There I was on the screen: I slung my bag on the floor and dashed to the kitchen cupboard. Flinging it open, I pulled out two slices of bread, crumbs flying everywhere. Then he forwarded to me smearing on ketchup and brown sauce, my favourite sarnie when no one was in. I knew Peter didn’t draw a line on either of these bottles, so I could help myself. Next I was browsing through a book, looking carefree, like I had all the time in the world.
As this all unfolded in front of us, I sat with my hand over my mouth. I kept glancing at Paul. I could see the fear in his wide eyes.
‘So,’ said Peter, pausing the tape. ‘You’re lying, aren’t you?’
I nodded imperceptibly, my mind racing. Why on earth was this man filming us in our own homes? I felt violated, I felt sick.
Next up, Peter turned to an uneasy-looking Paul.
‘And what about you, Paul? Did you take the dog straight for a walk?’
Paul looked panicked.
‘Yes, I did walk Sam!’ he tried to protest.
‘Right,’ said Peter officiously. ‘Let’s see what Paul actually does, shall we?’
Peter pressed play and we watched as Paul rushed in from school, raced to the sink to get a glass of water to drink, grab a slice of bread from the bread bag and flop onto a chair before disappearing upstairs. Peter fast-forwarded the next few minutes, until finally Paul picked up the dog lead.
By now I was incensed. How dare he secretly film and humiliate us like this? My guts churned just like they did when he’d visited my bedroom at night. It felt like there was no escape.
But that wasn’t the end of it.
‘Shall we look at Tuesday’s rota now?’ he snapped. ‘Terrie, what was it you did when you got in from school?’
‘I can’t remember,’ I said. I didn’t want to be accused of lying again.
‘Think harder then,’ said Peter.
‘Erm, I might have made myself another sandwich?’ I offered. I’d no idea what I’d done.
‘Is that on your routine?’ Peter demanded, waving it in my face.
‘No,’ I almost whispered.
Peter went through each day methodically, looking at the schedule we’d drawn up and fast-forwarding to the relevant days. Other scenes showed me and Paul using dining room chairs to peer into cupboards in case Mum had hidden treats at the back. Then we opened the two doors leading from the living to the dining room and ran around madly, playing chase with each other.
We were, by all accounts, just acting like ordinary kids. But suddenly, thanks to Peter, our every movement looked like we were being naughty.
I couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘That’s an invasion of our privacy!’ I cried, standing up.
‘Well, obviously you need it invaded when you can’t be trusted to do as you’re told!’ Peter yelled back.
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘We still got the jobs done. We still did as we were told.’
‘Now you’re just being argumentative,’ Peter snapped.
Paul and I just stared at him. It was both awkward and surreal. This was mind games, beyond anything we’d experienced before. I looked at Mum, pleading with my eyes for her help. Thankfully, she threw her hands in the air and stood up.
‘Okay, Peter,’ she said. ‘That’s enough. You’ve made your point. Kids, you will try harder now?’
Paul said he would, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. Instead I just glared at Peter.
That night he came upstairs again and touched me. After he left, I lay there again in tears. I was angry, I was scared, and I was full of rage.
‘I HATE PETER!’ I screamed. ‘I HATE PETER! I HAAAAATE PETER! I HAAATE PEEEEEETEEEEER!’
But afterwards all I got was the same response: complete and utter silence.
Chapter 7
Paul
The memories of being happy when Mum told me and Terrie that Peter was moving in were fading fast. The feeling of being in a family where I could live the life of an eight-year-old, carefree, loved and having fun, was also disappearing. Every night now for the last few weeks Terrie had screamed, shouted and cried. I felt for her but didn’t want to go in just in case Peter had a go at me and I ended up being the one screaming and crying. It felt selfish and I did feel guilty, but Terrie was bigger and older than me, so I thought she’d be able to take whatever it was better than me.
It seemed to really wind Peter up if I went into Terrie’s bedroom, not just in the evenings, but even during the day at weekends. I didn’t get it, though. The less time I spent with Terrie in her room, the more Peter did. A few months before I would have felt upset, but now I was actually beginning to be happy. It came down to a simple equation: the more time spent with Peter the more you were likely to be in pain and crying; the less time, the happier you were.
Mum said it was hard for us to accept having a new father figure in our lives, and it was normal to be a bit overwhelmed and rebel against the rules, but it didn’t feel like that. We just couldn’t do anything we wanted any more. She said we’d get used to it soon, but I think she missed the point – we didn’t want to get used to it.
I’d often come home to find Terrie and Peter having play fights. I didn’t join in any more as Peter was a lot rougher with me than when we first played games and I’d inevitably end up getting hurt from an extra hard pinch, a foot in the stomach or a stray fist. I assumed Terrie still found it fun, though.
Peter’s secret camera stunt really upset us; now we had to look over our shoulders and follow a strict routine every day of every week of every month. We already felt like servants and, while we had an ever-growing list of jobs to do, Peter just lay on the sofa watching films and eating.
For the next few days I kept checking to see if the camera was back but it had disappeared and I hoped that him recording us had been a one-off. Instead of worrying about it I focused on remembering what jobs I needed to do so I could catch up with TV after. If I was this busy at the age of nine I didn’t want to be 10!
The next day I took Sam for a walk, but as I returned Peter was waiting for me with a now familiar disapproving look behind his glasses.
‘Paul, that wasn’t a long walk,’ he said gruffly. ‘Come with me.’ He grabbed his coat and keys. ‘I’ll show you exactly where you need to walk Sam every day.’
He walked down the long alley that started across the road from the house and then around the corner of another one until we reached an oval of grass on the estate.
‘Now,’ he said, pointing around the area. ‘I want you to walk Sam around the perimeter of grass three times, and only then can you come home.’
He tapped his watch. ‘That should take at least 12 minutes. Go.’
It was so precise and exact. You freaky twat, I thought to myself. The next thing he’ll be doing is marching me around, ‘Left, Right, Left, Right, Left, Right, Left.’
The following evening Peter looked a bit grim-faced as we ate our beef burgers and mash.
‘Paul,’ he said. ‘Did you remember to walk the dog?’
‘Yes!’ I beamed. ‘I did!’ I had ensured I had followed the route exactly and even delayed going home by 30 seconds to make the walk 12 minutes exactly.
‘Brilliant,’