A Time to Dream, Kevin Penny [reading women TXT] 📗

***

Even though the first two weeks were difficult for Shaun; after moving in, Arnold treated them well. During the third week, however, Arnold started drinking heavily and Shaun arrived home one Wednesday evening to find his mother and stepfather arguing.
Harassed and shouting, Maeve’s blood pressure was rising and Shaun noticed her face was dark with rage.
‘My God, Arnold, you’ve only worked two days at the docks since you’ve been here, and now you are wasting that precious little money on alcohol.’

On Friday afternoon when his papers were all sold, Shaun collected his wages. Before he hurried home, he spent one of his farthings and purchased red roses for his mother.
Greeting Maeve in the kitchen, Shaun called out to her. ‘Hi mum, I’m home, and I have a present for you.’ The look on his mother’s face when she saw the flowers, made him happy. Shaun ignored his stepfather but noticed a fresh carton of beer on the table. He went into his room, took his wages out of his pocket, and opened his cupboard door. When he removed the envelope from its hiding place, it was empty.
Stunned and humiliated, his face paled. ‘My God, where-where is my money?’
Several minutes of thought passed before anger pulsed through his body. Storming out into the kitchen, the empty envelope still in his hand, he confronted Arnold, who was sitting quietly at the table, drinking.
‘You-you’ve stolen my money you drunk. Give it back to me.’
Shaun could see the look of hatred in his stepfather’s eyes. Within the blink of an eye Arnold jumped up from the chair. Momentarily taken back, Shaun was unprepared for the huge fist that smashed into his face. Hitting the floor with a thud, blood started spurting from his nose.
‘Don’t you speak to me like that you little shit?’
Pain pulsed through Shaun’s face. He heard his mother gasp, and saw her place her hand over her mouth. Her eyes opened wide with horror. Shaun knew the sight of her son’s bloodied face sickened her.
‘Holy mother of God, what have you done, Arnold?’
The teenager vainly tried to get up but stiffened when he saw Arnold remove his wide leather belt. Wielded with force, the strap fell heavily on the stunned teenager.
Shaun curled his body into the fetal position, protecting his face with his hands. He could hear his mother screaming.
‘Stop it, Arnold, don’t strap him, he’s just a boy.’
From between his fingers, Shaun watched horrified when Arnold punched her, fracturing her eye socket. Maeve fell into a chair and started sobbing.
All the while during the strapping, Shaun prayed for it to end. Eventually, Arnold stopped. Replacing his belt, he went back to his drinking as if nothing had happened.

On Monday morning, Shaun packed his lunch ready to leave. His arms and legs were covered in red welts. Arnold was still in bed.
‘I’m sorry honey, I’m so sorry. I mistakenly thought I could help Arnold stop his drinking once we were married.’ His mother attempted to hug him. Shaun pulled away. His body still hurt.
‘It’s not your fault, mum.’
‘I have never seen him violent like that before. It must have been the drink.’
Maeve’s face was badly swollen. Shaun knew she would hate going to work looking like that.
‘Don’t make excuses for him, mum. I-I never did like Arnold, and now I hate him.’
Too late, the words were out. The look on his mother’s face made him wish he hadn’t spoken. He had no wish to add to her misery.
Shaun’s thoughts ran riot through his mind.
To live far from Arnold, school and O’Flaherty; how great would that be?
He wanted no one at school to see him; so, after he sold his papers, he started walking west, toward the zoo in Phoenix Park, three kilometres away. With a rapid step, his pace quickened the closer he got to his favourite place, a tall pine tree, growing in the park adjacent to the rear brick wall of the zoo.
Securing his lunch bag firmly on his shoulder, he started climbing. Two thirds the way up the tree, he stopped where several strong limbs grew outwards; his favourite spot. He settled in position with his back against the tree trunk, legs up on the limbs and a clear view of the monkey enclosure and hippo pool.
Every day of that week, Shaun worked, but skipped school. Late on Friday afternoon he arrived home to find his mother and teacher waiting for him. That night, Arnold took the strap to him.

Several days after the latest beating, during the school lunch break, Shaun and his only friend, Dennis Hanlon, found a spot away from the other pupils. They were making plans to run away from home.
‘My older cousin did it last year, Shaun. He lives in the basement of an old abandoned warehouse down near the docks.’
‘Where does he get money for food?’
‘Money isn’t a problem because he forages for food or steals it. He says it’s easy.’
‘Any-anything he wants?’
‘Sure, even clothing. He will show us what to do. We can live there too. There are three of them, no one else knows about the place.’
Shaun likes what he hears, this would solve all his problems, but will it be hurtful for mother?
‘Where do we sleep?’
‘They sleep on corn sacks, piled up on the concrete floor. There will be plenty for us, we can do the same.’
Shaun makes his decision. ‘That’s it then, what-what’s the plan, when shall we leave?’
‘Friday night, wait until your parents are asleep. Make a bundle with two blankets and stuff some warm clothing into your school bag. We will meet at my place. When you get there, wait for me beside the front stairs if I’m not already there. Are you sure you want to do this, Shaun?’

***

Christmas had passed and winter was galloping into spring. Shaun knew O’Flaherty and his friends would be searching for them. They would look in all the likely places where they thought the two could be sleeping and hanging out.
More than anything, Shaun felt sad for his mother. Months had passed, and now he was desperate to see her, knowing full well that she had despaired of seeing him again. Under no circumstances could he go back. ‘Bloody Arnold, I wish he were dead.’

Standing outside the bakery shop near the newspaper stand, Shaun watched as customers entered, and then left the store after making their purchase. He was leaning against one of the council trashcans. Not having eaten for days, the smell of freshly baked bread seduced him. He waited for an opportunity to arise. Finally, just one customer, an old lady, was inside being served by the attendant who went in behind one of the heavily stacked shelves. Without wasting time, Shaun raced inside and snatched two buns from the countertop.
Startled, the old lady screamed out. ‘Stop - thief!’
Speedily, Shaun exited the store. He headed for the safety of an alley, a few blocks away. Sitting down on a timber box behind a stack of garbage bins, he started eating. He was unaware that O’Flaherty had seen him and followed him into the alley.
The familiar voice of the bully boomed out at him. ‘Give me that bun Stutters, you thieving little bastard.’
Shaun looked up in wide-eyed amazement; stunned. He tried not to show fear; or intimidation.
‘You’re a bastard, O’Flaherty! Get stuffed. It’s mine. Go-go and steal your own bloody food.’
Sufficiently malevolent, however, and with boundless depths of rage to draw upon, O’Flaherty’s intentions were soon evident.
He pulled a flick knife from his pocket and exposed the razor sharp stiletto blade. Menacingly, he pointed it at the teenager.
Shaun’s jaw dropped and he tried to swallow. Suddenly surging through his body, a charge of Adrenalin hit him. He jumped up to run.
O’Flaherty lashed out with his knife. The blade grazed Shaun’s left cheek making a shallow wound.
With blood seeping between the fingers of the hand holding his cheek, he ran down the alley. Clasping his stolen food to his chest with the other hand, Shaun looked back to see if O’Flaherty was following.
Immediately, he realised his mistake.
‘Shit!’
Out of balance, he veered sideways and crashed into a stack of empty wooden fruit cases. Falling heavily, he smashed and shattered some of the slender timber.
Flies and mice scattered in all directions. Aching all over, and with pieces of timber pushing into his body, the stench of rotting vegetables was overpowering.
Before he could recover and get up, O’Flaherty was on top of him. ‘Now you stupid bastard, I’m going to slit your bloody throat.’
***

Maeve was desperate and hoping for a miracle. Although she was not aware Shaun faced death at that very moment, she suddenly became overwhelmed by the thought that she may never see her son again. She sank into her old worn sofa, handkerchief in hand and tears coursing down her cheeks. Realising her marriage was a mistake; she had no alternative but to accept her fate without question. She had put her faith in God now, hoping her prayers would soon be answered.
Arnold had made her life a misery. To ascend the dark staircase of her marriage, a vast void, tugging her downward, and to seek a quiet space of her own, away from her husband; that was her eternal prayer. Continually stunned and humiliated by Arnold, she now faced the realisation of her situation. ‘Would he never leave?’ She thought not. Besides, she had no way of making him go. He had what he wanted, a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head and someone to look after him.
Under no circumstances could she leave, ‘What if Shaun decides to come home?’ Arnold would be furious, he would hound her at her work, or worse still, keeps his promise to kill her if she even thought about leaving him.
Whichever way she looked at her situation, she knew it was hopeless; like a crushing, grinding wasteland of emptiness.

***

The look on his assailant’s face caused Shaun to panic. Hoping for a miracle, or some sign of divine intervention, he found it when he pushed himself backwards on his behind. Although pieces of timber pushed into his body, Shaun’s right hand landed on the thick end of a piece of splintered timber. He took a hold and gripped it tightly.
‘Don’t be stupid, O’Flaherty. Do-do you want to go to Gaol?’
O’Flaherty was sneering now. Moving forward, he held out the knife, ready to strike again.
Shaun thrust out with the piece of timber, aiming at his assailant’s head. The sharp broken end struck O’Flaherty on the side of his