Toni Maguire - When Daddy Comes Home

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SHE FINALLY THOUGHT SHE WAS SAFE…Toni Maguire, author of Don't Tell Mummy, takes up the story of her tragic childhood where she left off, revealing the awful truth about what happened when her father, sent to jail for abusing her, was released, and came home…Toni Maguire's father abused her from the age of six, and was only found out when Toni fell pregnant, losing the child from a botched abortion. Called to her father's trial. she gave the damning evidence that put him away, and hoped that with his influence banished, she and her mother could have a happy, idyllic life once more. But her mother was unable to face the truth of what her husband had perpetrated on their daughter, and waited patiently for his return.One day, two years later, Toni walked in to find her dreaded father sitting in the living room, on day release from prison. Toni knew then she had to leave, but stayed with her mother for another two years, desperately hoping her mother would choose Toni's wellbeing over that of her father. Yet when Joe Maguire was released, Toni was despatched to collect him from the station, and from the moment he re-entered the house she knew nothing had changed in his desires, although the threat of imprisonment was enough to prevent him from acting on them. Toni was forced to leave her home, and her mother made it known she was no longer welcome.Traumatised and alone, Toni was unable to cope, and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, sinking deeper into despair every day, finally being transferred to the dead-end ward with hope of recovery abandoned. But paradoxically it was when all hope seemed gone that Toni slowly began to improve, by sheer force of indomitable will – but the ultimate step occurred when she finally admitted to herself that her mother, whom she wanted so desperately to love her, had known all along what her father had done.

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The coffee shop where Ruth was the manageress catered to the professionals who worked a five-day week and without their custom the owner had decided to close after lunchtime on Saturdays, a decision popular with both Ruth and her daughter.

Seeing the suspicious look that his wife was giving him, Joe’s good-humoured expression changed to one of irritation.

‘Well, we need the money, don’t we? Sure, and aren’t you the one who’s always saying you want to move into a larger house in Belfast?’

Antoinette saw her mother’s face take on the resigned expression that had become familiar over the last few weeks as she replied, ‘Yes, dear.’

‘Well, then, what’re you complaining for? It’s time and a half at the weekend. Maybe if that big daughter of yours contributed more instead of spending it all on those clothes and that damn stuff she puts on her face, I wouldn’t need to work so hard.’

Antoinette waited for her mother to contradict his accusation. She had contributed to the running of the house ever since she had been able to. But Ruth said nothing.

Although she knew that Ruth had always yearned for a house similar to the one she had grown up in, a gracious Georgian three-storey building, it was the first time Antoinette had heard that plan voiced. It seemed to her that her father wanted to control everything, even where they lived.

The gate house was comfortable enough for us before he turned up, she thought resentfully. Working overtime is just another excuse to keep his wife quiet.

She mistrusted his story and, as she saw the triumphant look on his face as he won the short argument, she believed it even less. Knowing that her mother only pretended to accept his reasoning fuelled her resentment even more.

‘Going to the greyhound races more like it,’ she muttered under her breath.

Seeing the expression which had crossed his daughter’s face and reading it correctly, Joe glared at her as he snapped, ‘What are you doing standing there? Help your mother while I’m out – make yourself useful for once.’

With that parting shot, he left. The noise of the door slamming behind him vibrated in the now-silent room.

Ruth and her daughter glanced at each other and Antoinette could see the unhappiness on her mother’s face. She hardened her heart to it, for she felt past trying to cheer her mother up. Just for once Ruth could have stood up for her daughter and pointed out that she contributed more than her fair share. She felt the injustice of his remarks and hurt by the usual lack of support from her mother. If she wouldn’t stand up for her, who would?

Antoinette went to her room hoping that her father would win enough from the dog races to keep him away from the house until she had left for the evening. She knew that she had contributed as much to the housekeeping as he had. With her tips, she earned as much as he did – a fact that fuelled his simmering anger towards her.

She thought of how he commandeered the television she had bought and sat watching the sports programmes that she detested; how her mother cooked his favourite food, never asking Antoinette what she wished for; how, when her daughter had offered to cook an evening meal, he had jeered at her efforts calling it ‘that dammed fancy muck of yours’. Since his return, except for that one unsuccessful attempt, she was reduced to doing the more menial task of washing up.

Antoinette had no wish to meet her father when she was dressed for her night out. She knew he would mock her attempts to look nice and knock her fragile self-confidence even further. If he was in a bad mood, she would be his target, a mental punch bag for him to unleash his anger on, anger that now always seemed to simmer close to the surface. Nor did she want to see the sadness on Ruth’s face, though she could not help feeling that her mother had brought her misery upon herself. Antoinette could see no point in having someone in the house who created such a feeling of discord, and she could not understand why her mother had allowed him to return to his old ways in such a short space of time. She heard Joe’s evasions, saw his smugness and watched her mother pandering to his wishes. She felt an increasing contempt for her parents as she saw his dominance and Ruth’s acquiescence.

When her father was out, her mother would seek her out, keen for company and an ear she could complain into, but this time Antoinette was determined she would not relent and give in to her. Instead she spent the afternoon in her room deciding on which outfit she was going to wear for her night out and finally made her selection. She neatly laid out on the bed a pale yellow dress with a low-cut neck and a straight skirt that had a small back pleat which enabled her to walk freely while emphasizing her slim legs. The broad belt that she had chosen was covered with a darker fabric, which would encircle her waist tightly and make it look slimmer.

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