed away as her phone charge ran out.

She put the phone in her pocket and kicked out at the wall.

‘Damn, damn, damn,’ Kim growled.

The anger that ripped through her veins had nowhere to go. These bastards had been entrusted with the safety of these girls and they had failed them badly. It seemed that every single one of them had found some way to further abuse these kids.

Child abuse was categorised into four main areas; physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional maltreatment and neglect. By Kim’s count, the staff at Crestwood had pretty much scored a strike on all four. The irony lay in the fact that most of the girls at Crestwood had been placed there toremovethem from mistreatment.

No girl at Crestwood had been there by choice. She knew from her own experience that homes like this were dumping grounds; a civic amenity, like a landfill site. A place for unwanted and broken individuals where at best, kids were dehumanised and stripped of identity and at worst, they were abused even further.

Kim had seen it herself. Poor treatment became an expectation. And slowly, like a stump being hammered into the soil, your head could only remain above ground for so long.

Kim walked around the bike, trying to expel the heat from her veins. She clenched and unclenched her hands to relieve the building tension.

Each girl had arrived at Crestwood for various reasons, and none of them good.

Melanie had been discarded by her father so easily. Gifted to the state so there was one less mouth at his table. The selection criteria being that she was the less attractive child. How could Melanie not have known that to be the case? How did she reconcile that in her head? Thrown away by the one man who should have cared for her, all because she was ugly.

The child had begged for any scrap of attention, some validation that she was a person worthy of affection. Even trying to buy friendship to find her place. Happy to be the runt of the litter, just as long as the litter accepted her.

That was Melanie's story. But there was not one story. All the children in the system had a story. Kim herself had a story. But hers had not started alone.

A vision of Mikey swam before her eyes. It was not the picture she wanted but it was the one she always got. She stepped back into the darkness of the corner as the emotion thickened her throat.

Three weeks premature, Kim and Mikey had both been born with fragile health. Very soon Kim's health had improved, she had gained weight and her bones had strengthened. Mikey's had not.

Their mother, Patty, had taken them home when they were six weeks old, to a high-rise flat on Hollytree.

Kim's first memory dated back to three days after her fourth birthday and was a vision of her mother holding a pillow tightly over the face of her twin. His short legs had thrashed on the bed as his lungs fought for air. Kim tried to pull her mother away but her grip was firm.

Kim had thrown herself to the floor, opened her mouth wide and sunk her teeth into her mother's calf like a rabid dog. She applied every ounce of pressure she could muster and wouldn't let go. Her mother had spun around and the pillow fell from the bed, but still Kim didn't let go. Her mother had staggered around the room, screaming and trying to kick her free, but only when they were a safe distance from the bed did Kim unlock her jaw.

She remembered running over to the bed and shaking Mikey awake. He spluttered, coughed and gulped at the air. Kim ushered him behind her and stared up at her mother.

The hatred in the eyes of the woman who had birthed them took Kim’s breath away. She backed up the bed, keeping Mikey behind.

Her mother moved closer. ‘You stupid little bitch. Don't you know he's the fucking devil? He's got to die and then the voices will stop. Don't you fucking get it?’

Kim shook her head. No, she didn't. He wasn't the devil. He was her brother.

‘I'll get him, I promise you, I'll get him.’

From that point on, Kim had had to remain one step in front of her mother at all times. There were further attempts during the following year but Kim was never far from Mikey's side.

During the day she kept a badge in her pocket and pricked her lower arm to keep herself alert. At night she took handfuls of coffee from the jar and placed them straight into her mouth, absorbing the bitter granules into her tongue.

Only when she heard the rhythmic sound of her mother's snoring would she allow herself to rest.

There were occasional visits from social services. An overworked individual conducting a ten minute cursory inspection with a mental clipboard; a test she somehow managed to pass.

Kim had wondered many times since just how low the pass grade would have had to have been for them to remain in the care of their mother.