Free Abandoned by Anya Peters Page B

small, silky ovals edged with pink that have fallen onto the long red carpet in the aisle. A lump shifts in my stomach and the powdery, scented taste of Jelly Babies explodes into my mouth.
    I try to blink away the thoughts of my uncle kissing her in the bedroom that morning because I think I know what other things he might have been doing with her, because he’s been doing them for months now with me.
    For the couple of days Marie had stayed with us before the wedding I’d been sitting or standing silently beside her whenever I could, hoping that she would tell me something, talk about the secrets that went on with my uncle. But she never did. My silence seemed to bother her and she’d walk off quickly or sit there fidgeting, avoiding my ‘sneaky’ eyes that always seemed to see too much.
    I was confused and ashamed to see her kissing Peter up at the altar in front of all those people. I looked around at the pews behind; everyone was smiling up at them, and I felt my face flush and had to look away. Brendan was staring at me, not at them, and winked, and my blush grew even hotter, my scalp prickling under all my piled-up hair studded with daisies.
    Kathy couldn’t come over for the wedding; she was coming the following week to take Mummy and me off to Spain for a holiday. That was why Brendan had come over instead. I was even shyer in front of him now, wondering if he was going to do those things that my uncle made me do, or whether he knew about them. I felt his eyes on me wherever I went that day as I swished about in my long satin dress, sounding like Kathy in her pleated skirts with their silk linings.
    My uncle watched me like a hawk as well while Brendan was there. I knew he thought I was going to tell Brendan secrets, but I wasn’t. I just felt safer next to him. To begin with my uncle told me that Mummy would send me away if ever I told anyone. He didn’t have to threaten to kill me—he said that often enough during arguments—but sometimes he said it anyway. He didn’t say anything to me at the wedding but whenever I looked he seemed to be there, slipping in and out of the crowd, his little grey eyes following me everywhere.
    Brendan had seen my uncle shout at me earlier and thump me for going the wrong way at the gates, and I cried, feeling ashamed that Brendan had seen it. Once my uncle had gone, Brendan came to stand next to me and asked softly, ‘Are you alright?’
    I couldn’t look up at him, but I nodded and he stroked the back of my hand. Later he told me I looked ‘gorgeous’, ‘like a princess’ in my long swishing dress. My uncle overheard him and I turned away to go back to all the other bridesmaids standing under one of the pink cherry trees, waiting for the photographer to load another roll of film.
    I already felt nervous and frightened around men; now I was disgusted and repulsed by them too. But Brendan was different, he always had been. According to him the Holy Spirit knew everything, so when the sexual abuse started I burnt with shame every time we passed the church on the way home from school, my whole body fizzing with anxiety when I saw the huge, black metal crucifix hanging from the trunk of the horse chestnut tree at the front of the churchyard. The others would stop to knock down conkers, or run in and out of the black metal gates, sprinkling each other with the soft, pink blossom piled under the two cherry trees behind it, while I rushed on worried about the Holy Spirit overhearing all the bad thoughts I’d had about the secret things my uncle made me do.
    Brendan didn’t like the loud music and disco lights and big glasses of beer in the church hall after the wedding, and when my uncle wasn’t looking I followed him out into the car park. He told me to go back in but I wouldn’t. Standing next to Brendan made me feel safe, the same way that holding one of the dinner ladies’ hands at break-time made me feel safe. No one could get me when I was with them.
    We sat