Free Don't You Love Your Daddy? by Sally East

and turning, I started wetting my bed and woke up to a sick feeling of shame. My mother kept telling me it wasn’t my fault, but still I felt it was.
    ‘Sally, what’s the matter?’ my mother asked, when she caught me alone in my room silently crying.
    ‘Pete said that if you go back to hospital again we’ll all be sent away,’ I managed to say. ‘And I don’t want to go into a home and never see any of you again,’ and as I voiced my fears, more tears poured from my eyes and my voice turned into a frightened wail.
    For a moment she looked shocked. ‘Oh, Sally, whoever put that idea into your head? Nobody’s going to take you away. I’m better now and I’m not going to leave you ever again. I love you too much for that.’
    I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that she loved me, but in my mind I could hear the echoes of my father’s voice telling me that it was he who loved me best and that she loved drink more than she loved any of us.
    My eczema became worse and there were times when, busy with Billy or lost in her own world, my mother sent me to bed without bathing me and putting my cream on.

Chapter Twenty-two
     
    There was great excitement at school when it was announced that our class was being taken to the swimming-pool. An instructor was going to teach us how to swim. Boys and girls were given separate days for the classes and I was in the one for children under eight. We walked in a straggly crocodile the few hundred yards to the pool. With the strong smell of chlorine and disinfectant in our noses, we raced into the female changing rooms. The other little girls were impatient to shed their clothes and don their swimsuits.
    Rubber swimming caps were pulled on over hair and, squealing with excitement, they headed for the water. I could hear them screaming as they stepped into the small footbath that prevented you carrying germs into the water. The noise echoed around the changing room as I stood in the corner holding a tog bag with my new costume in it, hoping I could hide in there and that my absence would go unnoticed.
    Underneath my school clothes I knew the rash covered most parts of my arms and chest. My mother had forgotten to put my mittens on and in the night I had scratched the itching till it bled. There were oozing sores and scabs behind my knees, in the soft creases of my elbows, on my shoulders and at the tops of my legs.
    At six years old I was too young for real vanity but I was old enough to understand mockery, and I could imagine the taunts and jeers that would come in my direction if my pitiful body was exposed to my classmates.
    However, when our teacher did a head count, she knew one child was missing and came in search of me. ‘What are you doing hiding away in here, Sally? You should have your swimsuit on by now,’ she said impatiently. ‘Come on, let’s get you undressed and in the pool. Lift your arms up.’ Reluctantly I did so.
    I heard her gasp as she pulled my dress over my head, and wanted to disappear through the floor.
    ‘Oh, Sally,’ I heard her say, ‘you poor little soul. Why didn’t you say anything?’ At this kindness I burst into tears and without saying any more she wrapped me in my towel and took me to the person in charge of first aid.
    I heard the words ‘mother’ and ‘neglect’ being whispered between them. Something cool was put on my sores, gentle soothing words were said to me and then I was taken back to the changing room and allowed to get dressed. I watched the swimming lesson from the gallery, sitting next to the teacher, relieved I wasn’t part of it.
    It was the teacher who took me home and spoke to my mother. I don’t know what was said but I remember it made my mother cry. She kept telling me she was sorry, she hadn’t known it had got so bad.
    That night, after my mother had bathed me and put on my cream, she tied my cotton mittens over my hands. After I had been tucked in, I lay in bed thinking of the next day and how I