We shall remain neither seen nor heard

WHEN parents fight it’s the children who suffer most. All that bickering and backbiting causes untold damage to those stuck in the middle, leaving scars which never fully heal.

A friend of mine is currently in the midst of one such dispute, a war of words which has been waging for years.

Like most children in these situations she is entirely blameless, a victim of the actions of others; supposedly mature adults who have let her down, time and time again.

And yet it wasn’t always thus. Her early years were idyllic. She wanted for nothing, she had a mammy and daddy who loved her, she went to a good school and enjoyed a wide range of extra-curricular activities at weekends and evenings.

Then one day as she rode round the back-garden on her pony everything changed. Her father emerged from the back of the house, wild-eyed, his hair askew. He pushed her from the pony, grabbed its reins, and rode it through the kitchen, out the front-door, over the hills and far away.

My friend, let’s call her Erin, ran into the house, panic rising in her chest as she saw the rest of her possessions; her clothes, her toys, her other pony; calmly placed into a van by burly, stern looking men.

She called out, ‘Daddy! Mammy!’ But they were gone. She was alone, left to fend for herself, still but a child.

While social services tracked down some relatives, she went to stay with a German family, an austere middle-aged couple who vowed to keep her on the straight and narrow.

This was an unhappy time in her life, one of stale, stodgy meals, early bed-times and round-the-clock schoolwork. She thought about rebelling, about creeping out a window in the middle of the night, running free, into the wild to live off berries and tree-bark.

But the Germans had warned against that, told her there would be no second chances; that their’s was not a revolving door.

So she stayed put, gazing out the window every night, hoping against hope she would one day be rescued by a long-lost uncle, a kindly cousin.

And that was exactly what happened. Leo, her uncle, came along, doe-eyed and full of promises. He would rescue her from this madness, make things right, erase those unhappy memories with one shake of his magic wand.

Erin was understandably overjoyed and gladly joined Leo in his luxury mansion where his servant Micheál tended to her every need.

Sadly, it wasn’t long before the cracks started to appear, before this facade of comfort and affluence began to fade. Erin developed an illness, a complex ailment probably brought on by all the years living in poverty with the Germans.

She went to her doctor and was told it would be months, maybe even years, before she’d receive the treatment she required. Worse was to follow. Having somehow, against all odds, earned enough points in her exams to gain a place at one of the nation’s top Universities she was unable to find anywhere to live.

Well, that’s not entirely true. There was that one place - 50km away from the college - which offered a top bunk, a leaking shower, and the company of 14 housemates all for just €600 a month, but after careful deliberation she reneged on that deal.

Surely Uncle Leo could help? Unfortunately, no. He was nowhere to be found, his phone went straight to voicemail whenever Erin rang. Confused, hurt, she slept on her friend’s couch for a while, forgotten and ignored.

That was until Mary came along. Now Erin is no fool. She’s not easily assuaged. But there was something about Mary, something different. True, they were only words, the kind which Erin had heard on countless occasions, but to hell with it she thought, this woman speaks to me, I believe her.

And so, after lengthy discussions and more heated arguments, Erin told Leo she no longer wanted to live with him, it was Mary she wanted to be with,

Leo didn’t listen. He never does. ‘I don’t like Mary, and neither does Micheál,’ he said, ‘now stay quiet and don’t be annoying me, there’s a good girl.’