Page 48 of Finding Us
I open my eyes, blinking a few times until my vision clears. When I look at the clock beside my bed I see it’s just after eight. My mum has usually woken me up for school by now.
Throwing back the covers, I rise and head down the hallway towards the bathroom. After using the toilet, I move to the sink to wash my hands, and when I look in the mirror, I see how young I am. I part my lips and one of my two front teeth has only half-grown in.
Once I’ve dried my hands, I head towards the kitchen where I gather my mum will be, making my breakfast. But when I round the corner, I find the room empty. Panic immediately rises. “Mummy,” I call out, but it sounds more like a squeak. I get that sinking feeling in my stomach when I get no reply.
Turning, I run down the hallway towards her room. Her bedroom door is closed, and when I crack it open and peek inside, I see her lying on the bed.
“Mum.”
“Yes, baby,” she mumbles, and I feel immediate relief that she’s still alive.
I move further into the room and when my eyes adjust to the semidarkness, I gasp. Her face is bruised and swollen and I can see dried blood in her blonde hair and on the pillowcase. “Mummy,” I cry as my vision becomes blurry. It’s rare that I see her in this condition. She usually cleans herself up, covering the bruises as best she can, before collecting me from my room.
“I’m okay, Jacinta,” she says, trying to sit up, but when she groans in pain more tears fall. “I won’t be able to walk you to school this morning, do you think you’ll be okay to walk there on your own?”
I can count on one hand the times I’ve had to get myself to school, but I’ve never seen her this bad before and there’s no way I’m leaving her here on her own.
Stepping closer to the bed, I rest my head on her chest and sob. “Why does he hurt you like this, Mummy?” I can’t understand why. I’ve never seen bruises on the other mums at school.
She lifts her hand, gently stroking it through my hair. “I’ll be okay, sweetie. Please don’t worry about me.” I always worry about her, how can I not? “Do you think you’ll be able to make yourself some breakfast?”
“Yes, I will make you something too.”
“I’m not very hungry, but I want you to eat. There’s some cereal in the cupboard and milk in the fridge.”
“Okay.” I lean in and place a kiss on her battered face. She’s a nice mummy and doesn’t deserve the awful things my father does to her.
My mind is swimming as I head back to the kitchen. I know if she stays in bed all day and is unable to do her chores, my father will be angry when he gets home. I need to stay here so I can help her. I don’t want him to hurt her any more than he already has, and if I’m home, I can keep an eye on her as well.
Once my breakfast is finished, I rinse my plate and spoon in the sink and get dressed. Heading into the laundry, I grab a bucket and take it into the bathroom. Placing it in the bathtub, I add some warm water. I get a cake of soap and a clean washer, then carry it into my mum’s room.
I put it down on the floor beside her bed. “If I help you, do you think you’ll be able to sit up? I’m going to clean the blood off your face.”
“Okay.” I see her bottom lip quiver as I help her sit, and when she groans in pain, I have to fight back my own tears.
I clean her up as best I can, and by the time I’m finished, the water in the bucket is dark pink. With my help, I manage to strip her out of her nightdress, sliding a new one over her head. “Let me grab a clean pillowcase.”
Dashing from the room, I get what I need. Once I’ve removed the bloodied one and replaced it, I help her lie back down. “Thank you,” she whispers.
“What chores do you have to do today? I want to help you so you don’t get in trouble when Dad gets home.”
“You need to go to school.”
“I’m staying here.” I never disobey her and always do what she asks of me, but I’m not leaving her alone.
“I need to wash your fathers work shirt. He’ll need it for tomorrow.”
“Okay. How do I do that?”
“Place it in the machine, add a scoop of laundry powder, turn the dial to regular wash, and press start.”
“Do you want me to wash these too?” I ask, holding up the bloodied pillowcase and night dress.
“You can just soak them in the bucket. I’ll deal with them tomorrow.”
While I wait for the machine to finish, I fill a glass with water and grab two Panadol from the bathroom cupboard. I help my mum into a sitting position again, place the pills in her mouth, and bring the glass of water to her lips. That’s when I notice the tears running down her cheek.
“Don’t cry, Mummy.”
