The Toy, by Maxine Taylor
Sitting on the shelf was Molly May. You would have hardly noticed her among the battered array of other toys and books collected together there. Her clothes torn and dishevelled, with her plastic eyes staring and her features expressionless it’s a wonder that any child would take delight in her. But Molly May held a special purpose. She was the keeper of secrets.
Mrs Daniels watched the children as they filed into the classroom. A mixture of noisy, excited and happy children tripped along to their respective desks. In the corner of her eye she noticed her, a sullen, little sylph of a girl. She presented a completely neutral disposition, passive and resigned. Hardly noticed by her peers initially, she pulled out the chair and sat at one of the desks. As the lesson progressed Mrs Daniels noted the ostracism and the taunts made by the other children toward her. There was no retaliation, no comment; only blank indifferent glances to her attackers. Mrs Daniels sat at the side of the girl and she noticed the smell. An odour of stale urine, of being unwashed and neglected. Mrs Daniels could hear the alarm bells ringing. Was this a child in need of protection?
It was a dark afternoon when little Sophie Harris left school, raining and very cold. To shield her was a flimsy summer coat, which however much you pulled it taut would never keep you warm or dry. But this child was in no great hurry to be home. As the house came into view there was only one light on and that, she noted, was from the television. It didn’t bode well and the usual anguish begun to overtake her weakened frame. Entering the house she stood in the gloom of the hallway and waited. Removing the sodden coat and stretching just little she hung it up, to drip dry, she hoped. There was no ‘hello’, no aroma of warm food being cooked and definitely no reason to believe that there would be. Sauntering through the doors of the house to the kitchen and the table she discovered the crayoned note. Her tea was before her; at least that’s what the slip said. Sophie’s eyes inspected the half mound of crumpled paper and grease. Within the wrapping were a few very cold unappetising chips from the local fryer. Scooping the parcel up she scurried to the sanctuary of her room. Her parents lay slumped on the settee drunk and drugged and totally out of it.
Pushing the bedroom door shut, as shut as it would go, Sophie began to whisper a softly spoken call.
‘Molly May, Molly May, where are you?’ pretending at first she couldn’t see her only friend.
Placing the bundle of food on the floor she ventured her gaze upward and spied her slouched against the one eyed teddy in the corner recess of the shelf. Positioning the wooden chair she climbed and stood there facing the bedraggled toy.
‘Hello Molly May, have you had a lovely day?’ Sophie asked. ‘I have been to school but Mummy and Daddy have gone to Spain, she said. ‘Oh yes they’ve travelled on their yacht but they have left me plenty to eat,’ she reassured the listening dolly.
Placing her hand around the skinny waist of Molly May, Sophie retrieved the doll from the height.
Sophie sat on the floor and propped Molly May up against the skirting board. Thrusting her hand into the paper package she took out one of the chips.
‘Umm,’ she gestured to the toy. ‘Why it’s a feast,’ she reported ‘Would you like some too?’ Sophie placed the cold potato at the lips of the doll.
Manipulating the head of Molly May, Sophie mouthed the response.
‘Its absolutely delicious,’ said Molly May and Sophie agreed with her.
The little girl forced down the cold chippy scraps that had been left for her tea. She shared each one with the toy sat in front of her. Sophie smiled at the dolly when they were finished; at the very least they filled a gap.
With the aid of the bedside Sophie pulled herself up from the floor. She had needed to go to the bathroom for a little while but was afraid. It didn’t do to make too much noise. It only led to trouble. Going to the door she opened it slightly and thinking the coast was clear tipped toed her way across the landing. With relief she used the bathroom. Rinsing her hands she plucked small pools and drank the cold water running from the tap. Making her way back to her room was always going to be eventful. Halfway there and she felt his eyes upon her.
‘What are you doing you little brat,’ asked the man in an irritated tone.
His eyes staring down in the dimly lit space of the upper hallway. The youngster stood there frozen to the spot – she made no sound nor dare she. She hoped he would just push past her but that was shaky at best. Standing directly over her he swung his hand and with vicious fervour he smacked her aside her cheek, the child went through the air and crashed against her room door, hitting it hard.
‘Get out of my sight,’ he reminded her.
With out tear or murmuring she went back into her bleak but familiar surrounding. She smoothed down her clothes but braced herself for additional onslaught. She didn’t have to wait too long. Within moments the door opened with the heady stench of spent alcohol emanating from the old soak. Sophie used to call him father, now she says nothing at all.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he complained
Sophie closed her eyes
Grasping the girl roughly he slapped her several times and then finally punching her to the shoulder she went sprawling and landed only inches away from the face of Molly May who stared blankly back at her.
The door slammed as he left the room. Sophie remained cautious she could never be certain that he wouldn’t return.
‘Did you notice that,’ she said. ‘Daddy’s come back from Spain,’ she went on.
Then placing her face in her hands she could no longer hold back. Sophie cried so bitterly that she became exhausted. Taking up her inanimate companion she curled herself on top of the bed and sobbed herself to sleep.
A hungry child walked back into the classroom to be observed once again by a concerned Mrs Daniels. Again she would suffer the disparaging remarks of her contemporaries. Well yes, it was true, she was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and she still carried that offensive scent as she always did. Again there was no response to those who ridiculed from Sophie who seemed to accept her lot in life. They could never know that here was a girl with dreams and imagination and that these were her only freedoms. Other children and other adults could not be trusted in her world but Molly May who never broke her heart or hurt her was ever present in her thoughts.
Mrs Daniels had seen enough. She knew there was something going terribly wrong in the life of little Sophie Harris. Today she noticed the unmistakable marks of violence peeping out from the top of the thin cotton frock Sophie was wearing. She could no longer ignore the plight of this girl. Waiting for an opportune moment she ordered the child to remain behind at break time. All she could see was an undernourished waif that never smiled or laughed. She was a totally abandoned and unwanted person. Sitting with her for a few minutes Mrs Daniels tried to engage her in conversation but she wouldn’t speak. Sophie just looked down at the floor as if she was sitting alone. It might have been easy to get angry or frustrated with such an attitude as this but Mrs Daniels realised that this child was probably very reluctant to open up.
‘Are you hungry?’ Mrs Daniels said as she went to her bag and found the chocolate bar she was saving for lunch.
Raising her pallid complexion and still without word, indicated that she was. The teacher passed the confection over to the girl and watched it disappear with all gusto.
Speaking with added anxiety, Mrs Daniels asked a direct question about the injuries she had seen.
‘How did you get those marks?’ She asked, pointing to them.
‘I was playing with Molly May,’ Sophie replied, ‘I fell and hurt myself.’
‘If it happens again I want you to tell me,’ the teacher exhorted her pupil.
Mrs Daniels studied the girl to detect a lie; the statement didn’t convince her, she was under the impression that Sophie was less than forth coming, maybe even shielding someone. In the end Mrs Daniels brought the enquiry to a close and dismissed Sophie to her next lesson. Before the day had concluded Mrs Daniels had spoken to the head teacher and the authorities were informed.
As usual this nervous child returned to the uncaring environment called home and after collecting whatever morsels had been left for her tea made good her escape to the security of her room. Sophie had noticed that the television was eerily switched off and there seemed to be no sound in the house and very little light. Closing the door once more she resumed her conversations with her favourite confidant, Molly May.
A series of loud banging noises and the cackling sound of laughter could be heard from downstairs. Terror and the sense of impending malice embraced her. Holding Molly May so close to her skinny chest she begged not to be found and to be hidden away from his wrath.
‘Oh Molly – Molly May I think he’ll find me, ‘ she told the toy in her hands, her despair and wretchedness enveloping her soul. But Molly May couldn’t help her now.
Suddenly her bower door was flung open and there he stood breathing fire through his drunken stupor. Completely horrified she became like the last pin at the bowling alley and that’s how he abused her. Knocking her to the floor he kicked and he punched as if he were trying to save his own life. Finally he blurted out a reason for this beating.
‘Sending those social people round here,’ he gave this explanation.
Sophie could barely move, her thin bones already broken in several places. Making one last whimper sealed her doom. Brutally and with out care of consequence he kicked her one last time.
‘Stupid kid,’ he said as he went out of the room, ‘serves you right.’
Sophie, still holding on to her treasured toy, pulled it toward her bloodied face.
‘Molly, can you help me, please can you help me,’ Sophie made this desperate plea to no avail.
‘Good night then Molly – Molly May I love you,’ Sophie said lastly.
Watching the children march through the door Mrs Daniels noted the absence of Sophie Harris. As soon as her assistant arrived she went to find the head teacher. Raising her concerns yet again the head teacher alerted the local social services team. They assured her that they had already begun to investigate the problems at the Harris household but they would make a further call to check.
Standing on the doorstep, Miss Smith the social worker, spoke with Mr Harris. He became agitated and he demanded to be left in peace.
‘Where is Sophie?’ She said.
He tried to insist on her departure from the house and she became suspicious.
Finally she told him, ‘I’ll get a warrant.’
She contacted the office and the local police as she was leaving through the gate.
While clutching the order in her hand the police officers broke the door down. Mr Harris came to the door to remonstrate yet again but his freedoms would soon be limited. Miss Smith pushed past him and instinctively she ran up the stairs. She could feel anger rising within and then the deepest groan of sadness as she peered into Sophie’s room. Her little lifeless body laid on the floor, a congealed pool of the darkest red blood revealed the extent of the violence meted out to this tiny lamb. And there firmly grasped in her fingers was the toy she loved.
Both of the Harris’s were arrested that day.
It was some days before this small girl was finally placed to rest. The usual enquiries and evidence gathering took place. As it turned out less than a handful of people came to mourn her passing. Just a teacher, a social worker and a police officer paid their respects. As they were about to lower the diminutive coffin into the ground Miss Smith stepped forward. From out of her bag she took another; in that was Molly May.
Placing the dishevelled toy on top she heaved a sigh, she felt like she had reunited two friends, to be together forever. The truth was that she had.