[Emms]

I'd like to ask if it would be possible for me to have a thread started where I can post some chapters of the story I wrote about myself. I won't be offended if you don't want me to. Some of it could cause triggers for some ppl, I know that, but the actual abuse is not particularly graphic or anything, it just lets you know what happened without too much detail. The most graphic is probably when I was raped but that leaves a lot to the imagination and was when I was 13, most of it is about my early childhood and focusses more on my mother's behaviour and our crazy lifestyle.
As no one was prosecuted for the abuse, I had a word about legalities when I was trying to get it published and I have changed the names and certain details of the characters, including my own name so no one can be recognised. I have also not mentioned any street or area names of where I lived or where the abuse took place, just some general names of places in our town that are well known anyway and the descriptions of the places where I lived could be many different areas as many are the same.
Please let me know if you mind me posting some chapters here and also, if any other members mind. I won't be offended if don't want me to but I've been told the market is saturated with these stories now so no one wants to publish it.

[DianaJoy]

You're welcome to post whatever you would like to :) If you'd like the name of this thread changed, just let me know!

[Emms]

Thanks DJ, and the name for this thread is fine by me. I'll get some chapters copied over and might change some things, such as bits written in our local accent cos you'd never understand it in the US. There's a few things I'll say first. The story starts in the late 1950s, the time when Britain was building it's self up again after WW2, a time when work was plentiful but women still didn't have equal pay and other rights. The huge reshaping of many of our big cities still hadn't taken place and many of us, including me, lived in Victorian slums until the mid 60s when they were knocked down and the inhabitants put into 'council accomodation', local government owned houses and tower blocks, many of which became even bigger slums than the ones they were supposed to replace. It was a time of great change for us over here, a change that my mother and her family could never accept.

[Emms]

This is a couple of chapters of my autobiography. It's tame to begin with and only touches on the abuse. All names, including mine, have been changed. Any similarities between these names and any persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Spoilt Rotten

Copyright 2009 by the author
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author.

Chapter One
1958
“Can I have some more bread please, Grandma?” I asked.
“Bread and butter, darling,” the old woman replied as she pulled the hard bristles of the brush through my waist length hair. “We don’t eat dry bread in this house, only people who can’t afford butter eat bread like that.”
“Oh, sorry, Grandma. Can I have some more bread and butter please?”
“Of course, dear, but we say ‘may I’, not ‘can I’. And do sit still, will you? Little girls shouldn’t fidget so.”
“Sorry, but I’m sore.”
My grandmother sighed heavily and forced the brush through a particularly difficult tangle. “Oh dear, I hope you haven’t been scratching yourself down there again. You’re always making yourself sore with that disgusting habit of yours. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, my girl.”
“Sorry Grandma,” I said with my usual resignation. “But I haven’t been scratching, honest.”
We were sitting on the bed under the sash window in our lounge, or the sitting room as Grandma liked to call it. It was a special time for the two of us; that last hour or so before I had to go to bed. We had a strange relationship, too fragile for me to understand but Grandma did appear to care about me, in her own old fashioned controlling way. She hated my straight hair and often told me so. She insisted on meticulously winding each long strand around a steel curler every night so that in the morning, when she removed the curlers, my head supported an array of Alice in Wonderland ringlets, just as Grandma’s did and had done since her own childhood. I detested the brushing and the curlers, hated the tingling sensation that was always left in my scalp, but Grandma would tell me stories while she worked on my hair, tales of her own childhood in Victorian times, stories of the First World War and classic fairy tales which she thought were the only stories suitable for a respectable little girl like me. There was always food too, one of my greatest pleasures. Listening to Grandma’s songs and stories while finishing another slice of bread and butter was preferable to the usual lonely, only child’s games I played.
It seemed time had stopped many years ago for Grandma. After undergoing a hysterectomy, when her daughter, Roma, the woman I had to call mother, was just nine years old, Grandma appeared to have lost the ability to walk properly. I had been told many times that the woman took to her bed and that it was only because of a miracle that she could now drag herself around the house on two walking sticks, balancing precariously on high heeled court shoes tied around her ankles by ribbons which I presumed was to prevent them from falling off. Her clothes were rarely washed and even more rarely ironed. She favoured long, wide skirts with an abundance of petticoats, lots of lace and low necklines. Her fingers, wrists, neck and ears were always decorated with cheap, outdated costume jewellery and she spoke with an accent similar to the queen, or the women who sometimes read the news on the radio. Grandma was kind to me, in her own way, but there was a strange coldness about her. As young as I was I had a feeling that she couldn’t be totally trusted.
My granddad lived here too, the man she was married to, but I didn’t like him much. I had the feeling that he was the one to blame for my constant soreness. I didn’t like the tickling games and play fights he insisted on having with me, so I kept my distance whenever possible, but in the tiny terraced house I shared with him, Grandma, Roma and my dad, that wasn’t always easy.
Grandma found another particularly stubborn tangle in my hair and attacked it with a vengeance. I winced as she let out a frustrated sigh.
“Do keep still, dear,” she said sternly. “You certainly don’t have hair like my Roma. I always remember those soft auburn waves of hers; they were beautiful, so much easier to look after than this mess that grows on your head. And what are you doing with your hand? You were going to put it down your pyjama bottoms and start scratching yourself again, weren’t you?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s just that I’m sore.”
“Well, it’s your own fault you get sore, your mummy’s always telling you about it, scratching and almost making yourself bleed, and bed wetting at your age, ugh, you can be a disgusting child at times, you know.”
“I ..... I don ‘t wet the bed on purpose, Grandma! And I don’t get sore on purpose either.”
“Really?” The old woman sounded shocked. “Well, no one makes you do it, you dirty little brat. I don’t understand you at all, Juliana, you can’t tell me that your private parts get that sore all on their own, you must be scratching them. And still wearing nappies at your age, I don’t understand it. I’m surprised your mummy hasn’t taken you to see the doctor about it.”
“Mummy says I must never tell the doctor, he’ll think I’m filthy and he’ll have me sent away, back to the children’s home where I would have gone if she hadn’t saved me.”
“Hmmm, I’m not sure he’ll send you away but he wouldn’t be too pleased with you.”
“Mummy says she’ll smack me if I ever tell the doctor about getting sore.”
“Well, a good smacking never hurt anyone, darling, that was what my mother used to say. Perhaps you haven’t had enough smacks. You’re a spoilt little girl at times, you know, spoilt rotten.”
I began to nod my head, only to feel Grandma’s hand flick the back of my neck as she wound the last strand of hair into a tight curl and pinned it in place. “I don’t like Mummy smacking me,” I said shyly. “It hurts, especially when she hits me in the face.”
The old woman stopped her work and gasped. “Juliana, stop telling lies! Your mother may tap your arm or hand now and again, but she would never slap you in the face! I don’t know where you’re getting these tales from; you are turning into a nasty little liar!”
“She ..... she does it when you don’t see.”
“Rubbish! You’re making up stories; I don’t know how we put up with you. What lies will you be telling us next?”
I shivered as I remembered the last slap Roma had given me. I wasn’t sure what I’d done wrong but she had left a stinging hand print on my cheek, but it soon faded. I had cried but only Roma had heard me, she had warned me that if I didn’t shut up I would have another slap, so I had swallowed hard and bitten back the tears, as usual. But that didn’t stop the pain and didn’t stop my fears either. Yet it was no use trying to explain anything to Grandma, not about Roma or about my grandfather, she had made up her mind that I was disgusting and a liar, so I had to live with that.
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I said solemnly.
“Yes, I should think so, my dear. Now sit still and eat your bread and butter while I make sure all these curlers are secured properly, we don’t want them falling out in the night, do we? Oh dear, your hair is so unruly, it’s such a mess, nothing like my Roma’s lovely natural curls. But then, I suppose we can’t expect you to be like her, you’re not her real daughter.”
“I know, sorry.”
“Well, you can’t help the fact that you were an accident of birth but you can help running about the house and jumping around, that’s what makes your hair so ridiculously untidy.”
I was beginning to feel frustrated. “I don’t rush about, Grandma. You always tell me off if I do. Anyway, why can’t I have my hair cut? It would be easier to brush it then, wouldn’t it?”
“Good grief! What on earth are you talking about?” Grandma was clearly appalled by my suggestion. “Just what do you think you’d look like with short hair? You’d look just like all the other little brats who live around here, those whose parents don’t give a damn about them and let them run wild in the streets. I’ll bet there aren’t any other little girls around here lucky enough to have grandmothers who take the time each night to brush and curl their hair the way I do for you. You’re a very lucky little child and I don’t think you realise it.”
“Yes, Grandma.”
I reached for the last thin slice of bread and butter on the plate and took a bite. It was the same every night, had been for as long as I could remember. Grandma and I would have supper alone in that little room, often boiled eggs, bread and butter and a piece of fruit cake, then Grandma would try to turn me into the little girl she thought I should be. She tried her best to make sure I spoke properly, that I didn’t pick up the local Black Country accent which was the natural way of speaking for my father and our neighbours. I was rarely allowed out, I had no friends and we rarely had any visitors to the house. I was a little doll for Roma and her mother to play with, a doll who wore her hair in pale gold ringlets and wore white frilly dresses. I was taught to dance and sing for Grandma, though I knew I wasn’t very good at it. I was also a plaything for my granddad, but in a very different way. It was a miserable existence, but I rarely complained, it wasn’t worth it.
Grandma wrapped an old chiffon scarf around my head and I pulled back the sheets on the bed, ready to climb between them. I saw nothing strange about sleeping downstairs; I didn’t yet know that other children had bedrooms to sleep in. Grandma smiled down at me patronisingly before taking her sticks and making her way across the room to the sofa where she always spent the night. She was a small, well wrinkled woman with quite delicate features. She had already wound her own hair onto curlers ready for the night and I had watched Roma colour it for her many times, making sure her ringlets were still chestnut brown and not silver, as nature intended them to be. Her large watery brown eyes seemed to be magnified by her thick glasses and the first shadows of cataracts were beginning to creep over them. She often complained about her failing eyesight but she could read well enough.
“Will you read me a story, please?” I asked as I placed my head on the pillow. The steel curlers made lying down rather uncomfortable but I was used to that.
“Not tonight, darling,” the old woman answered in her affected voice. “I’m rather tired and so should you be, you’ve had a long day.”
I didn’t reply. The day seemed no longer or shorter than any other spent in this little prison.
“Go to sleep now, Juliana,” Grandma said in a stage whisper. “Your mummy will be coming to get into bed with you soon so lie quietly while I get undressed, there’s a good girl.”
I sighed and drew up my knees beneath the sheets. I knew it wouldn’t be long before Roma climbed into the bed with me and showered me with kisses, she always did that and I always pretended I enjoyed it. It was easier that way, easier than putting up with a punishment for being rude and having to listen to Roma’s theatrical bleating to my dad because I had offended her. She seemed to enjoy putting on a show of love for me, her kisses were soft, her words could be sweet and her touch was often gentle, but she could change in a second. She could so easily crush me with a slap, a pinch or perhaps just a few insulting words. She also had the irritating habit of calling me Billy, though I knew that wasn’t my real name. She always told me that the nickname came from a rhyme I used to like when I was very small and that I kind of called myself Billy and it had stuck. Yet I had no memory of such a rhyme, as far as I knew my name was Juliana Emmeline Whitehouse, a right mouthful chosen by Grandma, which was not at all surprising. It was only Roma who called me Billy, Dad shortened my name to Julie and that was the way I liked it. I’ll never be exactly sure where Billy came from, but it was the only name Roma ever used for me in those early days.
At that time I had no idea how strange the sleeping arrangements were in our house. Grandma could no longer climb the stairs so she slept on the sofa in that sitting room while I shared the bed against the opposite wall with Roma. Granddad slept in the back bedroom while the front one belonged to Dad. There were no other bedrooms in the house, no bathroom either but that wasn’t unusual for the area where we lived.
This night was like any other, Roma and Dad were in the tiny kitchen, had been for the last couple of hours. They spent quite a lot of time in that kitchen, smoking and drinking stewed tea, it was their only real time spent alone together. Granddad was either out at the local pub or had already gone to bed, I wasn’t sure which. Sometimes I would hear him come in, watch him walk between the sofa and the bed, hang his trilby hat on a nail at the back of the door and creep upstairs. He was a slightly built man with thinning grey hair that was always untidy, but his clothes were immaculate. His voice was low but penetrating and he always reminded me of a rat. He said that I was his best girl, his beautiful princess, but I didn’t like him and it was beginning to show. I didn’t like the games he played with me, the tickling and touching games and the way I always felt sore when he had finished. Roma would throw me one of her filthy scowls if she noticed I pulled away from him and Grandma would scold me for being rude to him, yet Dad never seemed to notice anything, probably because my granddad was clever enough not to touch me when my father was in the house. This was the family who had taken me in, the mighty ones who had rescued this little fatherless waif from the evils of a children’s’ home, adopted her and forced her to live in their strange fantasy world. A world where Grandma ruled and Roma had to be humoured otherwise there would be all hell to pay. They were a bunch of loonies if I’m honest; I just hadn’t quite worked that out yet.
Grandma put out the lamp and I lay there watching the dying embers of the fire throw a hazy glow around the room. It could get very warm in our house, especially in summer, which was probably because the wooden sash windows had all been nailed down so they could never be opened. It was Grandma’s orders but I never knew why. I was hardly ever allowed outside; only in the warmest weather could I go out into the back yard or accompany Roma to the shops. Grandma and Roma didn’t mix with other people, the only visitors we had were a young man named Mick who apparently was an old family friend and Aunt Esther, Grandma’s widowed and childless sister who came to see us once a week. Esther moaned about everything and everyone she came into contact with. I’d heard my dad call her Esther the ferret behind her back once or twice but it was much later when I realised that was a perfect description of the woman. I once heard him say to Roma that her aunt was a loud mouthed vicious old bitch and that was when he was being nice about her.
I didn’t know much about children. I’d never even spoken to another child, let alone played with one, but Dad had started to tell me about some games he had played when he was young, probably preparing me for starting school, something I had heard the loonies talking about from time to time. This was my world, this little house and all the ancient relics in it. As Grandma never left the place, I was virtually never alone. But as she dozed on the sofa and I lay in the bed, it was as if I had a little space of my own. So while I waited for Roma to join me in bed, I savoured that space.
The house hadn’t been decorated since before World War 2, Grandma would never permit it. She had only recently allowed Dad to have electricity installed but she flatly refused the offer of a TV set in the house. She hated change and this place had been her home long before her only child married, brought my dad to live there and then adopted me. The wrinkled wallpaper was dusty and faded, each wall was cluttered with ancient photographs and black and white Victorian prints of scantily clad ladies or playful, pout-mouthed cherubs. The old mahogany sideboard had apparently belonged to Grandma’s parents and it was almost completely covered by framed photographs of various family members, some long dead. There were photos of me, of Roma, of Grandma and Esther and many more, but only one of Dad, cleverly hidden behind the others as if it was an item of shame. Another picture seemed far more in favour; it was a small photo of a young man with film star good looks, sleek black hair and wearing a hideously patterned tie. Roma told me his name was Nicky and that he was an old boyfriend of hers who had been quite wealthy. I didn’t understand why the picture was still there if the man was long gone, but I learned later that he never even existed; the man in the picture had never known Roma and the story was simply one of her many fantasies.
The house had been built some time during the late 19th century and much of its contents seemed to date from that period. Grandma always seemed very proud of the old belongings; it seemed she must have inherited all her mother’s furniture, ornaments and just about everything else when the woman died. On the chimneybreast wall, over the fireplace, two old gas lamps still hung. Of course, they were no longer in use but Grandma would not permit them to be taken away. A fancy gold framed mirror hung between those lamps and Grandma would often stand in front of it, leaning on her sticks and admiring herself. I wasn’t tall enough to see myself in there, but as the house was filled with mirrors, they hung on almost every available wall; I knew what I looked like. I was a dumpy, clumsy looking child, my face was broad, my eyebrows arched and I had a ski jump nose. The heavy ringlets looked ridiculous, so did the silly ribbons Grandma tied them with, but I didn’t complain, I had already learned that complaining only made things worse. When Grandma went off on one, the whole family suffered, especially me.
When Dad married Roma he married her parents as well. They came as a package along with all the cobwebs and rot. I had been a later edition to the family when it became apparent that Roma couldn’t have children of her own. Perhaps it was nature’s way of making sure it was the end of the blood line, far too many loonies seemed to have come out of that family, but even nature doesn’t always get it right, somehow she was allowed to adopt me. Still, I suppose it could have been worse. At least I didn’t realise then that I was much different to anyone else. I just knew I wasn’t very happy.
Despite all the old furniture that had been crammed into that sitting room which included my double bed, the space was dominated by an upright piano, Grandma’s pride and joy. She tinkled on it sometimes but Roma could actually play it quite well. She could sing too though the strength and pitch of her soprano voice could be quite scary. We had a little black spaniel dog named Bonzo, he was sleeping at Grandma’s feet at the bottom of the sofa and he crapped in the house quite a lot. I didn’t mind, Bonzo was my mate. He was about the only living creature that actually seemed to listen to anything I had to say, though he would only sniff or lick my hand in response. He was quite old, had sad, droopy and bloodshot eyes and three warts just above his docked tail. When he moved his head his long hairy ears would flop around, sometimes dragging against the floor. They reminded me of the loose skin on the top of Grandma’s arms, her bingo wings, as they would have been called much later. Like everything else in this house, he was old, sad and decrepit.
As always, Roma came into the room after a while. I pretended to be asleep; I wasn’t in the mood for her slobberings. She was holding Dad’s hand, leading him into the twilight and he towered over her as they stood by the bed to say their nightly goodbyes. She stroked his chin with her long, brightly painted red fingernails, he bent his head to kiss her and she pulled her dressing gown around her body to hide her frilled cotton nightdress and the bulges beneath it. She pressed her body against his and twined her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately on the lips. She was plump and large breasted, overtly sexual yet there was something incredibly childlike about her. She began to giggle and roll her head around Dad’s shoulder like a kitten at play. She played with her husband constantly, tossing her copious red curls in his face, laughing, teasing, caressing, and Dad loved it, as long as Grandma never witnessed any of it. Yet woe betide the being who upset Roma, as she smiled sweetly and caressed your face with one hand, she could just as easily stick a deadly blade in your back with the other and feel no remorse for it.
I watched her toy with my father and heard her giggle childishly.
“Shhh,” Dad whispered. “You’ll wake these two up.”
Roma ran her fingers through his thick blonde hair which was cropped short and darkened by the over use of Brylcreem. “Don’t worry, they’re fast asleep. Nighty night, darling, sleep tight.”
Dad placed one last kiss on her cheek. “Night, love, see you in the morning.”
He moved his tall, broad shouldered body towards the stairs, waved once and left her standing there in the darkness. She appeared rather lost for a moment and I wondered why they did all that every night, why she continually touched him during the day and even sat on his lap at times, often embarrassing him, I wondered what it was all about. Grandma and Granddad never touched each other and when Granddad touched me, whispering words like, “come on, be a good girl for me now”, I found no pleasure in it. It was mainly Roma who demonstrated all the caressing and uttered the loving words. Dad seemed a little shy about it but he did respond to it well. Grandma obviously didn’t approve of them drooling over each other, I already knew that. In fact, she didn’t approve of my father at all and rarely had a good word to say about him. I knew very little about his side of the family and had never met them. Grandma made it obvious that she thought they were beneath her in social status; she must always have had delusions of grandeur, though I have no idea why. I also think Dad was a little ashamed of his working class roots too, perhaps living with these loonies had made him that way, or perhaps he was just as much of a snob as they were.
Once a year, when it was my birthday, there would be a strange card and a small gift from someone called Gran Whitehouse. I would ask who she was but was never given a real answer, I actually worked it out for myself that she was my father’s mother, my other grandma, but it seemed we weren’t allowed to speak about her. It was the same at Christmas, a card and a mystery gift, but nothing was said, there was no face to recognise.
Dad’s name was Albert; Roma called him Al or Albie most of the time but I never remember Grandma ever using his name. She would always refer to him as ‘your father’ if she spoke about him to me. How she could think of herself as better than him or of a different class to her neighbours I’ll never understand. Her father had been a factory foreman, better off than some but a working class man all the same. She was married to a man who had once worked in a textile factory, a man who drank too much, had a serious gambling problem and liked to touch little girls. He was way past pensionable age, so was Grandma as they had not had Roma until their early forties. Grandma was constantly telling me that we were better than our neighbours, that they were rough, lazy and lower class so we did not mix with them. She would explain that we were a ‘good’ family, that we knew how to behave properly, dress properly, speak properly and that we ate all the best food, none of the cheap stuff for us. But both her and my grandfather were quite happy to live off my dad’s wage. Granddad did receive a small pension but he usually lost most of it on a horse. Of course, Roma couldn’t work, she had never been allowed to as she had her parents to look after. This small rented house was the home Roma herself had been brought up in, brought up probably in almost total isolation and God only knows what her father had done to her as a child. Now it was my turn to exist in the same isolation, but at least I had my dad, the only iota of sanity in my life. I was to learn that there were a few things he wouldn’t put up with, but not many. I just wish that he had the backbone to lay down a few rules of his own instead of giving in to the almighty ones, first Grandma, then later to Roma who took her place. But he was a man besotted, besotted with this woman they made me call mother and terrified, as I too once was, of losing her.

Two
When I opened my eyes they were sticky with sleep, it was light outside so I knew it was morning and I was alone in the bed. Grandma lay with her head propped against the back of the sofa, I could hear her steady breathing and muffled snores. Only Bonzo lifted his head when Roma came in from the kitchen, she was carrying a glass of cloudy liquid which I hoped wasn’t for me, though I knew it would be for no one else. Her hair was ruffled, most of her eye makeup had been left on the pillow and she was still wearing her thick quilted dressing gown that reached her ankles.
“Here you are, love,” she whispered, turning once to make sure her mother was still sleeping. “Drink this; it’ll make you feel better.”
I pulled myself into a sitting position and felt the pins and needles in my arm as it came slowly back to life. That arm was almost always dead in the mornings, dead because of Roma sleeping so closely against my body.
I felt tears prickle my eyes as I rubbed them with a small hand. “Please, Mummy,” I said, “I don’t want to drink that stuff, I don’t like it.”
Roma smiled, one of her stage smiles and placed one knee on the bed, posing in front of me as she forced the glass to my lips.
“Come on, sweetheart, it’s your medicine, you HAVE to drink it.”
“But I’m not poorly, I don’t need medicine, do I?”
“Shh, you’ll wake your grandma up.” Roma’s voice was still soft and almost caring in its tone. “Now be a good girl and do as you’re told. You had a poorly tummy last night so whatever you’ve eaten that didn’t agree with you has to be got rid of, so drink the medicine, Billy.”
“But I didn’t have a poorly tummy last night.”
“Yes you did, drink up.”
I took the glass and began to sip. I immediately shuddered and tried to turn my face away, it was salt water, I hated it and couldn’t understand why my mother made me drink it from time to time.
“No!” I began to push and squirm. “I don’t want it! It makes me sick!”
Roma’s hand grabbed the back of my neck and her fingers squeezed the flesh there. She turned my head around and forced the rim of the glass against my tightly closed mouth. Her brown eyes blazed in my face and her tone changed to a harsh, angry whisper.
“Drink it, sweetheart,” she said through her teeth. “Drink up or you’ll feel even worse, I’ll make sure of that.”
I managed to take a couple of gulps and screwed up my eyes before the liquid hit my stomach. I tried again and soon the glass was almost empty. Every mouthful tasted foul and made me shudder, but Roma had one plump hand across the back of my neck, her fingernails dug into the skin and I knew that if I didn’t do as I was told there would be worse to come. I gagged and coughed a few times before finally throwing up all over her. She jumped back and placed the glass on the fireplace, hiding it behind a small vase. “Oh, oh darling, not again.”
I heard Grandma begin to stir. “Roma, what is it, what’s wrong?”
“It’s all right, Mom,” Roma called as I threw up again all over the satin quilt. “Billy’s been sick again, poor child. She really isn’t well.”
“Then you should take her to see the doctor.”
“There’s no need just yet. She’s such a sickly child but I know how to handle it. I really don’t see how she can go to school though, not an ordinary school, not when she’s so delicate. If it’s not a cough then it’s a poorly tummy and she’s sick all over me. Ah well, the child can’t help it.”
Roma took a white cotton handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket and wiped away the tears and vomit from my face. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” she said gently, no one would have believed she wasn’t genuine in her concern. “Come on, let’s get you washed and then I can change the bed. Never mind, darling, it can’t be helped.”
She removed the glass from its hiding place, took my hand and I followed her obediently into the kitchen. “Come on, Billy,” she said in a sweet, jovial tone. “Let’s get you all cleaned up, shall we? I’ll have to tell your daddy again when he gets home; I just don’t know what’s making you sick all the time, but one thing’s for sure, you’re not going to be well enough to start school.”
“But I want to go to school.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to go, sweetie. Never mind, it’s not for you to worry about. We’ll sort something out, you might have to have lessons at home, then you wouldn’t have to be away from us, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I nodded slowly and lied. “Yes, Mummy, of course I would.”
I stood by the sink and shivered as Roma peeled off my pyjamas. “There you go, darling, all done. We’ll soon have you clean and fresh and then I’ll change those nasty bed clothes.”
I could see through the tiny kitchen window, a sparrow had landed on the gate to the back yard; its head jerked from side to side then up and down before it cautiously flew off again. I was confused; I winced as the warm soapy flannel was pushed into my face and Roma rubbed hard to make sure I was clean and smelt sweet again. She began gently singing to me, smiling sweetly and tilting her head from side to side in a way that would defy anyone not to love her. I wished with all my heart that I could understand what was happening.
*******

It had been an uneventful day. The early evening sunlight shone into the room, it drove a bright wedge through the gap in the floral curtains and lit up the layer of dust that always seemed to cover the furniture. I sat on the piano stool opposite the bed, hearing the music on the radio without listening, rocking gently backwards and forwards, my hands clasped around my knees. Scattered on the carpet around my feet lay two of my dolls, colouring books, crayons and pieces of drawing paper, the discarded playthings of a boring day.
Dad was whistling when he came in from work. He often did that, I tried to copy him but the sound wouldn’t come out properly and Grandma always snapped at me to stop trying, she didn’t consider it ladylike. Still, I wanted to whistle so I watched Dad from my seat and smiled at him.
“What on earth are you trying to do, Juliana, dear?” Grandma asked me. She sat on her usual pile of old silk cushions in her favourite arm chair. Walking sticks at the ready, she crossed her legs beneath her wide lilac skirt and the smell of Californian Poppy wafted towards me.
“I’m whistling,” I told her, “but it won’t work.”
“Thank goodness it won’t, dear! You know what my mother used to say, a whistling woman and a crowing hen, neither are good for God nor men!”
“I see.” I didn’t but I had learned early on that it was best not to argue too much so I lowered myself onto my hands and knees and began tidying the pile of toys and papers. If the old woman kicked off, Roma would follow and it would all end in tears, usually my tears. I would be the one blamed for it all; I would be the wicked, ungrateful child, the spoilt one so I would have to take the punishment.
Dad peeled off his grey work jacket and hung it on a nail at the back of the door to the kitchen. The drop leaf dining table, which stood in a corner of the sitting room most of the time, had been opened and stood beside the bed, that meant we would be eating soon. Dad whistled again and threw his packet of Woodbines onto the table top. Then he crouched down beside me and ruffled my hair.
“Be careful with the child’s hair!” Grandma snapped suddenly. “You know how long it takes me to try to get it looking decent. She’s been ill again too, she was sick this morning while Roma was getting her up; it’s getting beyond a joke. There must be something seriously wrong with the child.”
Dad didn’t answer her, he simply smiled at me and his blue eyes twinkled. He had a smooth, square shaped face and a cleft chin, not unlike pictures I had seen of the actor Kirk Douglas, the two men shared the same colouring.
“Now this is what you do,” he whispered, pointing at his own lips with one long finger. “Put your tongue behind your bottom teeth and blow ..... go on!”
I tried, nothing happened.
“Try again, you’re blowin’ too hard. Go on, have another try.”
Still nothing. I lowered my head and felt sad.
“Hey, like this ..... listen .....” Dad lifted my chin with his fingers and whistled a few lines of Roll out the Barrel.
I tried to copy him, did just as he had said but as soon as anything sounding remotely like a whistle came from my lips, Grandma leaned forward and placed her hand tightly across my mouth.
“This is ridiculous!” she said sharply. “What do you think you are teaching the child? You know what we think about young ladies whistling in this house, don’t you?”
Dad rolled his eyes but he didn’t look surprised by his mother in law’s reaction. “Yeah, I know what you think, but it won’t do any harm, will it?”
Grandma sighed loudly and folded her hands on her lap; her arthritic fingers were heavy with cheap rings. “Of course it does harm,” she snapped. “Still, I know there are things some people in this house think don’t matter, there are no standards here anymore.”
Dad stood up and jerked his head upwards as he rolled his eyes again. “Ahh, does no harm,” he said in a low voice. “I guess the kid’ll learn how to whistle once she starts school.”
“Will she?” I could tell by Grandma’s tone that she was getting really angry. “I expect she’ll learn a lot of things at that school you insist on sending her to. I don’t know why she can’t be taught privately like Roma was. She’s a sickly child and I don’t see why she has to go to that awful council school with those dreadful children from this neighbourhood. She’ll learn bad ways, you mark my words and she’s not strong, she won’t be able to play with those other children, it will make her ill, you won’t be told, will you?”
Dad groaned a little as he made his way towards the door to the kitchen. I noticed how tall he was, how round his shoulders were and for the first time, how tired he looked.
“We don’t have the money to send our Julie to private school,” he said through his teeth. “And she’s not that sickly, once she gets used to a bit of rough and tumble in the playground, she’ll be okay.”
I wanted him to argue with her for once, to stick up for himself and for me. I was actually quite looking forward to going to school though Grandma made it sound like a horrible place and Roma seemed to think I should be terrified of the thought. But as usual, Dad said little else; he just left the room mumbling something about not knowing what the hell my grandparents did with their pension. I knew, Granddad gave most of it to old Frank, the bookie’s runner, I’d heard the rows about that between Grandma and Roma many times. I looked at my grandmother. She wasn’t looking at me. She seemed to be staring at some distant horizon and humming softly to herself.
Dad did manage to turn and wink at me before disappearing into the kitchen. Roma was in there cooking a meal in the tiny space and I could hear her talking to Dad in her loud, well educated voice but I couldn’t tell what she was saying, the radio was too loud. Suddenly the music stopped and the male radio presenter introduced the six o’clock news.
“Roma ..... quickly,” Grandma called out almost in panic. “The news is coming on, switch the radio off, we don’t want Juliana hearings things that might upset her.”
Roma rushed in from the kitchen. Running a hand through her hair she guided her bulky body past the sideboard and towards the ancient radiogram that stood in one corner of the sitting room. Quickly she turned the knob, there was silence.
“Why can’t I listen to the news?” I asked suddenly.
It was Grandma who replied. “Because there are things going on in this world that little girls shouldn’t know about, that’s why.”
“Oh! But can we have it on again afterwards?”
Roma flashed me a real smile revealing almost perfect white teeth. “We’ll see, sweetheart. Perhaps we can listen to the Archers after tea, your grandma likes that.”
Roma disappeared into the kitchen and I could hear Dad tuning into to the smaller, more modern radio they had in there. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to hear the news; I often wondered what it was about the outside world that frightened this family so. Roma closed the door and Grandma and I were alone again. She could take me with her into her own little world while my parents listened to either Jet Morgan - Journey into Space, or Mrs Dale’s Diary. I enjoyed listening to the radio, much preferred it to hearing Grandma or Roma bashing away at that piano, but they were very particular what I listened to. The news or any programmes like Woman’s Hour were banned. It appeared that anything that happened outside of these four walls could never be talked about, if it didn’t affect this household, it didn’t matter, at least, that was how this lot saw things. I must have been realising that there was another world out there as I had an increasing desire to go outside, to talk to others and to play with other children. Sadly, it didn’t happen.
I knew there was no way I would be allowed to leave this room now, it was too late in the day. I was trapped here until morning when I might be allowed into the kitchen. So I climbed onto the bed and looked through the long sash window. Bonzo jumped up beside me and I rubbed one of his ears with my thumb and finger. He seemed to enjoy that and leaned towards me, looking through the glass pane with me as if sharing my view of the outside world. All I could see was the cobbled yard, the old coal bunker and the passage that ran down the side of our end terrace and made its way past the row of back yards in our block. Sometimes the man from next door would walk along that path pushing his bicycle. I’d never spoken to him, but I wanted to, he looked young and pleasant. On the rare occasions that I had been standing on the back doorstep, the man had waved and even smiled at me.
“You must not speak to that man!” Grandma would insist. “They are not a nice family, we don’t mix with them.”
“Why not?” I had asked many times, always to get the same reply.
“Because they are not our class of person. We’ll have nothing more said about them, thank you!”
Well, I thought he seemed fine, so did his wife who I had also spotted from time to time during my short life. They were a young couple, both seemed to go out a lot and she was very pretty. She wore a bright green head scarf and a checked coat, Roma said she looked common but I just thought she looked nice. She had said hello to me once but Grandma told me never to encourage her. As I stared through the window I secretly hoped she would walk past, but she didn’t. I doubt if she would have noticed me in the window anyway. So I remained swathed in a cold, damp blanket of loneliness, something I was getting more and more used to.
After a while Roma came in carrying plates of food which she left on the table. Her wide hips swayed sensuously and she grinned as she pulled the curtains tightly shut. Her cotton dress was tightly belted at a waist pulled in by the use of a corset and fitted around her breasts revealing her ample cleavage.
“Let’s shut the nasty world out,” she said in one of her little girl voices. “Are you hungry love?”
I nodded vigorously and Roma smiled.
“That’s good,” she told me. “Glad you don’t feel sick now. There was such a mess this morning, wasn’t there? I’ve been telling your dad, it’s a wonder your little tummy could hold all that.”
“Perhaps you feed her too much, Roma,” I heard Grandma say.
“Rubbish!” Roma insisted. “She needs all that good food to help her get some strength; you know she’s always been a weak little girl.”
I did like my food and Roma wasn’t a bad cook. Most of the time I felt perfectly well but the two women continued to insist that I was weak and sickly. They were both talking complete bollocks, of course, as they did most of the time, but I hadn’t yet learned the extent of their tales and fantasies.
Roma sat beside me on the edge of the bed and folded her chunky legs beneath her tight skirt. She never wore stockings and her feet were bare, as they often were inside the house. Her toenails were painted the same shade of red and the nails on her fingers and her makeup was heavy making her look like an overweight painted doll. Dad pushed the table a little closer so that I could reach and then fetched a chair so that he could join us to eat. Roma had brought Grandma her meal on a tray, she always did. The old woman sat on her cushions and nibbled cucumber sandwiches with the crusts removed and sipped a cup of tepid tea. I had no idea where Granddad may have been and didn’t care, he was either in the pub or waiting somewhere for his winnings, the winnings that rarely came. And when they did they were used to pay off the debts he had got himself into by gambling in the first place. It was a mugs game all right, I’d heard Dad say that so it had to be true, I thought my dad knew everything and compared to the rest of the loonies in that house, he probably did.
So we ate our meal of sausages, eggs and baked beans followed by tinned fruit and custard, except for Grandma who had a jam scone for afters. I reached for the bottle of red sauce during the meal and dropped my fork, splashing juice from the beans onto the tablecloth.
“You’re such a clumsy child,” Roma said, smiling and shaking her head. “Do be careful.”
“Yes, she certainly is clumsy,” Grandma added. “She’s always dropping things or crashing into something. You can tell she doesn’t have our blood, you were always very careful, Roma, you were tidy and knew instinctively how things should be done. Yes, you can tell the child doesn’t have our breeding.”
I picked up my fork again and carried on eating in silence, but I was watching the others, watching and waiting for any more remarks about me. I wasn’t sure what breeding meant but I’d heard Granddad talking about it when he was referring to the race horses and there was something about it written on Bonzo’s pedigree, so I had been told. But I was still confused, I wasn’t a horse and I wasn’t a dog, I’m not sure if I knew what I was, whatever, I certainly wasn’t good enough for this lot.
Roma had always done all the cooking and housework, ever since she was a child. I don’t believe my grandparents had ever done much for themselves, not even before Grandma took to her bed and made out she couldn’t walk. I was told to clear my plate because there were starving children in the world who would die for a meal like that, so I pushed down the last spoonfuls of custardy fruit and watched the look of satisfaction on Roma’s face. Dad was struggling too, Roma’s meals were always huge but he managed to finish everything, knowing there would be a little tantrum from his wife if he didn’t. And when that woman threw her toys out of her pram, everyone in the house suffered, that was how she kept us under control, she manipulated us all, even Grandma who still held the role of matriarch in the family.
“That was smashin’, Roma,” Dad said as he rubbed his swollen belly and leaned back in his chair. He took a long slurp of sweet tea and flashed me a grin. “It’s only a few weeks now and you’ll be starting school, Julie. Your mum’s getting your uniform at the weekend, how d’ya fancy that?”
I was nervous about it but excited all the same. “What’s my uniform going to be like?”
“Awful,” Grandma put in. “After all we’ve been saying and yet it seems your father still insists you have to go to that common council school.”
I ignored her and spoke again. “There’ll be other children there, won’t there, Daddy?”
“Yeah, I’m sure there will be, love. And you’ll soon make some friends.”
Grandma interrupted again. “She will NOT make friends there, not if we can help it. The kind of children that will go to that school will not be the type we want to play with our little Juliana.”
Dad ignored her comment and continued talking about my uniform. “You’ll have a white blouse and a tie, a grey skirt too and long socks up to your knees, long white ones. I guess your mum’ll get you a pair of new shoes too and a satchel, she’ll want you to look your best. We’ve been saving up for this, you’ll look fine but I think we should do something about that hair.”
“Do what about my hair?” I asked, filled with wonder at what changes might take place.
“Awww, stop it, Albie,” Roma said, her voice a parody of concern. “Nothing will happen to her hair, stop talking like that or you’ll frighten her. You know I don’t want her to go to school, she’s too little and not strong enough, I told you she was poorly again this morning.”
Dad’s voice softened as he looked at his wife. “Afraid she’s got to go to school, love. We can’t keep her home any longer or we’ll get into trouble, you know that, it’s the law.”
“Even when she’s so poorly?”
“She’s not that poorly, love! Come on, you know the law, we’ll have that school board man knocking the door if we don’t send her to school soon, we’ve already had a letter about it.”
“Well, I’ll take her to the doctor then and get the proof.”
“She’ll still have to go to school or we’ll have people coming here about it.”
Roma’s tone changed and she began to pout like a sulky child. “No one better knock this door, I won’t let them in if they do. She’s my little girl and isn’t it up to us how we bring her up? We adopted her, they said she was ours, all ours, no one else’s.”
“I know love, but it’s the law. If she doesn’t go to school we’ll get fined.”
“Couldn’t we have her taught privately, like I was?”
“Not at home, we couldn’t, and I can’t afford a private school anyway, you know that. She’ll be okay, don’t worry about the kid.” He turned to me and grinned again. “You’ll be fine, won’t ya, Julie?”
I nodded and watched Dad place an arm around Roma’s shoulder and give her a calming hug. “It’ll work out, lover, I promise.”
“It better had,” Roma replied warily, her heavily made up eyes darting from Dad’s to mine. “And if she doesn’t like the school she doesn’t have to stay there, we’ll find another school.”
“It might not come to that. Stop worrying, will you?”
“Did you like school, Mummy?” I asked suddenly.
She shook her head. “No, love, I can’t say I did.” She lifted her head and began to laugh, a laugh that was too loud, too much. Everything about this woman was too much, her hair was a little too red, her make up a tad too heavy and her slaps always seemed too hard. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, honestly. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you at that school but you’ll have to tell me everything that goes on, you mustn’t let anyone hurt you because if they do they’ll have ME to contend with.”
I smiled shyly. She had suddenly changed, she was smiling and laughing now, as if it was all some kind of joke. She often did this, she could switch from one mood to another in seconds. Tears could turn to laughter, anger to tenderness, all in less time than it took to blink.
“They won’t be nasty to me in school, will they?” I asked Dad.
“I doubt it, love,” he replied as he pushed back his chair and stood up. “It’ll do you good to go but you’ll have to behave yourself.”
“I will. And Mummy, did you behave yourself at school?”
“Of course I did. I had to.”
Grandma spoke then in a sharp voice. “Roma, we had you taught at home, you know that! Your daddy paid for it when he was working. We would never have subjected you to the riff raff that go to the local schools.”
Roma sighed. “Yes, that was before he started gambling away all his wages, wasn’t it?”
I could sense another argument coming on, but Dad put a stop to it.
“That’s all done and dusted now,” he said. “We need to concentrate on our Julie and make sure she has a decent education.”
Roma looked serious again and began to nod. “Well, I still think she’s too little yet to spend so much time away from us. She’ll be frightened with those teachers and children she doesn’t know, it must be terrifying for her.”
Dad winked at me as he lit a cigarette. “She ain’t scared, are ya, love?”
“No, I don’t think I am.”

Later that night, after I had been through the ritual of the hair curling, eaten supper and listened to Grandma’s ramblings about what she called state schools, I squeezed between the sheets and waited for Roma. I must have drifted off to sleep as she climbed in with me as I had no memory of it. Suddenly I was woken sharply by a burning pain in my cheek. It almost scared me to death as I felt my head bounce against the unyielding wall at the side of the bed. I heard myself cry out as the stinging seemed to become stronger and I felt Roma pull me towards her, wrapping her arms around my head and hiding my face between her breasts. I had been slapped, I was sure of it, this was no dream, someone had slapped me hard across the face and I knew the only person it could be.
“Shhh, sweetie,” she cooed as she stroked my head. “It’s all right; you had a bad dream, that was all.”
“No I didn’t,” I said through hysterical tears. “I wasn’t dreaming, someone .....”
“Shhh, it’s all right, darling, don’t cry. It was just a dream, it’s all right now, Mummy’s here.”
She hid the burning hand print on my cheek as she hugged me. I was finding it difficult to breathe.
“What’s going on, Roma?” I heard Grandma call from her bed on the sofa.
“Nothing, Mum, it’s all right. Little Billy’s just had a nightmare, she’ll be all right. It must be all this talk about school, it’s upset her more than we realised. Don’t worry, I can handle it.”
“I knew it!” Grandma groaned. “I knew we shouldn’t have spoken about it in front of the child.”
I took a long, shuddering breath and tried to pull away from Roma’s grasp, but she was too strong for me.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she whispered with all the tenderness of genuine motherly love. “There’s no need to worry so much about school, I won’t let any harm come to you. You’re my special girl, always have been ever since I brought you home from that hospital and made you mine. You’ll always be my special girl, darling, I love you so much.”
Her words were soft, her touch gentle, but she had slapped me, hit me hard and woken me, I realised that but I said nothing. There was no point. Dad must have heard the commotion and had come downstairs. He stood by the bed and I managed to lift my head enough to see him there, his old blue dressing gown hanging open revealing a pair of tatty pyjama bottoms.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” he asked in a sleep slurred voice.
“It’s going to be fine,” Roma assured him. “Nightmares, that’s all. Billy’s had a nightmare about going to school, she was hysterical but she’s going to be all right. I can take care of her.”
I supposed that if this woman said I’d had a nightmare, then it had to be true, I still trusted her up to a point though I had my doubts. By the morning the mark on my cheek had faded and I knew there was no point in mentioning it, I wouldn’t be believed. I began to feel a little less enthusiastic about school, but a few weeks later, just as Dad had warned, someone called at the house and I was forced to go. There was much weeping from Grandma and from Roma, many slaps and other punishments for me, almost always when I was alone in the kitchen with Roma and usually because I had not pleased her for some reason. Perhaps I had refused to finish my dinner or had taken my cardigan off when she considered it too cold. Often I was scolded and slapped for refusing to hug her or for wetting the bed again, but she would usually shower me with kisses and caresses later as if she was trying to prove to the rest of the loonies that she was a good mother. There was occasionally more salt water to drink, I would throw up and then I could spend the day at home. The doctor was called now and again but I remember him telling Roma that I was fine and that she should send me back to school. Granddad still liked to play his touching games with his little princess, but I had finally been introduced to the outside world. For a few hours each day I experienced some freedom from this prison, but it was a world I knew nothing about, a world that refused to accept me, I had already been too severely damaged to fit in with it.

[Emms]

Here's another chapter.

Three
The other children must have thought I was some kind of freak. I stood alone in the playground and watched them as they ran and laughed and shared their games. I couldn’t run, it was forbidden at home. Grandma told me that people who ran everywhere were thought to be daft in the head and there was also the chance that I might fall over and hurt myself. Roma had given me one of her sharp slaps when I admitted I’d been running in the playground, so I thought it was better to stand around and watch the others instead. I didn’t understand why the teachers poked me and asked me to move around more quickly, I hadn’t yet learned that I had to behave totally differently when I was away from home.
“I can’t take my coat off,” I explained to the little girl wearing pigtails. She had asked me why I was still all wrapped when the day was quite warm.
“But aren’t you hot?” she asked me.
“Yes, but Mummy says I must always wear my coat in the playground.”
The girl looked puzzled. “Why?”
I shrugged and pushed my hands deeply into the pockets of my belted gabardine raincoat. My mind shot to the time when I was walking home with Roma and had admitted to taking my cardigan off in the classroom because I was hot. Her eyes had narrowed and her voice risen to a crescendo.
“How many times have I told you!” she had squealed. “You suffer with colds and coughs all the time as it is. When you’re hot and sweaty the worst thing you should do is let yourself get cold! You must keep your cardigan on, you mustn’t let your body lose heat when you’ve been sweating, you’ll give yourself a chill. No sweets for you tonight. And stop looking around at other people, walk properly and tidily.”
She had soon changed and become all smiles again as we walked home together, whispering meaningless endearments in my ear. She had squeezed my hand until it ached, yet had told Dad I was a very naughty girl and had been trying to pull my hand away from hers on the way home. Apparently, that was an unforgivable sin, she had cried in Dad’s arms over it, telling him how she felt I didn’t love her. That had made him angry with me and Grandma had been so upset she had felt faint and needed to lie down. That night, when I had been alone with Roma in the kitchen, she had forced me to drink salt water again and of course, I had thrown up before bedtime.
“I knew you’d be ill,” Roma scolded as she cleaned up the mess with Dad watching carefully. “I knew you shouldn’t have taken your cardigan off.”
“Come on, love,” Dad had said. “I can’t see how taking her flamin’ cardigan off at school could make her sick tonight.”
“The child told me she was hot. She could be running a temperature or perhaps she’d been running around in the classroom. Whichever it was, it hasn’t done her any good. She won’t be able to go to school in the morning, look at her! She’s definitely not well.”
What a performance Roma had given, what a mess my life was becoming. It was easier just to stand in the playground and observe everyone else, learning how to behave in a way acceptable to the other children. Learning that there were times when it was better not to respond to their questions as they would never understand my answers.
The little girl stopped talking and frowned at me for a few seconds before walking away to join her friends in some game on the other side of the playground. I was used to this by now, no one wanted to play with me. I had no idea how to talk to these kids, no idea how to play their games and for most of the time, I couldn’t even understand what they were talking about. With their strong Black Country accents they may as well have been speaking a totally different language. I didn’t understand why they laughed at me, why they called me fat when Roma and Grandma promised me that I was simply well built. Sometimes I would stand by the school gates and watch the women leaving the entrance to the textile factory across the road. They were always chatting and laughing together and I used to dream that I was grown up and had a job there, that I had friends and that no one made fun of me or pointed accusing fingers in my face when anything went wrong. Often the dreams would take over and I would hold onto the school railings, rocking slowly backwards and forwards in a vain attempt to find some comfort. Then one of the other kids would see me and all hell would break lose.
“You’re a loony!” they would say, pointing at me.
Then someone else would come along and they would laugh. “You still wet the bed, you do!” was one of their favourite taunts. “We know cos our mother’s seen your nappies hangin’ on the washin' line in the yard and there’s no little babbies in your house!”
I would shout back at them, strongly denying it all and a teacher would turn up to tell me off. It was the same almost every day.
One of the teachers rang the bell and I made my way across the playground, my feet following the white painted line on the tarmac that separated the areas set out for the boys and for the girls. I was more interested in playing with lads, though they didn’t take much notice of me. Perhaps it was because Roma seemed to have a strong dislike for little girls and always warned me how spiteful they could be, or perhaps it was that little bit of a rebel in me that wanted to upset Grandma. She was horrified that there were actually boys in that school and continually made me promise not to speak to them. Roma continued to call me Billy, often within the hearing of the other children. My teachers insisted on using my full name, Juliana, that gave the plain old Susan’s, Jayne’s and Mary’s in my class a good laugh.
I was alone as I slowly walked along the corridor towards the classroom. Perhaps we would be allowed to draw or paint, I liked drawing. I loved using the brightly coloured wax crayons, they were so fat I could hardly hold them in my small hands but they were bright and easy to draw with, they smelled good too, like candles. I must have been smiling to myself as I approached the little group that had congregated by the door.
“Here comes Fatty,” a boy said. “She’s always last to get here.”
“What’s yer name, Juliana?” A little girl called out to me. I had no idea why they did this but someone always seemed to find my name funny.
“You know what my name is,” I said, still confused. “It’s Juliana Whitehouse.”
The children all giggled.
“What’s yer name, Juliana?” Another child asked sarcastically.
“Juliana Whitehouse,” I called back, louder than before.
There was more giggling and again someone asked the same question.
“It’s Juliana Whitehouse!” my voice rose to a crescendo as frustration began to take over.
“No it’s not,” the first boy said. “It’s Billy, you’ve got a boy’s name, and we heard your mum call it ya. What a daft name fer a girl!”
I stamped the floor with one foot. “Billy’s not my name! That’s just what my mummy calls me.”
“Now, now, what’s all this about?” Miss Smith, my form teacher, placed a long fingered hand on my head and led me inside. “There’s no need to shout, Juliana! Go and sit at your desk and stop making a nuisance of yourself.”
I could hear more giggling behind me as I made my way to my seat.
“Out of the way, Fatty,” the same boy whispered as he pushed past me. “That’s yer real name, Fatty.”
“Shut up!” I said angrily as I pulled out my chair.
“Quiet!” Miss Smith slapped her desktop with a ruler and there was sudden silence. I hadn’t realised how loud my voice could be, it seemed I was the only one she had heard.
“Juliana,” the teacher went on, “ will you please sit down and be quiet.”
“I swallowed hard and tried to be polite. “But Miss, it wasn’t me, it was .....”
“I don’t want to know. Now, Ann Evans, pass the drawing paper around and Peter Johnson, take the box of crayons out of the drawer, will you please. Juliana Whitehouse, I’ve heard your voice a few too many times so you won’t be drawing with the rest of the class. Sit there with your hands on your head. Perhaps that will teach you not to answer back.”
I obeyed her grudgingly and felt a tear roll down my plump cheek.
“Big babby!” a girl whispered to me while the teacher’s back was turned. But when I looked around the little boy sitting behind me looked up and smiled. It was a kind smile, the nicest thing that had happened to me that day. I smiled back and that seemed appreciated, but just then, Miss Smith turned and caught me.
“What is it that you find so funny, Juliana?” she asked.
I sighed. “Nothing, Miss.”
“I should hope so. Sit still and quiet then perhaps I’ll let you take your hands down off your head for a moment.”
I had cheered up a little when it was time to go home. I should really have enjoyed school, it was time away from the loonies but they were occasionally nice to me, no one seemed to like me at all in this place and home time usually meant sweets and then tea time. Food was certainly one of my greatest pleasures. Roma was waiting for me at the gate. She smiled and waved dramatically as usual. Her red curls reached her shoulders and the wind had pulled them back off her face, adding years to her. Her round, curvaceous body swayed beneath a calf length, burgundy coloured raincoat and her bare feet had been pushed into a pair of shiny black pointed towed stilettos that were far too narrow for her. As I moved closer she appeared to dance in anticipation, making a point of appearing pleased to see me. She didn’t speak to the other mothers often. I was quite pleased about that as her false sounding upper class accent made her stick out like a sore thumb and would only give the children another reason to make fun of me. Only Dad seemed to fit in at all with our neighbours, Roma and her parents made me cringe at times with their behaviour, I was glad that Grandma never went out, at least that meant the other children didn’t have to see her.
Some of the other girls and boys ran through the school gates, others walked, some chatting to friends or older siblings. There were many mixtures of characters in the area, the first groups of children to arrive with their parents from the Caribbean spoke with an accent. Those of Irish extraction seemed to speak just like everyone else but you could tell their parents weren’t local. Unlike Roma, most mothers worked if they could, even if it was only a twilight shift in a factory or a cleaning job. Most couples seemed to have anything between four and eight children; I was really the odd one out being an only child. No one had much money, we were a little better off than some but certainly not well off, yet Roma and Grandma didn’t seem able to believe that. They couldn’t understand that we were as working class as everyone else around here in this community of backyards, outside toilets, cobbled streets and handmade pigeon lofts. Everyone seemed to know each other and shared what they had, everyone except us. Our door was never open to friends, we had none and I wasn’t allowed to play in the street with other children. Roma and her psychologically disturbed mother didn’t appear to want to know anyone, we kept ourselves to ourselves, everything we did had to be kept private and Roma often said that people only know what you choose to tell them, so I was instructed to keep quiet about even the most innocent and simple goings on at home. Even telling a teacher what we ate for Sunday lunch was frowned on and I had been warned never to speak of anything we did, it was no one else’s business.
I continued to walk towards the gate, looking down at my black patient shoes that Grandma told me would make all the other children jealous. I walked alone and in silence, sometimes it was easier to be invisible.
“Hello, darling!” Roma threw her arms around me and gave me one of her theatrical hugs. She placed her painted lips against my cheek and left a damp kiss there. I tried to turn my face away but she pulled it back with her hand and plastered my skin with more embarrassing kisses. A boy and his sister stared at us for a moment, then walked away with their mother who was pushing a baby in a pram. I heard a few unfamiliar squeaks and gurgles coming from beneath the hood of the pram and lifted my chin to try to look inside. I could just about see a small head partly hidden beneath a frilled bonnet on the pillow.
“That’s a new baby, isn’t it, Mummy?” I said.
Roma took my hand. “Yes, love. I should think it is.”
“Could we have one? I’d like a baby brother or sister.”
Roma laughed loudly. “Good heavens, no we can’t. Don’t you think we’ve got enough with you? Anyway, I wouldn’t want another baby. Why would I?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, I just thought .....”
“Well don’t think then. I’ve got you and that’s the only child I want, thank you very much!”
She squeezed my hand and began to pull me away along the pavement towards home. Her stiletto heels clicked against the new concrete slabs that were beginning to replace the cobbles on the pavements. Her heavily made up eyes blinked down at me as she smiled. She was wearing perfume; I could smell it mingled with the sour stench of cigarettes. She seemed to be happy, that was something at least.
“Have you been a good girl at school today?” she asked.
I nodded. I didn’t dare mention that I had been in any trouble even though I didn’t feel any of it was my fault. She always promised that she would stick up for me if I wasn’t happy at school, yet she never did. It was all talk with her. If I mentioned anything about the other children calling me names she would simply say that it was my entire fault for taking notice of them. I couldn’t win.
We carried on walking and suddenly Roma stopped to cross the road, something we didn’t often do. “We’ll be going home a slightly different way tonight,” she said brightly. “I want to go to the butchers and we don’t usually pass it. Still, we’ll still call at the sweet shop and you can have some chocolate.”
“Good, I like chocolate.”
“I know you do, and you like crisps too, don’t you? Now I don’t really want your Grandma to know we’ve been walking this way so if you promise not to tell her, I’ll buy you a packet of crisps too.”
“And what about a bottle of pop?”
“We’ve got pop at home, sweetheart. I’m not made of money, now promise you won’t tell Grandma.”
“I promise.”
I knew what she meant. This had happened before and she had no intention of calling at the butchers. We would be walking what Roma called the long way home and I must keep quiet about it. Walking through these extra streets meant she wanted to take longer to get home, probably wanted to meet someone, but Grandma would always complain if her daughter was late, I think she must have timed her each time she left the house. Roma would make up some excuse and I would have to agree with it, then tactfully forget about it all, that was how things usually happened. She might even tell some tale about me falling over or not being well, anything so she wouldn’t be blamed for being late; she hated feeling her mother’s wrath and so did I. Grandma still treated her like a child and she still behaved like one.
Just as I had thought, we turned a corner and a man was standing there, a man I recognised. It was Fred the soldier, someone I strongly disliked. I hated his bullying ways but Roma seemed to be fond of him. She began waving frantically to him and he marched towards us, his broad face beaming, his dark eyebrows questioning. I had met him a few times now and although I took little notice of his conversations with Roma, I felt unsure about him, unsure why she felt the need to talk to him at all and why it had to be such a secret. I had asked about him but the answers were vague. He must have been on leave again, more was the pity.
“Hello, Ginger!” he called as he looked Roma straight in the eye. He was wearing his uniform, something he often did, probably to show off a bit. He looked down at me and his smile faded. “Hello, Fatty. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m walking with my Mummy,” I said shyly.
Roma let go of my hand and wrapped one of my corkscrew curls around her finger. “I had to bring her with me,” she said, hardly taking her eyes off this man’s face. “You know how it is at home.”
“Yeah, seems like nothing’s changed there then?”
“No, nothing at all.”
I skipped on ahead only to be told to stop in case I should fall over. I turned to look behind me and watched the two of them laughing, flirting and walking streets that were a little unfamiliar to me.
“Look at the state of you!” Roma said suddenly as she looked at me for a second. “One sock up and one sock down, your coat not buttoned properly, tidy yourself up or you know what your Grandma will say when you get home. Try and look presentable”
I noticed Fred grin and shake his head slowly. “She couldn’t look presentable how ever hard she tried, could you, Fatty? Go on, walk a bit faster, me and your mom want to talk privately.”
“Mummy doesn’t like me walking too fast.”
“Well you should try it, get some of that weight off you. Try behaving yourself and keeping out of your mother’s way, don’t you know when you’re not wanted? And stop looking at me like that, kid! You’re not the prettiest of girls at the best of times so why don’t you put your face straight and at least you might look something like normal.”
I looked at Roma for a bit of help, but she ignored me. I walked on but looked back from time to time just to see if they were still there. The pair of them were like teenage lovers, totally engrossed in each other. Roma was laughing a lot, presumably at Fred’s jokes and she was getting very touchy feely with him. I longed for her to look at me like that and actually mean it. My heart ached for Fred to stop making fun of me or at least for Roma to make some attempt to stick up for me occasionally, she never did. Surely I wasn’t that bad! I knew I was fat, I knew my ringlets looked ridiculous and that my front teeth were beginning to stick out. Advancing childhood was turning my hair colour from pale gold to a thin shade of dirty dishwater. My voice was too loud, I talked too much and often copied Roma’s little performances, especially if I could make people laugh with them. Then, for no apparent reason I would clam up and become invisible again, no one could get through to me then and that meant no one could hurt me. I wasn’t the world’s most likeable child. As I walked in silence and listened to the laughter behind me, much of it at my expense, I thought about the sweets I had been promised, the tea I would be eating later and then the supper I would share with Grandma. Food was just about the only pleasure I had.
Of course, Roma had other ‘friends’. I didn’t fully understand why she had these male companions, not until much later. There was a skinny little bloke called Ron who worked in the builder’s yard on the corner of our street. I had been walking with Roma several times when we passed the yard. She would call to him sometimes and they would stand talking and laughing while I stood around waiting. They did a lot of laughing together too but at least Ron was nice to me. I had seen them chatting in our back yard once but they usually did their flirting in the entry at the side of the house, I’d seen them there and Roma had once again made me sear to keep it a secret, or I would be for it. Of course, there was Mick, young Micky Clayton, our only family friend and only visitor except for Aunt Esther. Mick was at least fifteen years younger than Roma, which would have made him around nineteen or twenty years of age. He usually visited when Dad was at work and Roma would take him into the front room where they would stay for quite a while. Roma told me they would sit and talk and my innocence caused me to believe her, but I did think it strange that they locked the door. Apparently, Grandma had looked after him when he was a child and he had continued to visit us, which was quite a big deal as we were so isolated in that house. He wasn’t nasty to me, but he hardly spoke to me either, he made it obvious that he didn’t like having me around but there was nothing he could do about it, except to go off into that front room with Roma and leave me and Grandma sitting listening to the radio in the sitting room. I wanted to ask so many questions, but I didn’t dare. I was at the age of acceptance, whatever happened, I accepted it, like it or not! I accepted Fred kissing Roma goodbye in the entry at the side of our house, I watched in wonder as his hands caressed her body beneath her open coat. I remained silent as she pushed me quickly through the back door and demanded that I removed my ‘dirty’ knickers, even though I could have sworn they were perfectly clean.
“You’re late, Roma,” Grandma snapped as she stood in the kitchen doorway, balancing on her sticks. “How long does it take you to bring the child home from school? I’ve been very worried.”
“Sorry, Mom. It was Billy, she’s had the runs and they wouldn’t let me bring her home from school straight away. Now let me get her cleaned up and change her underclothes.”
Grandma left us alone and Roma smiled sweetly as she helped me undress. I stared at her in my usual confusion as she reached into the cupboard and brought out clean underclothes for me and helped me into my pyjamas.
“But .... but I didn’t have the runs, Mummy,” I said quietly. “My clothes aren’t dirty.”
“Afraid they are, darling! Oh dear, what a mess you’re in.”
“But Mummy .....”
Suddenly she grabbed a bunch of my hair and pulled it tightly so that my head was dragged to one side. Placing her lips against my ear she began to whisper in a hoarse and menacing manner. “You shit your knickers, Billy, that’s why we were late! You’re a filthy little bitch, it was your fault, understand me?”
I took a long shuddering breath and tears prickled my eyes and nose. “Yes ..... yes, Mummy.”
Her voice was sweet again and she let go of my hair, fluffing up the curls again with her fingers. “That’s right, love. Come on, there’s a good girl, step into your jamas for me.”
I obeyed her, my mouth was dry and I could feel my heart beating. She could be so scary sometimes. She examined the underclothes she had removed from me and began shaking her head as though they really were stained with faeces. She placed my knickers, vest and petticoat, all perfectly clean, into the sink and ran cold water over them, leaving them soaking as if they really needed a wash. Then she reached into the cupboard again and this time, she brought out a bottle of Californian Syrup of Figs, something she made me take regularly along with doses of Vitamin C and Virol Malt.
“Come on, drink this, there’s a love,” she said, pouring the disgusting laxative syrup into a spoon and forcing it into my mouth. She made me swallow four table spoons of the stuff so that before bed time I really did have the rip roaring shits and her story was believed by everyone in the house.
*******
It must have been summer because the trees in the school playground were ripe with green leaves. I had been at school for almost as long as I could remember, certainly since before Christmas. It seemed I spent more time at home than most of the other kids, I only had to sneeze and Grandma would insist I had a week off and Roma still used the old salt water to make me ill when she felt like it. Sometimes she would take me to the doctor and he would give me some bitter brown medicine to take, usually telling Roma to send me back to school, though she rarely did. She didn’t seem to want me out of her sight most of the time, unless she had one of her men friends around. When I was in favour she was gentle and kind but she was becoming more and more unpredictable and her slaps were getting harder and more frequent, sometimes she would hit me just to make me cry so that she could hug me and tell my dad what a silly cry baby I was becoming. I didn’t get her one bit. I still wasn’t considered to be strong, especially by Grandma who took great pleasure in her supposedly delicate granddaughter. Even having a strip wash was considered too dangerous in the cold weather, as was going out if it was wet or windy. Certainly my hair was never washed, Grandma brushed what she called dry shampoo through it occasionally and I was allowed a bath in front of the sitting room fire occasionally. Still, that was the way most of us kept clean as few of the houses had hot water or a bathroom.
I still hated school but Dad insisted I had to go. He kept on saying we would get into trouble if I had any more time off and Roma appeared terrified of the school board man. She was afraid of anything or anyone associated with what she saw as authority such as welfare workers or the police. So it seemed to me that school now had to be part of my life and I’d better make the best of it, as hard as it could be at times.
There was a young boy in my class named Jimmy who actually seemed to like me. Our friendship had been made the day I was sitting through our drawing class with my hands on my head and he had smiled at me. He was small and skinny with brown cropped hair and scabby knees. I think Jimmy was a bit of a misfit, he often stood alone in the playground while the other boys kicked a ball around together or played marbles. We just seemed to tag along together, Jimmy and I. He didn’t call me names or make fun of me and he was someone to walk with to those school gates every afternoon.
“Are you going on the trip to Dudley Zoo,” he asked as we walked. He removed a piece of Wrigley’s gum from its metallic wrapper and ripped it in half, passing me a piece.
“No thanks, Jim,” I said, shaking my head. “Grandma doesn’t allow me to have chewing gum.”
“Oh, okay,” he shrugged. “But what about the trip to the zoo?”
“I dunno, I hope I can go. Will you be there?”
“I hope so. I’ve only been to the zoo once, it was good. There’s lots of monkeys and tigers and things but it does stink a bit.”
I giggled. “I’ve never been to the zoo.”
“Why?”
“I dunno,.”
“Ever been ter Blackpool?”
“Nope, don’t think so.”
“You’ve not been ter many places, have you?”
“Suppose not.”
In my school bag I had the paper ready for Roma to sign, the paper that had to be returned with the payment for the school summer trip. Apparently, we’d be going on a coach, something else that was completely new to me and I was quite excited at the thought, I hoped Roma and Grandma would allow me to go, but I had my doubts. Jimmy couldn’t contain his excitement, his blue eyes sparkled with it and he had even promised to sit beside me on the coach if I could go.
As usual, Roma was waiting for me at those gates. Jimmy could walk home by himself now, as could many of the children, but it was his granny who had come to meet him today. He was off to have his tea at her house along with his brother and sisters because their mother had gone out. She was a small, thin woman with a caved in face. According to Jimmy she did own a set of false teeth that fattened her cheeks a little when she wore them, but she didn’t like to, complaining that they pinched her when she tried to speak or eat. She flashed Jimmy a gummy smile and he ran towards her, skidding to a stop in front of her and waving his piece of paper in her face. She looked at me, her lined face was friendly and her hair was pulled back off her face and pushed beneath a blue headscarf.
“See ya later, Jule,” he called to me.
I waved back to him and his grandmother and skipped on to meet a smiling, heavily made up Roma. Her dress was wide skirted, low at the neck and her cream knitted cardigan was draped elegantly around her shoulders. She put up one hand to shade her eyes from the sun and her numerous rings and bracelets glinted in the natural light.
“Mummy, can I go on the school trip, please?” Those were the first words out of my mouth.
Roma threw me one of her theatrical hugs, kissed my cheek and drew an invisible line with one finger across my brow and down the length of my nose. “School trip? What’s all this about?”
I reached into my bag for the paper the teacher had given me and waved it at Roma. “You’ll need to sign this,” I said excitedly. “We’re all going to the zoo, on a coach and it’s not much money. Please, can I go too?”
Roma took the paper and glanced at it quickly, her carefully plucked and pencilled eyebrows rose into a questioning frown. “Erm ..... no, you won’t be going on any trips with the school, sweetheart.”
I felt my heart sink but I wasn’t surprised. “Why not, Mummy? All the other kids are going.”
“I doubt that, sweetie. Some of the families round here won’t be able to afford it and you wouldn’t enjoy it. You don’t want to go anywhere without your mummy and daddy, do you? We wouldn’t be able to come with you, you know.”
“I know that. It’s just for us kids and the teachers. I’d like to go, please!”
“No dear, we think far too much of you to allow you to go. Can you imagine what your grandma would say? She’d worry herself sick until you came home. All those children running loose round a zoo and only a couple of teachers to look after you all, they can’t watch each one of you all of the time, something might happen to you. Anything, could happen, you could get lost. No, afraid you can’t go. Not this year. During the school holidays I’ll take you to the zoo with your daddy, how about that then?”
I felt my face drop but Roma ignored my obvious disappointment. She took hold of my hand, swinging my arm playfully as we walked together.
“But I wouldn’t get lost, Mummy,” I whined.
Roma’s tone was sharp this time. “No, and that’s the end of it. You’ve never been anywhere without your mummy and daddy before, you’d be frightened, you wouldn’t enjoy it and we’d never forgive ourselves if anything happened to you. We all think far too much of you to allow you to go off with a bunch of school children, it’s bad enough that you have to spend so much time here as it is. Anyway, I didn’t think you liked any of these children, what would you want to spend a whole day at a zoo with them for?”
“I just thought that it might be nice, that’s all.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be. We’ll hear no more about it so it’s no use sulking. You won’t be going and that’s that!”
I sighed and pulled my hand from hers. She let it go and allowed me to walk slightly ahead of her. It seemed to me that I would be the only child in the school not to go on that trip, I was so disappointed. I hated some of those kids but I imagined things might be different at the zoo, everyone might be happy and I’d have been with Jimmy anyway. But I knew it was useless. Still, the smell of the fish and chip shop soon cheered me up. It was Friday which meant that we would be calling there on the way to our house and bringing our tea home with us. All seemed well in the world as I chewed the vinegar soaked chips and crunched the crispy batter. I scraped the last scraps from the greaseproof paper, licked my fingers and then tucked into some homemade rice pudding. It was no wonder my waist was growing inches by the week and also no wonder Roma found it so easy to make me vomit with the help of a little salt water. My stomach was rarely ever empty. She seemed to get some kind of weird gratification from watching me eat and would sulk like a five year old if I didn’t empty my plate. She was becoming the same with Dad, his meals were huge and he usually ate every scrap, he had to or she’d go off on one, complaining that he was too thin. I just thought he was lucky; he never seemed to carry any excess weight.
It was later that night, as Grandma brushed and curled my hair that I began to feel resentful again. Although I went to school and mixed with other children there, I still knew very little about the outside world. We still had no TV and the news on the radio was still banned. I couldn’t join in the conversations at school about anything the grownups thought topical, such as the Munich air crash a few years earlier which had left many a young lad in tears. Apparently, one of the Manchester United football players who had died in the air crash came from Dudley, a town just down the road from here. His name was Duncan Edwards, Jimmy had explained that to me and I was interested to know a thing or two about him, but Roma and Grandma refused to talk about it, both saying that it was nothing for me to bother about. Dad seemed a little keener to talk about these things but there was always one of those women to snap at him and make him stop talking to me about things that ‘didn’t matter’. I knew I was different. I hadn’t seen the goings on inside other people’s homes but I was convinced no one else lived as we did. The other children at school didn’t sleep with their mothers and I was sure they didn’t have to have their hair scraped into tight curlers each night. My grandfather had been playing his little games with me again so I was sore. Sometimes it would happen if I was in the kitchen but more often, it was in the sitting room when Grandma was in the front room and Dad was at work or had gone shopping with Roma. There were times when she was there too, I noticed her watching us once, I looked at her for a long time as he had his way, but she said absolutely nothing and made no attempt to stop him. When he left me alone she smiled and brought me some biscuits to eat. The food helped but it didn’t take the soreness or the confusion away. I had started to pull away from him at times but Roma would always scold me for that, telling me I was rude and that it was hurtful for Granddad to think I didn’t love him. Grandma flatly refused to talk about it as no one in our household other than me was ever allowed to be upset, it seemed better to let things be. But I was becoming rebellious. I didn’t enjoy that man’s hands pushing around beneath my knickers while reciting silly rhymes and pretending it was all a game. He couldn’t raise a smile these days, let alone anything else, but he still liked to touch and it was beginning to sicken me.
“Come on, there’s a good girl,” he would whisper. “Be a good girl for your granddad.”
I was learning to hate him.
The disappointment over the school trip seemed to have started something. It was as if it had set off some kind of defiance in me, a tiny piece of rebellion long overdue. Grandma had almost finished curling my hair and as she pulled the brush through one of the last loose strands; I took a deep breath and swallowed hard, tightly screwing up my eyes. She simply thought I was making a statement about her pulling my hair too harshly with that brush.
“Please, Juliana, dear. Sit still, will you?”
“I don’t like it, Grandma,” I said solemnly.
“Well,” she replied sharply. “We can’t always have the things we like! I know you don’t enjoy having your hair curled but it has to be done, if it isn’t then it will hang like rat’s tails and you’ll look as awful as some of the other children who go to that terrible school your father insists on sending you to!”
I took another breath and went for it, full throttle. “It’s not my hair, it’s Granddad!”
“What on earth are you talking about, darling?”
“I ..... I don’t like him. I don’t want him to touch me anymore.”
“What do you mean? Your granddad likes to touch you, he loves you. I’ve seen you try to push him away sometimes when he puts his arm around you and that’s very naughty. It upsets him, you know.”
I could feel my heart pounding, I thought it was going to burst out of my chest but I had to tell her, I wasn’t going to shut up now. “I don’t like the way Granddad touches me,” I said. “He always touches me where ..... where I don’t want him to.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?”
I heard myself sigh. “He makes me sore when he keeps touching me and rubbing and tickling and ..... I don’t like it. That’s why I get sore, it’s not cos I wet the bed it’s cos Granddad touches me and I don’t think he should.”
Grandma began brushing my hair harder than ever. My scalp was tingling and my head had been pulled back so that my neck hurt. “Rubbish! I don’t know what’s happening to you since you’ve started that school but you’re telling more lies than ever. You disgust me, you don’t deserve a family like this one that looks after you so well. You’re just a spoilt little girl who likes to tell stories. I won’t listen to any more of this rubbish! Shut up and keep still. I’ll be having a word with your mother about this.”
“No, Grandma, please don’t. Can’t you just tell Granddad not to ......”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t know what trouble you’re trying to cause with your lies but whatever it is, it’s not going to work.”
“But I’m not lying, Grandma. My granddad does .....”
“That’s enough!” I could hear my grandmother’s breathing and when I turned to look at her there was no colour in her face. “I can’t believe you’ve turned into such a wicked little liar. “Now we’ll hear no more about it, do you understand?”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“I think you’d better say sorry for telling those wicked lies, you’ve made me feel ill now.”
My heart sank like a stone and I felt tears prickling my eyes. I didn’t want to apologise, didn’t see why I should; I was telling her the truth. But to stay sane in this house I had to learn the language of lies, so I lowered my head and sobbed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.”
“You’re damn right you shouldn’t! You made it all up, didn’t you?”
“I suppose so,” I bleated, nodding vigorously. “I’m sorry.”
“I should think so!”

It was a few days later while I was changing the clothes on one of my dolls that I thought about our little conversation again. Grandma appeared to have forgotten about it and for some reason; I’d been kept away from school again. I was bored. I looked down at the filthy, faded carpet in the sitting room, picked up another couple of dolls and a teddy bear before making my way into the kitchen, leaving Grandma and Roma drinking tea in the sitting room beside the fire. Lord knows where my granddad was and Dad must have been at work. Bonzo followed me, his long ears dragging on the floor as he sniffed around him. He was really old now and his eyesight wasn’t all it could be. I hadn’t been taking much notice of anything Grandma and Roma had been talking about, none of it made any sense to me anyway. I had been drinking a glass of pop, suitably warmed first. Grandma considered the stuff was far too cold for me to drink straight from the bottle so it had to be warmed for me. It tasted disgusting but I drank it anyway.
I was quite happy to be alone in that kitchen. The dog licked my hand as if in a gesture of kindness, then he sat beside me as I lined up the dolls and the teddy beside the sink. Their blind eyes seemed to stare back at me.
“Now sit there and listen like good children,” I told the toys in my best copy of a teacher’s voice. “I might tell you a story.”
Of course, they remained perfectly still and silent as I waffled on about some story I’d heard at school, something about a princess and pea, I think. I couldn’t remember the entire tale so I improvised when necessary and used a fair bit of poetic licence. Now that I was allowed to spend a little time alone in this kitchen, I had another tiny space of my own where I could talk to myself, sing, dance, recite rhymes or do anything I wanted without another human being watching me. Only Bonzo responded, usually by sniffing or licking my hand. As I continued with my story he cocked his head from side to side as if he was actually listening to what I had to say. By the time Roma appeared behind me he had tired of the situation and had walked away, possibly sensing that the kitchen was not a good place to be just then.
“I hope you’re satisfied!” Roma said, almost in a whisper. “Do you realise you’ve made your grandma ill with your nasty lies?”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I said nothing. I stared at the door of the cupboard where the crockery was kept and felt Roma’s body move closer behind me. I knew what she was on about. I think I must have been waiting for this but I certainly wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t turn to look at her, I didn’t have to. I could feel her tension, her anger and my own terror as my heart began to beat faster. It seemed to be beating in my ears too. I heard her squat down behind me. I jumped as she placed her soft skinned but strong hand across my mouth and pressed tightly. With the other hand she tugged some of my long strands of hair, winding them around her fingers and pulling until my neck was stretched and my head was leaning against her shoulder. She placed her lips beside my ear and whispered to me, which seemed to make her voice more venomous.
“The devil comes to take little girls who tell lies, Billy. He’ll take you away so that you’ll never see any of us again, then he’ll cut out your tongue so you can’t speak and he’ll send you back to that children’s home where you would have stayed if I hadn’t come along and adopted you. They won’t put up with your whining and your bed wetting there, my girl. If you wet the bed in that place they’ll rub your dirty little nose in it and you won’t be able to tell them to stop, you’ll have no tongue so you won’t be able to say anyone to anyone ever again. So don’t let me hear you telling lies about your granddad again, do you understand?”
She loosened her grip for a moment and I began to nod.
“And are you sorry?”
I nodded again.
“Well, if you’re sorry now, you’ll be even sorrier if I ever hear that you’ve been telling lies like that again. Your feet won’t touch the ground next time, sweetie, so watch what you’re saying about the people in this house, the people who love and care for you, people who would die for you. Do you understand me?”
She pulled my hair even more tightly and my scalp began to tingle. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks and I thought my heart would burst through my ribcage. I tried to wriggle out of her grip for a second but she was too strong for me. I knew I was shaking, I couldn’t move, it felt as though my arms and legs had no bones in them.
“Well, do you understand me?” She loosened her grip on my mouth and I managed a muffled “yes”.
“Good. So be careful, love. Watch that filthy lying mouth of yours, it’ll get you into more trouble than you can ever imagine. Your granddad would never harm you, none of us would. We adore you, we’ve given up so much to look after you and this is the way you repay us. Understand?”
“Yes, Mummy, I do.”
I did understand. I knew what she meant. Telling the truth meant telling the family what they wanted to hear, not what was actually going on. I think I had been already well aware of that fact, but I had tried. I must have been mad to think that Grandma would actually listen to me, that she might believe me and that she wouldn’t tell Roma what I had told her. No one would listen to me, no one would believe the things my granddad was doing to me and no one would believe Roma was anything but an angel most of the time. No one in this house believed anything they didn’t want to, it was like that. The whole family were away with the fairies and if I needed to survive I had to play the game. When she let me go I wound myself into a ball on the kitchen floor, the old floor tiles were cold against my bare legs. I heard her leave the room quietly and I cried for a long time, the longest time I can remember.
It was dark when Dad came home and I was eating my tea. Roma was all smiles by then as she sat beside me on that bed. Grandma was still in her arm chair, supported by her numerous cushions she sipped tea serenely. The clock over the fireplace chimed seven times. Tea had been late, Dad must have been working late and he looked at me with questioning eyebrows.
“What’s up, love? You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out.”
“She’s all right,” Roma explained chirpily. “She’s been a naughty girl and had a telling off, but everything’s all right now.”
Dad peeled off his jacket. “What’s she been up to?”
“Nothing much. She’s been caught out telling fibs, that’s all. Nothing to bother about and it’s sorted out now, isn’t it, sweetie?” She smiled so gently and lovingly I almost believed she loved me as she placed a tender arm around my shoulder.
I nodded as I bit into a buttered crust. Roma’s face was soft as she stood up and hugged my dad, rubbing his tired shoulders and stroking his face. Her smile was soft, her tone warm and tender. After bringing Dad’s meal in from the kitchen she tickled my neck with her fingers and it was almost pleasurable. She made a fuss of me all that night, she let me stay up late, played draughts with Dad and I and red me two stories before it was time for bed. This was the woman I wanted for a mother, this was the Roma that didn’t exist.

[Emms]

Four
“Where’s me socks, love?”
Dad searched through the little pile of clean washing on the kitchen table.
“They’re upstairs, Albie,” Roma called to him from the sitting room door. “I put them in the draw with your hankies and other things.”
Dad left me in the kitchen, ducking his head as he moved through the doorway. He had a slight curvature of the spine, nothing really disabling and not too noticeable, but it had kept him from his National Service. His height seemed to make the small, cluttered space seem even more claustrophobic. I watched him rushing about from room to room and I wondered how tall he would have been had his spine been perfectly straight.
The door to the sitting room was wide open and I could see Roma standing in front of the sideboard. She drew hard on her cigarette, blew smoke at the ceiling and emptied the dregs from her coffee mug down her throat. It was a thick handled mug, white with blue stripes, the height of fashion for the early 1960s. Grandma disapproved of mugs like that, she preferred to eat and drink from old fine china, she never used the modern stuff that had recently entered our house.
There had been a few changes at home. In one corner of that sitting room there now proudly stood a small wooden TV set. It wasn’t switched on very often and just as with the radio, the news was forbidden. I was allowed to see some of the children’s programmes and a few evening shows, but if anything appeared that Roma or Grandma felt might be too upsetting for me, Roma would turn down the volume and stand in front of the screen. They felt they were protecting me from the evils of the outside world. Pity they couldn’t protect me from the goings on inside this house too.
Roma loved the cowboy movies and American cop series, she seemed to long for the fantasy of a life so far from her own and would drool embarrassingly over some of the actors, when Dad wasn’t watching, of course. He liked the sport on Saturdays, especially football, Granddad had the horse racing to watch and I simply made the best of whatever I was allowed to see. Grandma would occasionally enjoy a variety show but had little interest in anything else the TV had to offer. She still preferred the ‘wireless’ as she called it or playing the piano. I liked the TV, I felt less left out of place at school when the other kids talked about shows they had watched, I could join in their TV gossip now. That little box had brought a piece of the 20th century into this household.
“Did you find the socks, sweetie?” Roma asked as Dad came back from the bedroom.
“Yeah, I got them. I changed me jumper too, thought I’d better make the effort.”
“Hmmm, all right,” Roma looked worried. “I suppose you know what you’re doing.”
I watched from the kitchen doorway as Dad laughed and reached under the table for his shoes. “As long as we keep it quiet,” he explained, “things should be okay. Trust me, love.”
“I do trust you. It’s just that .....”
“Stop worryin’.”
I slipped back into the kitchen but could still see my parents through the open door. The huge mirror over the sideboard reflected the whole side of the room so I could see everything that was going on, but in reverse. Dad sat on the edge of the bed and tied his shoe laces. When he stood up I saw Roma fall into his arms, her mouth came up to meet his and they kissed for a few moments. Grandma and Granddad were in the front room, or the parlour, as they sometimes called it. They weren’t often in that room but sometimes Grandma got dressed in there while Granddad sat and red the paper or ate his early morning toast. I supposed that must have been their space. Dad and Roma wouldn’t have been so tactile had the old couple been watching them. It didn’t seem to matter to them that I could see. I was convinced that other parents didn’t behave that way. I had seen couples their age in the street now and in shops and they didn’t walk hand in hand or continually touch each other. It was mainly Roma who did all the touching but Dad didn’t usually push her away. Sometimes she would lay her head on his shoulder or even press her body against his. Sometimes she would forget herself and climb onto his lap if they were watching TV and Grandma was in the other room. I had seen Dad squirm a little in his chair but he never pushed her away, there would have been floods of tears if he had done and none of us wanted that. Sometimes, when they had been talking and laughing and touching each other’s arms, they would disappear into the kitchen if Grandma was around. Then she would sigh and roll her eyes, grumbling to me about them, though I wasn’t sure why.
Today I was mystified; something had been going on all morning. There was an atmosphere around, those two had been talking in low voices and Grandma had got one on her, someone or something had rattled her because she’d been very sharp with me for no apparent reason. Roma had fed me the usual vitamin collection, my syrup of figs and had even tried the salt water again, but I was making too much of a fuss over it, with Dad in the house she couldn’t force the stuff down my throat and it was a Saturday, he was always here at weekends. She did try telling him that she thought I might have a temperature, that I’d been coughing in the night, but for once he didn’t seem to be taking much notice.
“Now, you be a good girl,” Roma said as she helped me into my coat and wrapped a scarf around my neck. “Do everything your daddy tells you, don’t get running off down the street and remember, whatever anyone says to you, you’ve been to the park with him, right?”
I nodded. “Okay. But ..... are we really going to the park?”
“Shhhh! Roma placed one finger against her own lips and crouched down in front of me. “You know what I’ve always said, love. No one knows anything unless you tell them.”
I was still confused. I didn’t really know what the hell she was talking about and I’d never been out with just my dad before, Roma was always there too.
“So it’s a secret then?” I asked, happy to be part of some adult conspiracy.
“Yes, it’s a secret. And you know what can happen to little girls who don’t keep secrets, they get into real trouble.”
As she smiled and then kissed my cheek, I thought I saw tears in Roma’s eyes. I was only going to the park with Dad, what was the big deal? I knew Grandma didn’t like the idea, but she never liked me spending time with my dad, especially outside of the house. I had been to the park before, but Roma had always been there, always holding onto my hand like dear life, unless she had one of her ‘friends’ with her, of course. I was actually going to be allowed to go out with Dad and leave her at home, I could hardly believe it.
I had watched her painting her face in her little compact mirror that morning, as always. She had dotted powder over her nose, plastered blusher on her cheeks then spit on her black block of mascara before brushing it through her already long lashes. Then she had rimmed both eyes with a thick black pencil line which made them appear larger but was still too heavy, especially after she painted her lips a brilliant shade of red. Now, as her eyes glistened with tears, I imagined the mess that would be left behind if she really did start crying, could see that she was either genuinely upset about something or she was about the put on one the performance of her life. I was never sure which.
“I love you, sweetie pie,” she whispered as she tweaked my nose with her thumb and finger. “I’ll always love you, remember that. No one else in this world will ever love you as much as I do.”
I had heard those words so many times and I didn’t believe them anymore. I was becoming a cynical child but I had to play the game, had to pretend or I knew there would be trouble. It was all about survival, my survival.
“I love you too, Mummy,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I was talking about.
“Awww, I know you do, darling.”
Roma hugged me tightly. I felt my body stiffen and turned my face away from hers. Dad shrugged into his dark grey jacket and combed his hair in that tall sideboard mirror. I could see into that mirror now though the one hanging over the fireplace on the opposite wall was still a little high for me. I knew only too well what I looked like now. The kids at school were right, I was fat, I wobbled around the house and sometimes tried to run in the playground, but that was another secret, running around was still forbidden. My hair didn’t fall into ringlets anymore, it was way too long for that now, but Grandma still insisted on curling it each night. My head now supported a waist length frizzy pony tail, tied back by a red velvet ribbon. I was almost always wrapped in too many clothes, even in the house. I had to wear a vest, a petticoat and a liberty bodice, that was a tightly boned monstrosity that reached from my neck to my waist and fastened at the front with tiny rubber buttons. Grandma insisted that I had to be kept warm and Roma did mostly the things Grandma told her to, it was like that.
“Ya ready then?” Dad asked, looking down at me.
“I’m ready, where are we going? Are we really going to the park?”
“Erm ... we might be, or we might be going to see someone.”
“Who?”
Dad bent down so that his face was close to mine and he spoke in a whisper. “Someone you haven’t seen for a long time. Remember the cards you got on your birthday and Christmas from Granny Whitehouse?”
I felt something leap inside me. Was I actually going to meet the mystery woman? “Gran Whitehouse? Who is she anyway?”
“Shhh, not so loud. I’m going to take you to see your other grandparents, my mum and dad, that’s your gran and granddad Whitehouse. But not a word about it or we won’t be able to go again, not a word to ..... to you know who.”
I was whispering now. “You mean I mustn’t tell Grandma.”
“You’ve got it, love. We don’t talk about it once we get home, your mum knows but no one else, right?”
He winked and put his thumb up to me. I copied him but when I tried to wink I screwed up both eyes instead of one. Both Dad and Roma laughed and everything was good in my world for a while. I was learning, I knew the things Grandma wouldn’t approve of. Roma was usually the same, I kept a lot from her and had an idea Dad did too, but this time she seemed to know all about what was going on. She stood at the back door and waved us off, her eyes brimming with tears, I couldn’t understand why all this was so upsetting for her, I was going to see my other grandparents, so what? Bonzo sat on the step beside her feet and he appeared just as confused. I knew Grandma was sulking and she had no idea where we were going, she simply thought we were off to the park and it seemed even that was a crime. My disappointment over losing out on the school trip was beginning to fade, that had been ages ago, in the summer. I still shivered when I thought of Roma’s attack on me after I’d been talking to Grandma about Granddad touching me, but he hadn’t done it since and no one had mentioned it again. I was actually happy.
We made our way down the passage at the side of the house, into the street and past the houses to the bus stop by the shops. I skipped on, Dad followed. He was never far behind but he didn’t tell me to slow down in case I hurt myself, he actually let me run and even allowed me to walk on a low wall for a time. I noticed that unlike Roma, Dad seemed to actually know some of our neighbours. A few people stopped and spoke to him while others nodded their heads as we passed by. One man sped past on his push bike and waved to Dad, who lifted one arm and held it in the air for a few seconds which I assumed was his way of waving back. My head was filled with questions, but I knew better than to ask many. Perhaps I was afraid, scared that this special time wasn’t going to last for long, soon it would be lost and I’d be back with the loonies again, playing their silly games.
Dad held my hand as we crossed the road and passed a few parked cars. I could smell the fresh bread from the bakers shop and when we passed the builder’s yard an Alsatian dog pulled on its chain and barked noisily. There was a feel of autumn in the air, a kind of stillness. It wasn’t cold but Roma had made sure I was so well wrapped up that I wouldn’t have felt the cold if an 80 mph wind had been blowing snow in my face. We stopped at the bus shelter and I kicked the pile of pungent rotting leaves that had rested in the gutter. It seemed that for the first time, Dad was all mine. He smiled at me, talked to me and treated me as if I was a little girl, not a doll. I thought he knew everything, he could tell me who won the last cup final, he knew the name of the Prime Minister and even the name of the town mayor. I thought he must know everything, more than my teachers.
“Now remember,” Dad said. “This stuff we’re doing today, it’s just between us.”
“I know. Grandma wouldn’t like it.”
“No, me love. I don’t think she would.”
I took a deep breath and asked him another question, one I’d wanted to ask for some time now. “Why doesn’t Grandma like you, Daddy?”
He took his time to reply and I remembered asking Roma the same question some time ago. She had told me never to ask such a hurtful question again, that of course my grandma liked my dad, but I knew that was crap.
“I dunno, love,” Dad said eventually, standing with his hands in his pockets and looking at the houses across the road. “Perhaps she does like me, who knows what your grandma thinks?”
“I know, I can’t always tell what she’s thinking. Dad, what’s my other grandma like?”
Dad smiled. “She’s okay, cocker. She’s been asking to see you for a while now so I thought I’d better take you. You’re old enough to keep your trap shut about it now, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“She’s not much like the grandma you already know, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m glad she’s not, I think I might like her then. You won’t tell anyone I said that, will you Dad?”
He smiled to himself and rubbed his chin with one hand. “I reckon you understand more than we give you credit. Don’t worry, I won’t say anythin’.
I was pleased with the comment. “Is she like you?” I asked.
“Dunno. She might be, some say I look a bit like her. She’ll make you laugh, I bet. She’s always getting on at your granddad Whitehouse and he moans about her, but he takes care of her all the same, always did.”
“Is he nice?”
“I suppose you could say he is.”
“And will he be there?”
“Yep, I guess he will be. He’s not a bad bloke, me dad. He likes a drink and a bet on the horses once a week, but he knows when to stop.”
“He’s not like my other granddad then?”
Dad hesitated then smiled. “Er, perhaps he’s not, no. I guess his biggest faults the way he chews tobacco.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Dad laughed. “I dunno, but your granny thinks it is sometimes. I reckon you might like the pair of ‘em, you did meet them once ya know, when you were a baby.””
“Did they like me?”
“I reckon they did.”
“Then why haven’t I seen them again?”
Dad sighed. “Oh, don’t ask, bab! Just make the most of your time with them and don’t ask too many questions, eh?”
“Okay.”
The bus drew up and we climbed on the open back. Dad paid the conductress and patted me gently on the shoulder. “Your granddad Whitehouse doesn’t work now,” he said gently. “He’s retired, but he used to work on the canals, all my family did. Boaties, that’s what they used to call them. Then, when me and me brother was little we all came off the boats and Dad got a job as a carter on the railway.”
“What’s a carter?”
“A man who drives a cart drawn by a horse, you’ve seen them in the streets haven’t you? Mind you, there ain’t so many hosses and carts about these days, it’s gettin’ to be all vans now. He worked at the railway depot, your granddad. He used to tek all the parcels and stuff to the depot from Low Level Station. Your gran did a bit of cleaning work when I was a kid but not much, she looked after the house most of the time.”
“You mean like Grandma does.”
Dad laughed. “Nah, she’s nothing like your grandma. That one’s never worked in her life, thinks she’s too good fer work.”
“My mummy’s never worked either, has she?”
“Not since we got married, but she did work for a while, that’s how we met, at the old Hippodrome. The thing is, it takes up all her time looking after your Grandma and the rest of us and I’m not sure they’d like her to work, your grandparents. You know what they can be like.”
“I know.”
I thought of the old photos in our house, the pictures of Grandma as a young girl wearing high lace collars and fancy hats. I knew what Dad meant but I didn’t say anything more about it. We sat on the bus in silence until he spoke again.
“There’s one of the old canal depots,” he explained, pointing through the mucky glass window as the bus carried us over the canal bridge. “They’ve knocked most of ‘em down now but those are the places where your gran and granddad Whitehouse used to tek the stuff to when they was on the boats.”
“What stuff?”
“They was on what we used to call the bottle boats. Acid bottles, that’s what they carried. It was acid to be used in the old cotton mills up north, that’s where your granddad Whitehouse was born, up in Manchester. They moved about all the time, never stayed in one place for long and I don’t think me dad ever went to school, he can’t read and write anyway. Your gran’s not that good at writing either but you try and do her out of a halfpenny, that woman knows everything that’s in her purse.”
“You mean they were like gypsies?”
Dad began to laugh. “Yeah, ya could say that, but don’t let your gran hear yer.”
He carried on talking and I realised I was hearing things about his family that I had never known. I learned that I had an uncle too; he spoke about his brother so I must have had an uncle. Apparently he had cousins and uncles and aunts himself, people I had never heard of. The only family we were allowed to speak of at home were Grandma’s family. I was amazed at how different it was to travelling with Roma, I decided I liked going out with my dad and wanted to do it again someday.
We got off the bus in the town centre and waited for another one. Dad explained to me what all the buildings were, buildings like the art gallery, the County Courts, the Town Hall and the old Hippodrome where he used to work. I was fascinated; it was so different to the patronising replies Roma always gave me when I asked her any questions. The next bus took us through streets I had never seen. Some of the roads were wide, the houses large and modern with long green lawns at the front. There were many changes going on in this town, even public transport was changing and this time we were riding on one of the new diesel powered busses whose engines were made at the Guy Motors factory on Park Lane. They were replacing the old trolley busses that had been around for as long as I could remember. We passed the hospital and Dad said it used to be the old workhouse when he was a kid. I asked about these places and Dad actually gave me a proper answer instead of the tiresome ‘nothing for you to worry your little head about’ that I always got from Roma or Grandma. We passed through what Dad explained was a council estate, where the houses didn’t look too bad but there were a lot of scruffy looking children playing in the streets. As the road narrowed the bus passed row after row of tiny cobbled streets lined with terraced houses, a bit like the area where we lived. We climbed off the bus and passed more of these houses, the brickwork was stained from years of smoke belching out of factory chimneys and the paint peeled from doors and window frames. I followed Dad down a short ally way and into one of the most tired looking streets I had ever seen. A thin tabby cat stretched lazily across one of the windowsills and two young boys almost crashed into us as they chased each other, squealing in mock fear. One little girl sat on a doorstep while two ageing men stood on the corner outside the pub, discussing the demise of our local football team. One of them doffed his cloth cap at Dad, who nodded to him in recognition. On the brickwork hung metal advertising posters, one showing an advert for Cherry Blossom show polish and another for Players cigarettes. Looking back, it seems impossible that places like still existed in the 60s, even to my young and sheltered eyes, I had a feeling this was a scene not long for this world.
“Where do we have to go now?” I asked Dad.
“Over there.”
He pointed to a block of six houses and took me by the hand, leading me down a walled entry that took us onto a cobbled courtyard. There were two outbuildings, the door to the one was slightly open and I could see it was a lavatory. The toilet seat appeared to be cracked and the pipe leading to the cistern was lagged with what looked like old cotton sheets wrapped tightly around it. Three doors to three back kitchens stood on each side of the yard, each facing the other and in the centre of the cobbles stood an old wrought iron mangle that had surely seen better days. Three separate washing lines were stretched from a bent nail on the wall to a hook above the door on one of the outbuildings. A few babies’ nappies, a child’s dress, what looked like a man’s vest and a pair of white cotton long johns hung there in the stillness. A rather tatty looking pushchair stood beside one of the stone doorsteps and there was the smell of frying bacon wafting from one of the open windows. It seemed we had come to a miserable place; each house looked tired and uncared for. I was soon to learn that the whole area was due for demolition, some of the occupants had already moved on, had been given homes on the council estates, sometimes they had moved into the new blocks of flats, all in the name of progress and the second phase of the slum clearance. Others, like my grandparents, were still waiting to be re-housed.
Dad tapped his knuckle against one of the doors, turned the knob and walked straight inside. I followed closely behind him and found myself in a tiny kitchen that smelled of damp and tobacco. It wasn’t unlike our kitchen at home, but perhaps a little smaller. The walls were un-plastered, the brickwork painted with several coats of yellow emulsion while on the floor lay cracked and broken flag stones, their original deep red colour fading fast after years of vigorous polishing. There was a tiny sink, an old gas cooker and a little wooden dresser containing shelves crammed with blue and white crockery. Some of the shelves had cups hanging from little hooks across the front.
“Anybody home?” Dad called out.
The sound of a woman’s voice came from another room. “All right, Albert?”
“You all right, Mum ..... Dad?” This is our Julie, remember her?”
My father placed his big hands on my shoulders and pulled me in front of him, gently guiding me into the next room. A well rounded little woman wearing a flowery apron stood beside the table. She smiled at me over her thin rimmed glasses and I noticed she had a similar dimple on her chin to my dad. Her long silver hair had been separated into two plaits which were carefully would around her head, her eyes were pale blue and friendly and as she placed the old brown teapot on its stand on the bleached white tablecloth, I noticed the only jewellery she wore was her wedding ring and a pair of small Creole earrings.
“Come on in then, lass,” she said. “Let’s have a look at you!”
Dad gestured with a jerk of his head to an empty armchair. I walked across the room and placed myself in the seat, making sure I kept my hands away from the embroidered cotton covers on the arms. I began to unfasten my coat; I was uncomfortably warm in the itchy brown cardigan I wore beneath it.
“Well, well well,” the old woman said with a grin. “We’ve been askin’ about you for some time, lass. You’ve grown up a bit since last time we saw ya.”
“She has that,” Dad said. I almost thought I could hear a little pride in his voice but he had to go and spoil it by adding, “she’s growing a bit too fast but that’s her mother’s doin’. Too much flamin’ food, especially the sweets.”
The woman laughed. “I just wish there’d been enough grub about for us to get you and our Thomas fat like that, Albert. Aw, the kid’ll run it off as she gets a bit older. Puppy fat, that’s all it is.”
My eyes scanned the room. It was very different from our sitting room at home, not exactly modern but lighter and less cluttered. There were no huge prints of Victorian ladies showing their tits, no unused gas lamps and only one small mirror, but there were two pictures of the old king and queen, one either side of the chimneybreast and a few well polished horse brasses decorated the tiling above the grate. The absence of mirrors and photographs was very noticeable; so was the absence of a bed. There was a photograph of me on the fireplace, one that had been taken at school. Beside it stood a framed photo of my parents, obviously taken at their wedding. I had never seen that picture before and decided I liked it. Dad stood tall and proud, a carnation in the buttonhole of his suit, while Roma, wrapped in a dress and veil of virgin white, smiled and posed for the camera in a childlike, coquettish way. There was just one other photo, a young man I didn’t recognise. I was more interested in the man who stood in front of the fire. He wasn’t young, he was tall, his arms were folded across his slender body, his upper lip was partly hidden by a white moustache and he winked one grey eye at me. I smiled at him and watched him chewing vigorously. Suddenly he turned his head towards the grate and spat into the flickering flames. Whatever he had spat into that fire made a fizzing noise for a few seconds.
“Joby Whitehouse!” the elderly woman said sharply. “What the ‘ell do yer think yer doin?” Will ya be’ave yerself in front of our Julie?”
I liked that, ‘our Julie’. It made me feel that I belonged here.
The man smiled and his chin dimpled. “Ah, it’s only me spittin’ out the juice from me backy. What do yer expect me ter do with it, woman? Swallow the flamin’ stuff?”
“I expect you ter show some manners, that’s all.”
I giggled and watched Dad smile too. The man rolled his eyes then stood in front of me for a moment as we looked each other over. He wore a white collarless shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing the protuberant blue veins which ran beneath the skin on his forearms. His trousers were dark and baggy; a pair of braces hung from his waist either side of his body. His thinning white hair had been combed to one side to give the illusion of fullness and he pushed his hands into his trouser pockets as he moved to the table and sat down. The woman handed me a cup of milky tea and a jam tart before she nervously tidied the table.
“Well, how are ya, lass?” she asked me without looking up.
“I’m all right. I ..... I didn’t know I was coming here til ..... til this morning.”
“I see. And what do ya think of us, then?”
I er ..... I like you.”
“Happen ya do. It’s been a long time, ain’t it? Yer talkin’ to ya Gran Whitehouse now, bet ya don’t remember the last time ya did that?”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
The old man, who I rightly presumed was my ‘other’ granddad, poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and helped himself to two spoonfuls of sugar. “And tha’s talkin’ ter ya old granddad an’ all. Bet ya don’t remember me either?”
“No, sorry, I don’t.”
“Well tha’s here now an’ that’s all that matters, me love.” I noticed Granddad Whitehouse had a strong, long vowelled northern accent. “S’pose we better make the most of yer visit. Yer Granny made them tarts, what d’ya think of ‘em?”
“They’re really nice. Gran’s a good cook.”
“Aye, happen she is. Tha’s a polite little lass, ain’t ya?” Granddad smiled to himself before taking a biscuit from the brightly coloured tin on the table, slowly dunking it in his tea before taking a bite. “You can ‘ave another tart if ya want,” he said. “We ain’t got much, lass, but what we’ve got we can share with you.”
“Thank you.”
I knew I was smiling at these people and they didn’t seem to mind. I couldn’t always make out every word Granddad Whitehouse said but I understood my gran well enough. Her accent was more of a mixture of Manchester and Black Country; a strange combination which came from years of travelling about on the canals. Dad made himself comfortable on the sofa and was engrossed in the morning newspaper, while the old couple carried on with what seemed to be their usual conversation. It was nothing like the kind of talk I would have heard at home. They actually discussed their friends and neighbours and mentioned other members of the family. I learned that poor Mrs Johnson across the road had been into hospital and had to have her breast taken off, cancer, they called it but it seemed she might get over it. Gran moaned about the price of food and Granddad’s chewing tobacco and seemed to enjoy telling me about young Brian, the little lad next door, whose mother had bought him a guinea fowl that he kept in a cage in the kitchen.
“What’s a guinea fowl?” I asked, looking at her with fascination.
“She means a bloody guinea pig,” Granddad said, laughing. “I’ve told her a thousand times, tha says guinea pig, not fowl.”
Gran laughed too and looked a little embarrassed. “So what, the lass knows what I mean.”
These people actually seemed to have friends and other family to talk about; they didn’t treat everyone around them with the same distrust as Grandma and Roma did, seeing everyone as some kind of social outcast. Granddad Whitehouse chatted to my dad about money and about his job, something that would never have taken place at home. He asked if Dad had applied for another job yet, one that would pay a bit more than driving a delivery van for a toy shop. It was the first time I had ever been told what my father did for a living, the first time anyone had joined in a real conversation about real people in front of me. Of course, I had spoken to the other children at school, but they seemed to know so much more than I knew. Finally I wasn’t having the outside world hidden from me, Gran and Granddad Whitehouse seemed unfazed about speaking in front of me and even allowed me to join in at times. I felt incredibly privileged and grown up.
Dad was on his third cup of tea. I’d refused another and had taken off my coat and cardigan, Roma and Grandma would have had a fit if they’d known. I flicked through a battered old photo album Gran Whitehouse had given me. She stood at the back of my chair and leaned forward, pointing to each picture and reciting names I had never heard before.
“Your hair’s nice,” she said suddenly as she took hold of my fluffy pony tail and tugged it playfully. “Are them curls all natural then?”
I shook my head sadly. “No. Grandma .... that’s my other grandma, she curls my hair every night. She says it won’t look nice if it’s straight.”
“Aw, I reckon it’d look all right. I had mine long like that when I was a little girl. I never had mine cut, only when me mam trimmed the dead ends off it.”
“The other kids at school don’t like my hair.”
“Don’t they? Well, per’aps yer Dad might let yer get it cut some time. Anyway, how d’ya like school then?”
“I don’t like it.”
Gran frowned. “I wish I’d had more schoolin’ when I was younger.”
Granddad interrupted then as he munched on another biscuit. “Tha can have all the schoolin’ in the world and it won’t teach yer how to hold down a job and earn a good days pay.”
“Don’t talk so soft, our Joe! If you’d had better schoolin’ yer might have got yerself a better paid job and I wouldn’t have ‘ad ter go and scrub floors to make our money up.”
“Rubbish! It’s you whose talkin’ daft, missus! Tha went out scrubbin’ flamin’ floors cos tha wanted to, not cos yer ‘ad to. There’s work out there for lasses in offices, but them jobs don’t pay half what tha gets in a factory. A mucky job, that’s what the lass needs, where there’s much there’s money and that’s true enough. Ain’t I right, our Julie? Tha don’t need learnin’ fer a mucky job but that’s where the money is.”
I heard my granny sigh heavily and Granddad Whitehouse winked at me again. “Don’t start gettin’ on yer high horse about things now, Joby,” she said. “We don’t want this little lass to think we’re always like this.”
“You are always like this,” Dad said, looking up from his paper. “You pair can’t agree on anything, never have.”
“Well we don’t want ter frighten her off, do we?” Gran said lightly. “It’s took enough pesterin’ fer you to bring her here, Albert.”
Granddad raised one bushy eyebrow. “Pesterin’! Who’s been pesterin’ our Albert?”
“I have. I wanted to see her and don’t tell me yer didn’t want to see our Albert’s little lass yerself, Joby Whitehouse! It’s been way too quiet in this house since we lost out Tom.”
Granddad pressed his thin lips together for a moment and looked away. “Aye, happen tha’s right.”
“Who’s Tom?” I asked, even though I knew these people weren’t actually talking to me at the time.
Gran’s eyes slid sideways and rested on the photograph that stood on the fireplace. It was the man I didn’t recognise. He had a big face, round cheeks and a wide smile.
“That was out Tom,” she said gently, gesturing to the photo with a little nod. “Has yer dad ever told you about him?”
I looked at my father but his face gave nothing away. “No one’s told me anything,” I said. “Will you tell me?”
Dad shrugged. “Tom was me brother,” he said in a low voice. “He’d have been your uncle. He was a lot older than me.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died, a long time ago.”
Gran nodded in agreement. “Yes, it was a while ago now. He’d been ill for a long time, he never was well, never was quite right.”
“Aye, but he knew what was goin’ on,” said Granddad sharply. “His brain never developed properly, that’s what the doctor said. Retarded, that’s what they call it, he never left us, the lad never grew up. They all said he wouldn’t live long, and they were right. He died but it were a blessin’ in a way, he’d never have been able to look after himself if we’d both gone before him.” The old man looked sad. “The lad had a good heart though, and that’s what matters. You know what we’re talkin’ about, don’t yer, lass? You know what death’s all about?”
I nodded. I did know though I can’t say I understood it. Grandma said people went to live with Jesus and Our Lady, I wasn’t sure. If people were being kind they preferred the term ‘passed away’, but it meant the same. When you were dead you weren’t around anymore. So I’d had an uncle and this was the first I’d heard of him, that didn’t seem fair. I didn’t care if he wasn’t quite the ticket, that didn’t matter to me, I should have known him. I felt a stab of resentment run through my heart.
“Did I ever see my uncle Tom?” I asked.
Dad shook his head. “No, love. Your grandma didn’t think it was right with him being ..... well, the way he was.”
“There’s a lot that was said about our Tom in your mother’s household,” I heard Gran say, almost to herself. “But that’s all in the past. It don’t do to harp on about it, can’t do anythin’ about things now. But the little lass is here so let’s make the best of her while we’ve got her.”
Granddad began to nod and he smiled. “Aye, what’s done’s done, right? Now fer all that learnin’ yer gran thinks tha should ‘ave, tell me summert. Have you ever heard of clog dancin’?”
Gran began removing the empty cups and plates from the table and carried them into the kitchen. “Oh, fer God’s sake, Joe! There’s better things fer the lass to learn than that daft stuff.”
Both my granddad’s eyebrows shot up and he straightened his back. “And what the ‘ell’s wrong with clog dancin’? We all learned it on the boats, especially when we was up north.”
“That’s true, but I’m sure our Julie don’t want to know about it.”
“Why not? Would tha like ter learn how ter clog dance, Julie?”
I nodded vigorously in fascination, partly out of genuine interest and partly because I wanted to please.
“Right, come on Albert, let’s show her!”
The elderly man grinned and took my hand, leading me into the kitchen. Dad followed and leaned in the doorway. He smiled and shook his head as he reached in his pocket and brought out his comb. Granddad rummaged around in a cupboard and found a piece of brown paper which he passed to my dad. I watched in fascination as Dad ripped off a piece of the paper and wrapped it around the teeth of the comb, then blew into it. Surprisingly he could make some kind of muffled tune. Granddad opened the back door and picked up his old steel toe capped boots from the step. He pushed his feet into them and tied the laces, then winked once at me, stood in the middle of the kitchen and told me to watch carefully. Gran placed the washing up in a bowl in the sink and rolled her eyes.
“Here we go, lass,” she said with a grin. “He’ll have yer watchin’ this all day if yer not careful. Daft old devil!”
As Dad blew some kind of tune on the paper and comb again, my new granddad moved his feet quickly in time to the music. I could hear the soles of his boots clattering against the rickety floor tiles as he performed what appeared to be a cross between Irish dancing and a theatrical tap dance. He moved too quickly for me to follow the steps, but I watched in wonder at his sprightliness. When he had finished he threw back his head and flung both arms in the air, balancing precariously on one leg. I clapped loudly. He was red faced and out of breath but still managed to speak.
“You goin’ ter have a try then, lass?”
I giggled shyly. “I’m not sure if I can.”
“Course yer can. Now, watch me, I’ll do it slowly.”
He danced for me again, but at half the speed. I tried to copy him but laughed at my own weak attempt. Then he stopped and showed me exactly what to do with my feet, I watched, coped, watched and copied again. I’ll never know how long we danced in that kitchen but I was exhausted by the end of it all. Gran pushed past me and made a fresh pot of tea.
“I reckon you’d better give it a rest now, Joe,” she said. “You’ll give yerself a heart attack if you ain’t careful.”
“Aye, happen yer right,” Granddad said breathlessly as he leaned against the wall to support himself. “When tha comes here again I’ll teach yer some more, might even teach yer how ter play the spoons an’ all.”
“The spoons?”
“Aye, it’s amazin’ what yer can bang out a tune with when tha tries.”
By the time we left I had learned the names of my cousins in Widnes and Runcorn, had met my grandparents neighbour who popped in to borrow a cup of sugar and could give anyone a fair performance of a clog dance. Granddad Whitehouse explained to me that it was called clog dancing because of the wooden shoes the old mill workers used to wear. I felt at ease with these people. I liked them.
“We can come back again soon, can’t we, Daddy?” I asked as we waved to the old couple who stood on the doorstep to watch us leaving.
“I s’pose so,” Dad replied, smiling down at me. “Leave it for a bit and I’ll bring you back again.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, so long as your mum doesn’t mind.”
I was quite happy then. The afternoon had been a good one. I don’t think Dad meant to break his promise to me, but when we arrived home, Grandma was in a foul mood and Roma was sitting sobbing on the bed.
“Oh, Albie ..... Albie! Thank God you’re home.” She threw her arms around Dad and clung to him like dear life.
“Roma, what the hell’s happened.”
“She fell,” Grandma snapped. “That’s what happened. While you were out gallivanting in the part with that child, Roma fell from top to bottom of the stairs. Look at the bruises on her leg!”
Roma lifted her skirt and revealed the red and raw marks on her thigh and calf.
“She could have been badly hurt, Albert,” Grandma went on. “She was barely conscious for a time and my husband wasn’t here. What would I have done if she couldn’t have got up? I can’t get out to the telephone box to call for an ambulance, I don’t speak to our neighbours, you know that so I couldn’t even have got some help from them. I don’t know what you were thinking of, you’ve been out of the house for hours. Look at the state of my daughter, this really isn’t good enough!”
I pulled off my scarf and pulled open the buttons of my coat. Roma sobbed in Dad’s arms and he did his best to comfort her. I could still hear her wailing and Grandma moaning as I wondered into the kitchen. Perhaps she really did fall, it was possible, I fell over sometimes. But the cynical child inside me had an inkling that it was all some kind of conspiracy. Dad never took me to see my other grandparents again, even though I asked a few times. The next time I heard him mention his father was when he explained he was getting ready to go to his funeral.

[Emms]

Five
There was all hell to pay when I caught nits. Roma dragged me to the hairdresser who cut off all my waist length tangles. It was a great relief to me, my head felt so light and even the smelly black shampoo that had been rubbed into my scalp didn’t matter to me. The itching had stopped and I felt clean for a change. Grandma sulked and scolded me once I came home. It had to be my fault for playing with those awful dirty children from school. Roma had asked the hairdresser to keep the hair she’d cut off and she brought it home in a paper bag.
“She looks like a little urchin,” Dad said as he came home from work. “I’ll bet that feels a bit better, all that long dangly hair gone?”
I ran my fingers through the short soft strands. “Yeah, I love it, Dad.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Grandma groaned. “She does look like a little urchin, exactly like those dirty urchins that run the streets around here and go to that school. I can’t believe it. Nothing like this has ever happened to anyone in our family before.”
Dad actually laughed at her. “Come on, all kids get nits at some time.”
“Not in this house they don’t!”
Roma came in from the kitchen carrying a mug of hot tea for Dad. She rested the mug on the table and wiped a tear from her cheek. Sniffing loudly, she lowered her head then lifted her eyes, looking up at her husband the way a child might look at its parent.
“It had to be done, love,” she said croakily. “She had to have all that lovely hair cut off. And all because of that damn school, can’t we send her somewhere else?”
“Ah, it’ll grow again,” Dad assured her. “And no, she can’t go to another school, not just cos she got nits. You can bet she’ll get them again too before she grows up and leaves the place.”
I heard Grandma gasp. “Oh for heaven’s sake! This is ridiculous.”
“I’ve kept her hair,” Roma said. “I’ll always keep it to remind me of what a lovely child she once was.”
Dad placed an arm around her and she burst into tears. I carried on cutting shapes from coloured paper with a pair of plastic scissors and pretended not to notice. I liked my hair; no one was going spoil that for me. Roma was putting on a pantomime over the slightest thing, as she always did, I was getting used to her theatricals and her wailing wasn’t going to bother me that much, not tonight. I had waited far too long to have those messy curls cut off, I basked in the feeling of relief my new short haircut had given me.
*******

It was Jimmy who told me about the kids from the Municipal Grammar. It was known to most of us as the posh school and I’d seen some of the children walking around wearing their smart brown uniforms, the boys in well cut blazers and the girls wearing straw hats in summer. You didn’t go there until you were much older and didn’t go at all unless your father had a good job, so I knew very little about the place except that no one I hung around with seemed to like the place much. According to Jimmy, all the girls took dancing lessons, the boys learned how to play musical instruments and they could all talk properly, the way Grandma wanted me to talk, but her attempts were failing badly.
I could see the school from the park gates. It was a huge Edwardian building, its walls made from terracotta tiles and its windows were long and low, the glass glinted in the winter sunlight. I stood watching Jimmy, his brother Clive and little Carol Malone, another misfit who I often tagged along with. I was allowed to play with them in the park now, not on my own, Roma or Dad had to be with me and I was still forbidden to play on the swings or climbing frame, but I could talk to these children if they had time for me.
Roma had found herself a new admirer, a burly young Irishman with black curly hair and glinting blue eyes. He was quite a bit younger than she was, as was usual with her men, even Dad was six years her junior. She called him Johnnie, most of the school kids called him Irish John; he was likeable and laughed a lot, was far preferable to Fred, who seemed to have disappeared. As Roma joked and flirted with him, I stood around watching the little group of children who actually tolerated my company. I hadn’t said much that morning, I was sore again. Granddad had insisted on playing his games with me again so the familiar burning sensation had returned. Still, I hadn’t wet the bed for a while so at least that was something for Roma to be pleased about. I hadn’t mentioned Granddad’s games again and didn’t intend to. I’d had enough the last time I tried to talk about it.
“They’re just a bunch of wankers,” Clive exclaimed as he looked at the grammar school in the distance.
“Who are?” Jimmy asked as he glared up at his older brother. Clive was seven years older, much taller and wore long trousers. He only had another year in school before he’d be expected to find work.
“That lot from the posh school,” Clive said bitterly. “Can’t stand any of ‘em.”
“I don’t know any of them,” Carole Malone added. “But my sister says they’re a right lot of little snobs.”
“What’s a wanker,” I asked, totally bemused by the conversation.
The others laughed but only Carol tried to explain anything to me.
“I just think it means an idiot,” she said in a low voice. “My dad says that I shouldn’t use words like that and if I do I’ll .....”
“It means a kid who plays with himself,” Clive insisted.
“Oh, I see,” Carol, Jimmy and I all said in unison. Then we laughed, we didn’t have a clue what Clive was talking about.
Carol was a tiny, thin girl who lived in the same street as I did. She was in my class at school but I’d never been to her house or met her parents. She was one of eight children, her father, who was believed to be a bare knuckle fighter, amongst other things, often disappeared for months at a time, then returned to find his wife was usually pregnant from his last visit. Carol was another child who no one seemed to like so it seemed appropriate that she chose me as a friend.
I looked at Roma. She lit a cigarette and appeared engrossed in her conversation with Irish John. She didn’t seem to notice me; I didn’t mind that at all. Things would change as soon as he left her, suddenly I would be the centre of her attention again. She would embarrass me in front of the others, would slobber over me as if she loved no one else and often punish me when no one was around, just because she could. So I was quite glad that this man could keep her from me for a while. She may not have been the most beautiful woman in the area and she did, after all, have baggage, she had a husband, a kid and my grandparents in tow, but she still must have seemed preferable to some of the females these young men could find for themselves. She would also open her legs, that was another reason she was popular and unlike some of our neighbours, who appeared to have the brain power of a parrot, she could hold an interesting conversation.
“You’re such a good friend to me, Johnnnie,” I heard her say. “You brighten things up a bit for me, it’s not easy with my parents to look after and with Julie too, she’s a sickly child and her behaviour isn’t good. I think we spoilt her, I was just too daft with her. She still wets the bed at times, you know, tells lies too.”
John’s pleasant features took on a concerned expression. He lit a cigarette and looked away as he blew out the smoke. “I know things aren’t easy for you,” he said in a strong Dublin accent, curling his words deliciously as only the Irish can. “I’ve been worryin’ meself to death lately, wonderin’ how the hell I can tell you about a few problems of me own.”
Roma’s head tilted to one side and she pursed her painted lips. She looked like a dog listening to orders from its master, she could do that, she could make anyone believe she was actually listening to their every word. “What problems have you got, John?”
“Ah, it’s the bloody missus, ya know. When I first came over here it was the understandin’ that she’d come over later and bring the girls with her. Once I’d got meself a decent job and was sendin’ money home, I thought that would be it. I don’t think I ever really believed the feckin’ old bitch would really want to come, we don’t exactly get on anyway, ya know.”
Roma laughed softly. “Then why did you marry her?”
“She was in the family way. If it’d been up to me I’d have run a feckin’ mile but her mother stuck her nose in and that was it. Ah Jasus! That mother – in – law of mine’s somethin’ to make the best of men shiver and shake in their shoes. Before I knew it, the whole thing was arranged, the weddin’ and everythin’, I just kind of went along with it all. I guess things weren’t too bad a first and we did have another little girl before I came here, but ..... once I was here I thought that was it. I mean, I sent her a decent bit of money every month, more than many a feller does, but now she’s written sayin’ she’s comin and bringin’ those kids with her. And here’s me livin’ in lodgin’s, livin’ in one room, how the feck am I supposed to look after her?”
“Things will work out,” Roma said soothingly. “I expect you’ll get a council house and we can still be friends, can’t we?”
John nodded and grinned. “Sure and I know we can be. We’ll just have to be more careful, that’s all. What I’m tryin’ to say is that I’ve had a hell of a good time with you, it’s been great, ya know. There’s times when I just wish I’d come here and met you before you married that Albert feller. I’d love to have taken you out on me arm, taken you to the pub or to the old Emerald Club on a Saturday night. Still, I’m not sure I could have put up with those parents of yours, yer man deserves a feckin’ medal, he must have to be a saint at times, that feller.”
“He is, he’s wonderful. I just wish I’d loved him, that’s all. You see, I married him because I knew he’d let me stay with Mum and Dad, there’s not many men who would have done that. He’s put up with a lot, especially when we learned I couldn’t have children and we adopted Julie. I’ve told you before, Johnnie, she’s not an easy child.”
John’s eyes glanced my way for a second and I looked away. “Yeah, I guess she can be hard work, she won’t go tellin’ your Albert about us meetin’ here, will she?”
“No, she knows better than that.”
“I wish I could say the same about me own two girls. I’m not sure they’ll be keepin’ their mouth’s shut, especially if they’ve turned out like their mam.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Roma smiled. She appeared totally unfazed by the situation. She took one of John’s bulky hands between hers and stroked the back of it. “She’s not here yet, love,” she went on. “We’ve had some wonderful times together and I’m sure there’ll be more. You never know, you might find you get on with your wife now and surely you must want to get to know your little girls?”
John laughed sarcastically. “Sure and I know things won’t be any different for me and the wife, but the girls, well, I’ve not seen the pair of them since they took their first communion back in Ireland so it’ll be interestin’ to get to know them. Like two peas in a pod they were, lovely little things.”
“You see, things will work out. You’ve made my lonely life a bit easier, it’s not been easy for me, you know, Mum and Dad can be hard work at times, Albert’s working most of the time and as for Julie, well, she’s not quite the ticket. I’ve had to work so hard with her, it’s not like having a normal child and .....”
Roma took John’s arm and they began to walk towards the chunky body of an oak tree. Soon they were out of earshot and I could no longer hear their conversation. I felt sad, angry and sad. She didn’t love my dad, she didn’t love me, she didn’t know how to love anyone. I looked at Jimmy and the others; they were laughing and playing, ignoring me for the time being. As this woman they made me call mother disappeared behind the tree trunk with John, I saw her wind her arms around his neck. Seconds later they were out of sight, but I knew now what she was doing. She would be kissing him; he would probably be having a good old grope. I prayed that one of our neighbours would come along and catch them, that Jimmy or his brother or even little Carol would see them and tell someone else, but Roma’s timing was perfect. No one came along, only I knew what was happening.

I was a strange and unpopular child. I had learned since starting school that loud exhibitionist behaviour made the other kids laugh. There were times when I liked that. Spending so much of my time at home in adult company, you might have thought I would be quite mature for my age, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Those loonies were determined to keep me a baby so I was far from mature. I was still cynical though, becoming worse from day to day. I could copy Roma’s performances, could shout louder than anyone else if I wanted to be heard, but there were times when I could also be extraordinarily quiet. I sometimes made a conscious effort to remain invisible, that meant I didn’t get into any trouble at school. I seemed to swing from one extreme to the other, I was either deathly quiet or unbelievably loud. Today I was in a fairly quiet frame of mind. I didn’t want to draw Roma’s attention to me. I must have been a bit of an enigma to my teachers; I was rather unpredictable, not unlike Roma could be. I tried my best not to be nasty, not to harm anyone, but I was still unpopular and had learned few of the social skills of my peers.
I wondered back to the other children and leaned against one of the park benches. It must have been Saturday and the schools were closed. The ‘wankers’ Clive was talking about were nowhere to be seen.
“I bet they don’t swear,” Jimmy whispered suddenly, jerking his head towards the school building.”
Clive laughed and his brother copied him. “Yeah, say boo to one of that lot and they’d faint. They can’t play football either, none of them can. Bloody pathetic they are! The Municipal Grammar school, hah! Grammar Fools more like!”
That was the school Grandma had talked about me going to when I left the juniors. She was determined I mixed with the better classes and I was determined I would not. I didn’t want Jimmy and his family to talk about me this way, I was becoming a bit of an inverted snob. Jimmy and Carol began chatting about the oncoming school Christmas party and Clive began kicking a ball about with some older boys who had just arrived in the play area. I watched Roma again. She was laughing open mouthed, tossing her head and preening herself in front of her new man. I began to wonder what the other children thought about her, but they didn’t seem to be taking much notice. She was oblivious to me and others around her, she only had eyes for John. I couldn’t tell what she was saying, didn’t really care about it, she was happy so she would be easier to have around. She had been spending a little extra money lately. She’d come home from shopping with a new dress, a different coloured nail polish and I’d noticed she was buying more cigarettes too. I’d been in the town with her when she bought herself an expensive headscarf and she’d bought me a new doll at the same time, making me promise not to open my mouth about the headscarf or I’d be in deep shit! About a week later I’d heard Grandma complaining about money going missing from her purse and I was the one accused of stealing it. Then one day it happened again and Roma told Dad I’d been stealing. I had no idea what she was on about and strongly denied it all, but Dad was angry too and didn’t stop Roma giving me a good hiding. I had a few lectures about lies and about how wrong it was to take things that didn’t belong to me, but I knew very well where Grandma’s money had gone. There was no use denying it, Roma was always too clever. As with everything else, no one would believe me. It’s was Dad’s turn to lose out next. Nothing huge, just a few silver coins went missing from his pocket and once it was a pound note that disappeared from his wallet. There was talk that perhaps it was Granddad, he often had a gambling debt. But eventually I was blamed again. Another good hiding from Roma, more lectures and Dad hadn’t read me a story or played a game with me for at least a week. It was all part of my punishments for the things I hadn’t done. I still needed Roma, in my isolated world she had made sure I needed my family, they were all I had, but watching her then I began to ask myself why.
I knew I had been adopted. I had always been told that I had been chosen by Roma, that I was special, but also that I wasn’t quite good enough, that I didn’t have the breeding Grandma would have liked me to have. The children at school seemed to enjoy letting me know that they knew something about me, that my mummy and daddy weren’t my real parents. I suppose I should have been grateful for that fact, but when you’re seven years old you just want to be the same as everyone else, you want to be normal.
We were walking home from the park when I asked Roma about it again, used the dreaded word ADOPTED.
“What does it really mean, Mummy? I know you said I was special but doesn’t it mean you’re not my real mother?”
Roma took my hand and smiled, her sweet patronising smile that meant she was right and no one dare question her. “I’ve told you before, my love. I’m your real mother, that woman who gave birth to you is nothing, she’s no one important. We chose you, I did, I saved you from going to that children’s home where they’d have beaten you and starved you and rubbed your nose in your wet bed sheets.”
I tried to imagine the scene, Roma wanting a baby and picking one the way she chose a ripe looking apple from the rest of the pile. “But if somebody else gave birth to me, what does that mean?”
“Ah, we’ll tell you more about that when you’re older.”
“There’s one of the mums who comes to pick her daughter up from school and they say she’s having a baby and she’s fat. Are ladies always fat when they’re going to have a baby?”
Roma laughed loudly and a man walking by turned his head to look at her for a moment. “No, sweetie, there’s a lot you don’t understand yet. The thing is, when you’re adopted like you were, it means that you know your parents really wanted you. Your friends at school don’t know that, they could just have come along for no reason, their mummies and daddies might not have really wanted them at all.”
“I think they’re happy though, most of them. They’ve got brothers and sisters too, I’d like a brother or a sister.”
“I’ve told you, sweetie, we don’t want any more children, we only ever wanted you. Just think, if I had another baby you’d hate it, you’d have to share me and your dad with someone else. That would be awful, I never had any brothers or sisters and it would have broken my little heart if I’d had to share my parents with another child. No, love. You wouldn’t like a brother or a sister.”
I wasn’t convinced. “But everyone’s got brothers and sisters.”
“No they haven’t, don’t be so silly.”
“But didn’t you have another baby? I remember hearing you and Grandma talking about you having a little boy before you adopted me.”
“Yes, we did try to have a baby in the usual way and I had a boy. He was born dead but I wouldn’t have wanted him, I wanted a little girl.”
“So you went and adopted me then?”
“Er ..... not quite. We did try a few times but I lost all the babies, every one of them. It couldn’t have been meant. I think you were just waiting for us to come and save you. You were meant to be with us, Billy, you’re our little girl, no one else’s. Always remember that.”
“What’s it like losing a baby then?”
Roma scowled and her tone became harsh. “Billy, you don’t ask questions like that. It’s awful, it hurts and it makes you ill. I’ve been through a lot, no one knows how much. Now let’s talk about something else.”
“All right,” I was disappointed, my natural curiosity was beginning to get the better of me but I knew it was time to shut up. I didn’t want Roma in one of her moods; I always took the brunt of it when she wasn’t happy.
It snowed heavily that December. I heard people talking about a white Christmas, Grandma said that would be wonderful, just like the Christmas cards, but of course, the fact that I wasn’t allowed to play in the stuff was a foregone conclusion.
I kneeled on the bed and stared out of the window. The back yard was covered with this cold white stuff and icicles hung from the guttering around the roof of the outside toilet. Dad had built a snowman on the previous day. It must have been at least as tall as I was and had pieces of coal for eyes and a mouth and what looked like a large ball bearing for a nose. He’d wrapped an old scarf around its neck and even stuck a pair of gloves on its body to look like hands sticking out either side. I wasn’t sure how he’d got them to stay there, but whatever he had done seemed to have worked, I thought he must be quite clever. I had watched him build the thing, watched him slowly and painstakingly make the snowman, then stick up his thumb through the window to me when he had finished. I wasn’t allowed to go out to help, I hadn’t even been to school for a few days as Grandma insisted that I had a weak chest and that it was far too cold for me to go outside. I had heard the local children come to the back door and ask if they could sing carols one night. I was allowed to watch them from my little place on the bed, but I longed to join them as they travelled from door to door singing in their funny, tuneless way, collecting a few pennies here and there. But I wasn’t allowed out after dark in winter, I wasn’t considered strong enough.
I watched Granddad leave the house. He closed the back door behind him and almost crashed into the snowman, which made me giggle.
“What are you laughing at, Juliana?” Grandma said in her affected voice.
“Nothing,” I said with a sigh as I continued to watch the old man. His untidy hair was covered by a black trilby hat and he had a silk scarf would tightly around his neck. I knew where he was going; he was off to see Frank, the bookies runner. It was quite late in the afternoon so he probably had backed a winner and was off to collect his money which he would either use to pay back one of his debts or he’s spend it in the local pub. I didn’t care which it was as long as it kept him out of the house.
I was bored. The TV wasn’t switched on and Roma was in the kitchen, probably cooking the tea. I sat back on the bed and began playing with some small plastic farm animals, on the carpet there lay some of my dolls, all untidily dressed as I was getting sick and tired of them. I had plenty of toys. Dad’s driving job was for a toy shop in the town and I think he must have been entitled to some discount, either that or a few items fell off the back of his van from time to time. Grandma would have gone ballistic had she known anything about that. I had more clothes than Marks and Spenser, yet I didn’t like any of them, as far as I was concerned they were either old fashioned or far too young for me. Still, I probably could have made the other kids at school green with envy, but I didn’t want to do that so I kept quiet about the things Roma bought me. Most of the toys were kept in a tall cupboard built into a recess at one side of the chimney breast. One of my favourites was a plastic telephone; I could pretend to talk to people when I played with it. I liked my reading books and colouring books too but had hardly played with the dolls pram that stood by the door to the stairs. I glanced at that door, I had never been upstairs in this house and I was getting curious. I longed to see what was up there in that mysterious part of the house but when I asked about it, Roma just fobbed me off with some crap about the stairs being unsafe. I was beginning to wonder why my parents didn’t sleep together, why Roma and I shared a bed each night. From what I could gather, it could have had something to do with protecting me from my grandfather, but I doubted it. I think it was more likely to be because it was the only way Grandma would allow my dad to live with us, if he didn’t sleep with his wife. I had asked Roma once, asked her why I slept with her. Her reply had been short and simple.
“It’s because you cried whenever I left you, darling. You wouldn’t go to sleep unless I was with you.”
Whether or not that was true, I’ll never know, but I would have given anything for a room of my own.
I climbed off the bed and sat on the floor, carelessly tidying the mess I had made on the carpet with dolls, their clothes and pieces of drawing paper. Grandma sat watching me from her usual armchair, piled with dingy old silk cushions. The room had hardly changed. Relics of Grandma’s past stood everywhere, even on top of the piano where a row of old china dolls had been sitting for years. Their blind glass eyes seemed to constantly watch me; they had brightly painted lips, curly blonde wigs and were dressed in frills and lace, turned yellow with the passing of time. I found them rather creepy. They were ornaments rather than toys and had apparently once belonged to Roma. Grandma spoke of dolls with wax faces that would melt if they were left outside in the sun. Something I thought she felt might happen to me if I was left outside for too long. She had an annoying habit of looking around the room and checking on her collection of antiques, she checked them the way an addict checks his stash, as if terrified someone might come and take it away if it was left unguarded. Grandma threw nothing away; she had kept all of Roma’s childhood books and a dolls house that I was allowed to play with at times. Dad had updated it a little for me by decorating the inside walls with coloured wrapping paper, much to Grandma’s disgust. So I sat there, playing the usual lonely games until a strange feeling came over me. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and as I had nothing to compare it with, I couldn’t really describe it. I felt my body shaking, a strange kind of de ja vous washed over me, it was as if it had all happened before, as if I was being transported into another time frame, another dimension.
I heard Grandma calling and could see her struggling to reach her sicks. “Roma, where are you? There’s something wrong with this child! Roma ..... Roma!”
She came rushing in from the kitchen, at her mother’s beck and call as always. “What’s the matter, Mom?” she said, then I heard her scream. The last I remember was seeing her hands grasp her own face. “Oh ... oh my God! She’s having a fit, someone come, someone help me ..... HELP ME!”
That was Roma all over, calling for someone to help HER. She always thought of herself at times like this. I heard her scream with theatrical hysteria and that was it! I remembered nothing else until I woke up in hospital.

Six
The ward was long and smelled of disinfectant. A nurse smiled down into my face and straightened the sheets around me. I had a bit of a headache, I was tired, but I can’t say I felt any other ill effects. There was a white plastic bracelet around my wrist with my name written on it, Juliana Whitehouse. I looked down at it with embarrassment, I hated my name.
I knew this was a hospital and there was something fascinating about waking up in another bed, even though it wasn’t a particularly comfortable one. There was a young baby with a tube stuck up his nose lying in a cot against the opposite wall, a little girl about my age sat on the bed next to mine, her thin legs dangling from beneath her bright red dressing gown. A boy wearing pyjamas and a pair of tartan slippers ran along the ward, only to be told by the stern faced sister to stop that immediately. His mother would be coming to see him later and surely he didn’t want her to be told he hadn’t been behaving himself.
I smiled at the nurse and lifted my head. She plumped up the pillows behind me.
“Hello, love,” she said in a brisk voice. “Welcome back to the land of the living. Now then, would you like a drink of milk?”
I wasn’t keen on the stuff so I declined the offer politely. The nurse frowned but offered me a glass of water instead. I disliked that too but I was thirsty so I took a couple of gulps from the glass she placed in my hand. It wasn’t good; it was slightly warm and had no real taste.
“Right then,” the nurse went on, her plump young face almost permanently smiling. “We’ll get you washed and looking good before breakfast, then the doctor will take a look at you.”
My heart sank for a moment. I didn’t like doctors, they poked and prodded around and sometimes they hurt. Roma and Grandma seemed to have a morbid fear of them, and of hospitals too, but they were always keen to take me to the GPs surgery when they thought I was ill and needed some time off school. Grandma would often point out that I wasn’t moving one of my legs properly or that I was blinking too much. They once decided that I had a terrible cough when in fact, all I was doing was trying to copy the sound I had heard made by a seal on TV. The GP usually said the same thing to Roma, time and time again he leaned over me, pressing my neck to make sure my glands weren’t swollen, looking down my throat and usually weighing me, all he would say was that she should take me home, cut down my food and send me back to school.
Grandma had always told me that hospitals were terrible, they were to be feared, that people died in there and that little children weren’t allowed to see their parents when they had to stay there. Roma had told me nurses were cruel, especially to children but I hadn’t really believed her. It didn’t seem so bad to me and I was taking less and less notice of what those loonies told me anyway. I mean, Grandma was still convinced we lived in a huge house and that our family was quite an affluent one. The truth was, our area had housed the labouring classes and those of criminal tendencies for more than one hundred years now. Our family were no different in that way. Houses like ours were built for families like us and I’d heard that our street was in line for demolition soon too, along with the rest of these hovels in the town. The second phase of the slum clearance, the work was starting again that had been interrupted by World War 2.
The ward was clean, there were a few smiling faces and plenty of other children around. I knew very little about these places, Emergency Ward Ten, the popular TV series, was banned in our house, Grandma always made Roma turn it off. Yet somehow, I felt very little fear of this place. It was different, I had actually slept in a different bed and Roma hadn’t been in it with me. My pyjamas were dry too; I hadn’t wet the bed again. I felt quite proud of myself.
After being helped out of bed, I had a wash in a real bathroom, for the first time ever. A nurse even brought me some toothpaste and a brush for my teeth. Cleaning our teeth was something we just didn’t do at home; Grandma didn’t like it for some reason. I was then given a pair of clean pyjamas that were striped and starched and had a label inside that read ‘property of the Royal Hospital’.
I wasn’t too impressed with breakfast, the portions were small and the bacon was too salty, but the nurses seemed kind, only the old sister didn’t smile at me. One young black nurse was particularly sweet to me; she asked if I had any brothers and sisters, I shook my head sadly. She also asked who my best friends were, what were my favourite subjects at school and what did I want to do when I grew up. For some reason all those questions made me feel sad. As for the doctor who finally came to see me, he was tall, skinny and one of the most miserable old bastards I’d ever met. He was rough when he examined me, talked about me to the nurses as if I wasn’t there and I was very relieved when he left my bedside. I didn’t ask why I was there, there would have been no point, I was never told anything at home so I’d given up asking too many questions. So I asked nothing and was told nothing, it was often like that in those days, for many of us.
The morning passed slowly for me. A boy in one of the beds smiled at me and I noticed his front teeth were missing. I tried to talk to him but he didn’t seem interested. I was allowed to get up and go to the toilet on my own so I did attempt to start up a few conversations on my way to the bathroom, but the nurses always sent me back to bed. The sister, who was almost as miserable as that doctor, told me that I was talking too much and that my voice was far too loud.
“There are sick people in here,” she said. “They don’t want to hear you laughing and shouting so be quiet!”
I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong but everyone who had once seemed kind stopped smiling at me. So I lay on my side, pulled the bed sheets over my head and went into invisible mode for a while. I was told that someone might come to see me tomorrow and would carry on with my school work, that a bell would ring when it was time for the visitors to come in and everyone seemed to be always busy. It was like school again, lessons, bells ringing and grownups milling about, school while lying in bed.
It was early afternoon and the visitors were waiting in the corridor. I had eaten lunch, what they would allow me to have, and could hear Roma’s voice above the others.
“Oh darling, darling .....” she called out as that bell stopped ringing and she overtook the other visiting parents. She threw her arms open wide as she made straight for my bed, running as if she was totally demented. I turned my face away but that didn’t stop her hugging me tightly and showering me with kisses. The other children and some of the nurses were looking wide eyed at me. I shrank back and wished the bed would open up and swallow me.
“Shhh, baby,” she said loudly, even though I hadn’t made a sound. “Don’t be afraid, Mummy’s here now, everything’s going to be all right.”
Dad followed her more slowly, he took long steady steps and he was smiling as he reached us. He was carrying two large bags, one filled with a few of my toys and the other had a brand new dressing gown, pyjamas and a pair of slippers crammed into it.
“Here we go, love,” he said as he removed the slippers and put them on the bottom of my bed. “You’ve never had a pair of these before, have you?”
I felt myself grinning and sat up, wriggling out of Roma’s overwhelming grip. Only Dad wore slippers at home, Roma usually walked around barefoot and I wore my old sandals most of the time. I was delighted with the red furry things Dad had brought me. He reached into his overcoat pocket and brought out a smaller bag, this one contained a tube of toothpaste and a bright pink toothbrush.
“I’ve been getting on to your mum for ages to get you these,” he said in my ear. “You can keep your teeth clean now, you should do, especially now you’ve got some of your grown up ones comin’ through.”
I didn’t have the heart to hell him I had already cleaned my teeth, for the first time in my life. I asked about the bag of toys but Roma ignored me, she opened her handbag instead and brought out a bag of toffees and a Mars bar.
“Here, these are what you really want,” she whispered, snapping the chrome clasp of the bag shut again. “We couldn’t come here without bringing our baby some sweeties, could we?”
I took the Mars bar and began to rip open the wrapper when it was snatched from me.
“No we don’t!” a sharp voice insisted. The ward sister handed the Mars bar back to Roma. “She can’t eat all this, she’ll be sick.”
Roma looked surprised. “But she loves her sweets.”
“Yes, I can imagine. I’ve noticed the size of her, so has the doctor and he’s made his comments. Put those toffees away, Mrs Whitehouse, as for the Mars bar, I’ll put it safe and she can have half of it tonight. Please don’t bring her anymore sweets, fruit would be far better for her, you know.”
I watched Dad nodding in the background; he seemed to have a slightly smug ‘I told you so’ expression on his face.
“Of course, sister!” Roma was using her little girl voice, the one that always gave her a demeanour of total sweetness and light. “We’ll do whatever the doctor wants; we just want our little girl to get better.”
“Well she won’t get better if she keeps stuffing herself with sweets. I’m glad you understand.”
“Oh, I understand, don’t worry.”
I watched with my mouth watering. I must admit I wasn’t used to having food taken from me; in fact, Roma usually scolded me if I didn’t eat every scrap she gave me. I had no idea why the sister thought I’d be sick if I ate a whole Mars bar, I could eat two if I tried and I felt quite hungry after the tiny meals they served in this place. Roma fussed around my bed, plumped up my pillows, stroked my hair and generally behaved impeccably while she was being watched. She removed some of the toys from the bag and placed them on the bed around me, pushing my old teddy into my arms.
“Here you are,” she said as sweetly as she knew how. “You won’t be lonely now you’ve got him to cuddle at night. I know you’ll miss having me here in your bed but I’m afraid I can’t stay all night, they won’t let me.”
I shrugged, it was fine by me, I’d just miss the chocolate. “Will I have to stay here a long time?” I asked.
“You’ll be back home as soon as we can get you back, sweetheart, don’t you worry. Your grandma and granddad send their love, it was your granddad that saved you, he saved your life. He massaged your heart while I ran to the phone box and called an ambulance. He was wonderful. You were very poorly.”
I didn’t reply but I was sure my grandfather hadn’t even been there when I’d had those strange feelings at home. I was confused now and as I looked at Dad’s face, that confused me even more. He gave Roma a side glance then looked at me. “Ah, she’s tougher than you think,” he said briskly. “She’d have been okay.”
“Not if my father hadn’t been there,” Roma insisted. “You didn’t see it, you were at work. The child had a terrible fit and my dad saved her, I’ve already told you about it. I was so frightened. I don’t know how I got through it, it hasn’t done my own health any good, I can tell you and my mother had to go and lie down, it upset her so. But I’ll carry on, I’ll do whatever has to be done for my baby. My own health doesn’t come into it, all that matters now is that she gets better but we must be prepared in case she has another fit. ”
“What’s a fit?” I felt I had to ask that.
“Nothing for you to worry about, darling,” Roma replied quickly to prevent Dad from having his say. “Perhaps you’ve just been getting too excited about Christmas. I think you’ve been playing too roughly with those children at school too, we need to take better care of you.”
“Will it happen again, Mummy?”
“I don’t know, sweetie. We’ll all be praying it won’t. We’ll all just have to make sure we look after our little baby more carefully in future, you’re not strong, you have to remember that. The doctor says you might have to have some special tests, but I’ll be with you when you have them, I won’t let anyone hurt you so don’t be frightened. You might have to take some pills too, just for a while.”
Not more pills, I thought, but I should have been used to taking medication. Roma and Grandma still insisted on filling me with everything that could be bought over the counter. And what was all this fuss about tests? I think she believed the whole thing scared the shit out of me, but I was actually looking forward to staying here for a while and having the time off school. It still puzzled me about Granddad though; I was convinced he wasn’t there. But if Roma said he was and that he saved my life, then it had to be right, that women couldn’t be contradicted, even Dad knew that.
The sister passed my bed, noticed the pile of toys and Roma’s constant fussing. She shook her head and mouthed to the young black nurse who had been so friendly to me.
“Spoilt rotten!” the sister said. “Absolutely ruined.”
Then she rolled her eyes and began saying something else, but I couldn’t tell what she was on about, I didn’t think it had anything to do with me anymore, I hoped it didn’t. I was quiet again then, back in invisible mode. Everything was switched off, all my feelings were gone. I had to go into this mode at times; it was how I got through my day.
I spent around a week in that hospital. The other children there didn’t like me; they were just the same as those I knew at school. I didn’t fit in although I hadn’t yet worked out why. I knew I didn’t behave in the same way they did, but I didn’t know what to do to make them like me except possibly to make them laugh. I managed that from time to time but they were laughing at me, not with me. The doctor seemed more interested in my obesity than anything else, and about the state of my teeth which were badly stained through lack of cleaning and too much sugar. The toothpaste I had started using soon did the trick though, when I got back to school no one commented on my smelly breath anymore and I did notice my teeth were slowly becoming whiter.
The doctor told Roma about my weight and she assured him she would try to stop me eating so much. I was sent to see a psychiatrist, apparently because of my ‘strange exhibitionist behaviour, especially in front of the opposite sex’, but I had no idea what was expected of me, not a clue about the way I should be behaving. I suppose I was copying Roma’s behaviour and she was an exhibitionist all right, especially in front of men. There could well have been something sexual about my behaviour, I don’t really remember, I was seven years old, for God’s sake! But whatever it was, nothing was picked up on about what had been happening to me at home. I soon learned when to keep my mouth shut.
The psychiatrist asked me why I slept with my mother, but I couldn’t tell him why. Roma had fed him some bollocks about me crying with fear if she suggested I sleep in a bed of my own, but I had no recollection of anything like that. I would have jumped at the chance of my own bed. The fits did happen again, but usually only during the night or sometimes when I was lying in bed waiting to drift off to sleep. I did have some strange feelings sometimes during the day, feelings very similar to those I had just before a seizure, but the seizure didn’t happen. All that did happen was that I drifted off into another dimension for a while and then forgot everything I’d done previously. It got me into trouble at school but other than that, no one seemed to take much notice of it. In fact, it was quite a while before I actually realised I had epilepsy, it was simply never spoken of in front of me.
I had to visit the consultant at the hospital regularly. I couldn’t believe some of the crap Roma was telling the doctor, I denied it sometimes but she was so good at lying I gave up in the end, no one would believe me. I would hear her telling the doctor that she was afraid of not giving me extra portions of food because I would scream with temper and get so upset she was terrified I might have another fit. She was talking complete bollocks. I may have been young, I may have been naive and the epilepsy did cause me to forget things, but I wasn’t getting mixed up over this, I knew what Roma was saying about me wasn’t true. Half of the things she told the doctor never happened at all. There were times when I actually didn’t want to eat, times when I was full but she still forced me. There were no more salt water cocktails though, that seemed to have stopped, thankfully. If I didn’t scrape my plate totally clean at meal times and if I dared to refuse the chocolate Roma bought for me, she would get very angry and when Dad came home, there was always a fuss, she would cry in his arms like a baby and sometimes she would throw herself on the carpet and clutch her breast, breathing frantically until he rocked her in his arms and she calmed down. It could be quite scary when she did that, I didn’t like it so it was easier just to keep quiet and pretend I agreed with everything she said. I didn’t realise that these strange attacks of hers were totally fake; I suppose she was in competition with me. I always thought it was strange that she refused to see a doctor about them, but she had told the rest of us that the attacks were caused by a weak heart. Grandma seemed to take it in but she was good at throwing fainting fits too, though hers were always a little less dramatic. Funny how all this began after I had been diagnosed with epilepsy; it was as if the two women refused to be outdone by me. For years they had wanted me to be ill, had often made me ill with various lotions and potions, they both seemed to enjoy basking in the attention a sick child gave them, but when there really was something wrong with me, something they couldn’t control, then they had to go one better and have something far worse themselves.
There were a few good things that actually came out of all this. Possibly due to pressure from the doctors and Roma’s fear of outsiders finding out what really went on in our house, I was given my own bedroom the following year. Grandma and Granddad had the bed taken from the sitting room into the front one, or the drawing room, as Grandma liked to call it sometimes. The old odd couple claimed that room as their own. Granddad used the bed but his wife still preferred the sofa, another ancient relic filled with horse hair and metal springs that the old woman adorned with cushions, just as she had with the other sofa, and made it her bed. Dad and Roma reclaimed the master bedroom as theirs and shared a huge four poster bed that was pitted with woodworm and had once belonged to Grandma’s mother. I had a single bed in the only other bedroom and finally had a space where I could actually spend some time on my own. I loved it even though just about everything in the room was so old fashioned that I was ashamed to let anyone see it. I was actually allowed to bring a friend home to play occasionally, little Carol Malone, skinny Carol who still didn’t object to my company and who Grandma took an instant dislike to, referring to her as ‘that awful lower class child’. I was even allowed to play outside with her occasionally, I could walk up our street and call for her at her house, but I had to promise not to go anywhere else. I didn’t keep that promise; of course, I enjoyed walking around the area with Carol, walking streets I had never seen before. It was a temporary escape from the prison and the loonies who kept me locked there.
I knew there had been intervention from the school and from that psychiatrist, he was a pain but it seemed he had his uses. Granddad hadn’t touched me in that ‘funny way’ for months, he rarely took any notice of me these days and I had no problem with that. Roma still deserved an OSCAR for her performances at times, but at least there hadn’t been too many slaps or frightening threats from her. Things were looking up in a way but Roma made sure she always won.
I came down stairs early one morning to find her spreading Vaseline on what looked like red friction burns on her arms and on her neck.
“What’s that?” I asked her.
“It’s just a nerve rash, love. I woke up this morning and I was covered with it. I suppose it’s all the trouble I’ve had lately, what with you being ill and all that. Ah well, not to worry. I’d appreciate it if you behaved yourself though, Julie. I don’t want the rash to get any worse.”
“Will you go to the doctor with it?”
“Heavens, no. He won’t be able to do anything, I know what it is and the Vaseline should help.”
Of course, although I didn’t quite cotton on at the time, it soon clicked that Roma was making these red marks on her skin herself. I saw her in the kitchen once; she was rubbing her arm frantically with the rough side of a matchbox.
“What are you doing, Mum?” I enquired as I moved closer to look at her handiwork.
“Nothing, love.” Roma spoke softly as she pulled down her sleeve quickly to hide the bleeding wheels on her skin.
“But I saw your arm, it was all red and ..... and I think there was blood.”
She laughed. “You’re dreaming, sweetie.”
I shrugged and walked sulkily to the back door. Suddenly she was on me. She grabbed my hair, which was growing again and reached well past my shoulders. Grandma didn’t curl it anymore, when it was short I’d been sent to the hairdresser to have a bubble perm. Roma had loved it but the children at school found it hilarious. The bubbly curls had almost grown out but there was enough of a wave left to please Grandma and enough length for Roma to twist the strands around her hand to make them pull harder on my scalp. I felt my heart beating in my ears as my head jerked backwards.
“Keep your bloody mouth shut, little lady,” Roma whispered, her eyes blazing. She let go of my hair and grabbed my shoulders, twisting me around so that my back was pressed against the door. “You’ve seen nothing, understand?”
“Yes .... I ..... I understand, please Mummy, don’t hurt me!”
“Shhhh! Not so loud you fat little bitch. Your dad’s in the sitting room and I don’t want him hearing anything. I’ll hurt you more than you’ve ever been hurt in your life if you start telling lies to your father about this. I had enough of your lies about your granddad so don’t start telling them about me, you’ll be sorry if you do!”
I knew what she meant. I had to forget that I’d ever seen her marking herself like that; I had learned what to do and say by now.
Within seconds she let me go and it was as though a different woman stood beside me. Her full lips turned upwards into a soft smile and her eyes became tender, wrinkling at the sides and her smile grew wider. She stroked my forehead with the tips of her fingers and kissed my cheek gently.
“Where are you off to, darling?” she asked in a sweet, childlike voice.
“Just to the toilet.”
“And are you going to play with that little Carol again today?”
“Probably, if she wants to play.”
“That’ll be nice, but don’t bring her here too often, it upsets your Grandma, you know.”
“Yeah, I know it does.”
Roma laughed, a soft gentle laugh and her eyes were soft too. “And I do wish you’d speak properly, don’t keep saying ‘yeah’, your Grandma hates to hear you talking common like that.”
“My dad talks like that.”
“I know, love, but you know what your Grandma’s like. She always says we got that word off the Yanks and she didn’t like them at all.”
I sniffed and felt a tear fall down my cheek. Roma wiped it away without a word. I could still feel my heart beating and the familiar throbbing was still in my ears. I didn’t understand her, why did she do this to me? One moment she was an angel, the next she was the devil incarnate.
Seconds later, Dad appeared in the doorway, he’d been reading the paper in the other room. Still smiling, Roma opened the back door for me and I stepped outside. She closed it again quickly behind me and as I passed the low kitchen window on my way to that outside loo, I craned my neck and could see Roma showing him the scratches on her arm. I knew she’d tell him it was her ‘nerve rash’ as she called it, and I knew she’d blame another flare up of it on me. It was usually my fault for giving her so much stress. She was predictable at times; this was one of those times. Soon Dad had his arms around her and she was sobbing on his shoulder. I walked away. I didn’t want to know what she had been saying. I placed my hand on the back of my head where my scalp was still singling, if only Dad had walked in sooner, but he never did, she always knew just when to attack me. Nothing had really changed.

[Emms]

Seven
“I heard it on the telly that she was only thirty six,” Winnie Malone said as she poured a cup of tea for her friend, Laney Price.
“No age, is it?” Laney said, shaking her blonde curls and drawing hard on her cigarette. “Pots an’ pots of money an’ all. Lovely lookin’ woman, she was.”
“Oh yeah, she was a looker all right. What she wanted ter go an’ kill herself for, I’ll never know.”
They sat in Winnie’s kitchen. Carol Malone and I were sitting on the coal bunker in the back yard, the kitchen door was open and we could see and hear the goings on inside. Unlike the houses at our end of the street, these were bigger and bay fronted, many had three or more bedrooms and a long garden at the back, though most of the gardens were overgrown now. The buildings were originally designed for the Victorian ‘upper working classes’, clerks, foremen and undermanagers, but years later, most of them had been bought by shark landlords to be rented cheaply, so many had fallen into disrepair. Winnie’s house was one of those, paper peeled from the walls revealing cracks in the plaster beneath and patches of damp crept across the ceiling.
Winnie struggled with the grisly two year old she’d been carrying around on her bony hip and finally put the child down. “It’s been all over the news about that film star’s suicide, dunno how many films the girl made and she was supposed ter be in with them Kennedy’s an’ all. She didn’t have a bad life, did she?”
“I know,” the other woman nodded slowly as she sipped her tea. “Daft cow, goin’ and killin’ herself like that when she’d got everythin’ ter live fer. It must be all that fame and fortune, goes right ter their heads. Mind you, them Yanks was always a bit funny, they like the dramatics an’ that. I remember when they was over ‘ere durin’ the war, they was a nice enough bunch of lads though. Really lovely, some of ‘em.”
Winnie laughed, dipped a rubber dummy into the bag of sugar and pushed it into her child’s open mouth. “You’d know a bit about that, wouldn’t ya, Laney Price? You had a lot ter do with them Americans, so I heard.”
“Watch yo’er mouth, you cheeky cow,” Laney frowned in mock anger before joining in with her friend’s laughter. Then her plump, lightly freckled face took on a wistful expression. “Hmm, them was the days, eh? I bet neither of us pair thought we’d end up like this, did we? I was sure one of them Yankie GI fellers was goin’ ter tek me back to America with him. I thought they was all like film stars, they’d all got money too, plenty of chewing gum and nylon stockings fer any girl who wanted some, remember, Winnie?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Winnie sighed. “But I liked them Italians better. Remember them? I was only a bit of a kid an’ we lived by the railway then. They had them Italian prisoners of war workin’ on the railway line, remember? I thought they was lovely. They didn’t wanna go ter war, they just wanted ter blow kisses ter us girls and whistle at us. They used ter call ‘Bella Bella,’ after us. I wasn’t really old enough ter know what was goin’ on, you was though, Laney, I bet you’ve got a tale or two ter tell if you’re honest.”
“Eh, are you callin’ me old, Winnie Malone?”
“Well you’re older than me.”
“Yeah, but only a couple of years.”
Winnie giggled. She looked thin and drained but her face lit up when she laughed. “Well, perhaps it’s fer the best that neither of us went off with one of them American soldiers. We might have ended up tekin’ an overdose of tablets and dyin’ young like that Marilyn Monroe did. I still cor believe the woman’s dead.”
Carol and I watched the two women from our seat on that coal bunker. We looked at each other for a moment and shrugged before turning our attention to the conversation again. I could understand what they were saying now; the Black Country accent was no longer an enigma to me. Since I’d been allowed to spend more time with Carol Malone I had met more grownups, more normal people, if Carol’s dysfunctional family could be called normal. I think Roma felt the authorities were watching her and she had to appear to be letting go, so I was allowed to walk to and from school on my own. Weekends were good these days, I could play unsupervised with other children, those who actually wanted me around and since Jimmy and his family had left the area, only Carol seemed to appreciate my company. I still took the pills regularly that the hospital had prescribed, had been taking them for more than two years. Phenobarbitone, they were called, a word I won’t forget too quickly. I took two each morning and the same dose each night, though I did still have the occasionally seizure. I didn’t talk about that with Carol, or with her mother, Winnie. The woman seemed to approve of me; I think she liked the idea that her daughter had someone to hang around with; it kept the child from under her feet. Of course, Carol was handy when it came to looking after the younger children, there were a couple of older daughters but they didn’t seem interested in their mother’s needs at all. The thing that worried Winnie was the fact that Carol might start telling tales, Winnie worried that the neighbours might find out too much about the goings on behind closed doors. She didn’t want everyone to know about the drunken beatings her husband gave her but the state of her face and the blood curdling screams that came from that house from time to time told everyone everything they wanted to know. Just like me, Carol had a few secrets, and if her family was normal, I thought perhaps normality wasn’t all I had once thought it was cracked up to be.
My dad worked for the local tyre factory now. He earned a reasonable wage, though he never let Roma know the contents of his wage packet. Unlike most of the children in the area, I had pocket money. That should have made me popular, but it seemed I couldn’t even buy any friends. But I must have seemed like a good catch to Carol, when her father was at home he virtually never did a day’s work and everything they had was shared between eight children and Winnie, so I was considered Carol’s best and probably only friend. There was a chance, of course, that the child really did like me, but the fact that I never refused to share my sweets and even toys with her must have helped.
I knew I was a loud mouthed copy of Roma at times, a true performer who loved an audience, but I could still clam up in a second, becoming silent and unsociable, the invisible child. Although I was becoming more and more cynical, I was at last learning to be a real child, learning what childhood was all about. Most of the time, life away from the loonies wasn’t so bad, but there was still the familiar feeling of dread whenever I came home.
“I heard about that Marylyn”, I whispered to Carol. “My mum thought it was awful too, that she’d done herself in.”
“Yeah, everybody’s talking about it,” Carol explained. “I’ve not seen many of her films though, have you?”
“No. I’m not allowed to watch much on the telly.”
“I can watch stuff but we’ve got one of them tellies that you put money in the back when you want to use it. When our mum’s skint, we can’t see anything so I miss a lot of things as well.”
“They just keep switching ours off, Mum and Grandma. Don’t know why. Anyway, that Marylyn was pretty, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, really blonde,” Carol lowered her voice even more. “Had hair a bit like Laney, only curly, and she’d got big tits, I think!”
I giggled with her and looked down at my own chest. I already had budding breasts beneath my vest but the tight liberty bodice Grandma insisted I still wore made sure they were kept well hidden. Roma had mentioned a bra, perhaps for next year. She had even given me a pep talk about periods as I was so well developed for my age, all far too early, I was still at junior school, for God’s sake, the last thing I wanted was something else to make me feel different from the other kids. As for Carol, she was stick thin and flat as a board, as ten year olds should be, or at least that’s how I saw it.
“Why did that Marylyn kill herself then?” I asked, genuinely curious.
Carol shrugged and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in the palms of her hands. She wasn’t an unattractive child, she had a tiny heart shaped face and straight brown hair that curled at her shoulders. She was prevented from being really pretty by uneven teeth but her huge blue eyes could certainly attract attention. “I dunno why she did it,” Carol said with a sigh. “Perhaps it’s like Laney says, she was a daft cow. Our mum said she was going to kill herself once, she never did though.”
Hmm, obviously, I thought, seeing as I was watching the woman gossiping with her friend and neighbour.
Winnie spent a lot of time gossiping, or so Roma said. The woman lived in filth, smoked like a chimney and let her children run riot in the street, Grandma would tell me. I took little notice. Up to a point, I supposed they were right, but what the hell did those loonies know? Grandma never went out and Roma didn’t really know these people anyway, she hardly knew anyone. I had always thought of Winnie as a dowdy little woman, painfully thin and looking older than her years. Looking at her with Laney it was obvious the two women were like chalk and cheese, perhaps that was why they seemed to get on so well. I had been in Laney’s house once with Carol. We had been asked to fetch her a packet of fags from the corner shop. There was a long hallway behind her front door, nothing like our house, our front door opened directly into the front room. There were carpets everywhere at Laney’s, not old lino like we had at home. Her parlour was clean and filled with modern furniture, the net curtains at her windows were always pure white, so were the towels that blew around on her washing line in the garden. But the house was a cheap mismatch of colour and style; the soft furnishings were way too flamboyant and the colours too loud, everything clashed badly. It was almost as cluttered as my house but with modern things, not antiques and cobwebs. I loved it.
Laney’s husband had apparently left her and her two sons many years ago and she had earned her own money by working in a factory ever since. I was told that her mother took care of her boys when they were younger and Laney had another nice little earner, she had a job at the Fitters Arms pub down the road. She liked her men, so the grownups said, yet she had never re-married. Of course, Roma didn’t have a good word to say about her, she thought the woman was disgusting, especially as she often took herself off to one of the new bingo halls and spent her money there. She was a bit of a slag, so some said, but knowing Roma’s behaviour, that didn’t bother me at all. What I liked was the fact that there was nothing pretentious about her, what you saw with Laney was what you got. She was what some of the grownups called a ‘good sort’, a ‘diamond’. It was mainly the women who disliked her. I felt that was because they resented her looks and her sense of humour. She was very pretty, in a cheap kind of way; I would have loved Laney for a mother.
As for Winnie, she seemed exactly the opposite. She was always nice to me, but I always thought she looked tired. She rarely left the house, there was no one to take care of her brood of kids so there was no way she could go out to work. She hardly ever wore make up, her mousy hair was sometimes rolled into curlers and hidden by an old headscarf and her heavy lidded grey eyes certainly made her appear older than her thirty three years. She had been kept short of money by her work shy husband, Georgie, for years. I had only seen Georgie Malone once, he was short, but well muscled, had an ever increasing beer belly and a bent and broken nose, a throw back to his days as a bare knuckle fighter, so they said. Every few months, Georgie would disappear, I knew now that it was because he had been banged up for getting involved in some kind of drunken violence. Winnie and the other children rarely spoke about him and I kept away if Carol told me he might be there. Roma constantly insulted the Malones and the Prices, but I took little notice. I wasn’t impressed with a woman who thought it was fine to threaten her adopted daughter so she would lie for her, a woman who thought it was fine to steal from her own husband then blame that same daughter for it. For all their faults, I preferred the company of our neighbours, even the Malones, when Georgie wasn’t around, of course.
I knew Roma had been to see the headmaster about me; he was worried about my strange behaviour. The old fool had left the window to his office open and I had been standing in the playground listening to his conversation with her. She had told him how difficult things were for her at home, how hard it was looking after her ageing parents and how worried she was about me, now that I was an epileptic. She explained that she spent hours in the evenings teaching me how to read and how to add up, if she hadn’t then I would never have caught up with the other children at school, I was such a slow child, you see, but she had done wonders with me. Strange, this was the first I knew about all this extra teaching at home. I’d listened to her lies and known she was basking in the attention she was getting, but I kept quiet about it. I didn’t want another good hiding from her. Winnie and Laney, for all their weaknesses, were kind to me. Winnie had even told off one of her sons for shouting insults after me in the street.
It was Carol’s idea that we should leave and find something to do. It was a muggy day, a blanket of thick cloud was waiting on the horizon, threatening rain, but it wasn’t cold. We had both tired of listening to Winnie and Laney’s chatter; we didn’t understand half of it anyway. But we had been fascinated by their gruesome descriptions of pregnancy and childbirth, though we had now decided neither of us would be having any children. Still, it was so different from the conversations at home, they hadn’t changed, it was still as if nothing that happened outside our four walls could ever be talked about, unless it was to run someone down, of course. Dad would discuss things with Roma, I knew that, but their discussions always took place well away from my ears. I learned far more about life from listening to these women than I ever did at home.
“It’s bloody ‘orrible!” Winnie had said, referring to giving birth, and she should know, she’d done it enough times. “I don’t know why the ‘ell these young girls want babbies! We tell them all about it and they still go and do it without usin’ a rubber!”
Laney nodded and lit another cigarette, leaving a bright lipstick mark on the filter tip. “Tell me about it, cocker. Mind you, I should think it gets a bit easier after havin’ as many as you did.”
“Don’t you believe it, me girl. I reckon the real hard work starts once you ‘ave ter bring the little buggars up. All them sleepless nights, all that screamin’ and wailin’.”
“Yeah, I ‘ave ter agree with you there. But I remember havin’ our Carl, me first one. Bloody ‘ell, it hurt! I had pains fer more than six hours before I even knew I was in labour. Then me waters broke and ooooh! Talk about flamin’ constipation! It was like tekin’ me top lip and stretchin’ it over the top of me head! Christ knows why I went and did the same again and had our Paul.”
Winnie shuddered and lit the gas under the kettle again to make more tea. “How d’ya think I feel then? I went through that eight bleedin’ times.”
“Yeah, and then there’s the feedin’,” Laney said rolling her eyes. “I was daft, I fed me first meself, even though me mam told me I wasn’t doin’ the right thing. Oooh, me nips was raw, they was bleedin’ at one time. I had ter give it up in the end, the bab was much better on the bottle.”
“I never fed any of mine, didn’t ‘ave the milk fer it.”
Carol and I grinned shyly at each other and decided we had heard enough. But I did have to get her to explain to me what a rubber was. The only rubbers I had heard of were those you used to correct your mistakes when you were drawing. I had no idea men could put rubber things on their dongers to stop them making babies.
Neither of us said much as we walked away from Carol’s house. We were both bored. We talked about having a walk along the old canal towpath but I had to watch how far I travelled, if anyone saw me or if I was too long away from home, Roma wouldn’t like it. I didn’t want Carol to know how afraid I was of this woman, she scared me the way Carol’s violent father frightened her only Roma could hide it much better. Everyone knew Georgie Malone was a prat, they all knew Roma was a bit peculiar but she was such a good actress no one had any idea what she could do to me. I was a little resentful of Carol for that, at least if she came to school and said her father had smashed up the house and given their mother a beating, she’d be believed.
“You got any money, Julie?” she asked me as we reached the corner shop. We were both still bored and waiting for something to happen.
I nodded. It amazed me how well spoken Carol could be considering the accents of her parents. She was possibly just as amazed at the way I spoke; I made sure I didn’t copy Roma’s affected voice and at times I purposely spoke like my dad, just to upset Grandma. I knew Carol was using me, but I used her too, in a way, we used each other, wasn’t that what friendship was all about? We were both lonely; each found the other’s company better than no company at all.
I fumbled around in my coat pocket for the purse Grandma had given me for my birthday and found I had a few pennies in there, enough to buy sweets. We entered the shop and a loud bell rang, warning Mrs Green that the door had been opened. Carol knew I’d share whatever I bought with her and that I’d make sure I bought something she liked too, I didn’t want her going off and finding someone else to play with. When Mrs Green appeared behind the counter, I don’t know what the hell she must have thought of us. Two strange little girls, one fat, one thin, one dressed shabbily in her older sister’s hand me downs and with her untidy brown hair needing a good wash, and one wearing a good quality beige coat and hair that had been cut again and permed into ridiculous bubbly curls.
The tiny shop was cramped; everything had been placed behind the counter, well out of reach of ‘sticky’ fingers so whatever we wanted had to be asked for, there was no self service. Behind Mrs Green were shelves stacked with jars of sweets, just as they had been when Mrs Green’s mother kept the shop and her mother before her. There was everything from treacle toffee to rainbow sherbet, from herbal sweets to sticks of liquorice. At the front of the counter, behind a sheet of glass, were the modern sweets, the Mars bars, Milky Ways and packets of Chocolate Buttons. A bacon slicer stood at one end of the counter, cooked meats and a few freshly baked cakes were kept on a cold shelf beneath it while tea, coffee and a few canned foods were carefully placed with their individual prices in view. There were ice creams in the fridge, as it was a muggy day we decided on a cheap ice lolly each. That took all my money but it didn’t matter, we wouldn’t need any bus fare, we walked everywhere.
“How many times is that today, then?” Mrs Green said, shaking her curly grey head as she passed a lolly to each of us and took my money.
I looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Sorry, what d’ya mean?””
The woman rolled her eyes. “How many times have you had sweets or ice lollies today then, Julie?”
“Erm ..... this is the first time,” I told her truthfully.
“Oh I’m sure it is.” The shopkeeper had a sarcastic tone to her voice. “I’ll bet a day doesn’t go by that your mother doesn’t buy you some sweets. She comes in here buying chocolate for you, then you come in and buy something else. No wonder you’re the size of a house. You get anything you want, don’t you? Cakes, biscuits, sweets, clothes and toys, I’ve never known a little girl so spoilt. I’ll bet you’ve only got to ask and you get, am I right?”
I felt a burning anger rising inside me, that little bit of rebellion that sometimes reared its head when something or someone upset me. Yes, Roma bought me plenty of food, I didn’t go short of clothes or toys but I was far from happy. I was sick and tired of being told how spoilt I was.
“No! I don’t get everything I want,” I insisted. I could feel the familiar heart beats in my ears. “I get sweets and things but I don’t get my own way all the time.”
The woman’s thin greying eyebrows raised in shock. “Who do you think you’re talking to, young lady?” she snapped. “Wait til I see your mother, I’m sure she’d like to know what a rude little brat she’s brought up! Mind you, I’m not surprised; she’s spoilt you good and proper. Everyone talks about it, the way she ruins you, all the things she buys for you. A decent mother would teach her child some manners; I bet you’ve never had a smack in your life, have you? An only child always gets spoilt but I’ve never known a mother as bad as yours for it. If you were a child of mine I’d .....”
“Oh yes I do get smacked,” I squealed, cutting Mrs Green off mid sentence. I felt the finger of accusation pointing at me; it was like a sharp needle penetrating my heart. These were words, just words from a daft old woman who knew nothing about my life at home, yet she was stirring feelings of inadequacy in me that I refused to accept any more. Suddenly, in front of Carol, this woman had made me into nothing, just as I was nothing at home. “And I haven’t had sweets today, this is the first time but you don’t believe me, do you, nobody ever does!”
Carol touched my arm gently. “Easy on, Julie.”
“No! I don’t want the rotten ice lolly now, here, have it back you daft old cow!”
I threw the thing on the slabbed floor and ran out of the shop. Carol rushed out before me and I slammed the door, just as any spoilt brat would.
Once we were back on the pavement we ran until we were both out of breath. I couldn’t run far at my weight and I felt dizzy as I gasped like a fish on a river bank.
“What did you do that for?” Carol asked when we stopped and could both speak again.
I shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t like Mrs Green anyway.”
“I don’t like her either; she’s always nasty like that. Do you think she’ll really tell your mum?”
“Probably, but why should I care? I hate her Mrs Green.”
“So do I, but I bet she’ll tell my mum too, we’ll both be for it.”
“Yeah, but your mum won’t go as mad at you. It wasn’t you who threw the lollypop.”
Carol smiled then. “Maybe she won’t but I’ll still get a bollocking. It was dead good though, Jule. I wish I’d got the guts to do something like that, I hate her too, you know, we all hate her.”
The tears that had been prickling my eyes had begun to run down my nose, making me sniff loudly. I knew I’d be in deep shit once Roma heard about this but I did feel a little satisfied by what old Mrs Green had said about her. It seemed no one thought much of her parenting skills even though they still had it all wrong. She wasn’t a mother who spoilt me; she was a woman who abused me, mentally and physically.
“Hey, Jule, look at them pair!” Carol pointed to the young couple about to cross the road. I forgot my worries for a moment as my eyes locked on the young couple making their way over to us. The man was tall and swarthy, some might have said he was good looking and the girl didn’t look more than about fifteen years of age, but her heels were high, her face well painted and her hair was piled on top of her head in large back combed waves. They both seemed in high spirits, I could hear their laughter as they crossed the road and almost knocked the two of us over. I didn’t recognise the young man at first, I hadn’t seen him for some time but looking closely I knew it had to be him. It was Mick Clayton, Roma’s friend, the only friend who ever visited our home. I hadn’t seen him for some time and he seemed to have changed a little. He was bigger, older and louder, he placed one arm around the girl’s waist and as they walked past us, virtually ignoring the fact that we were even there, I noticed he had his hand on her bottom. She pressed her head into his shoulder and giggled, that reminded me of Roma and my mind shot to the times when they locked themselves in that front room of ours when I was much younger. I smiled to myself. I hadn’t been sure what they were up to in those days, but I knew now. I was learning fast though I still didn’t really understand everything. I guessed his friendship with Roma must be over, just as it must have been over with Fred and probably soon would be with John too. Poor Roma, she wasn’t doing too well, was she? I didn’t care. Carol looked back as the couple passed by and nudged me in the ribs.
“Hey, Jule, they’re having a good snog, aren’t’ they?”
She was right, they were kissing now, kissing open mouthed and shamelessly. I presumed they were doing no harm but we both found the sight hilarious, as children our age often do. He was a good looking man, she was a pretty girl, so what? Still, Carol and I giggled behind our hands and the little drama in the shop was forgotten. Another boring Saturday afternoon was almost over and I buried my anger and frustration for the old bag in that shop somewhere deep in my subconscious. The anger would remain there for a long time, along with the anger I felt towards Roma and Grandma too. Occasionally it would escape, usually blasting all the wrong people for the wrong reasons, blasting the world with the sharp shrapnel of hatred.
*******
It was just about light outside. We’d had tea and the loonies were watching TV downstairs. Grandma had been very fragile for a few days. Bonzo had died and the old woman had insisted on keeping his body in that front room with her for at least twenty four hours before she finally agreed to let Dad bury the animal before it began to rot and stank us out of house and home. Apparently, Grandma thought it was unlucky to take a photograph of pets while they were alive, but she wanted something to keep as a reminder of the dog. She instructed Roma to lay Bonzo out on a rug, then to find Dad’s old Kodak Brownie and take a photo of the body. A bit gruesome, I thought, but that was Grandma. I had cried, I would miss my old mate, but Grandma and Roma were so wrapped up in the dog’s death that anyone would have thought a close relative had passed on, they seemed to enjoy the morbidity of death.
I’d been looking through my bedroom window and seen Granddad leave, come home, then leave again, wearing his silk scarf and his trilby hat as usual. I hardly spoke to the man these days, just as Grandma hardly spoke to my dad. There was a cold and tense atmosphere in our house most of the time. I lay on my bed reading a comic. I’d changed from my school uniform and put on my favourite red jumper and the fashionable tartan kilt Roma had bought for me before the spring. I heard her climbing the stairs and immediately knew she was bringing me my night time medication. The epilepsy wasn’t too bad these days but I still had to visit the consultant at that hospital from time to time. She came in carrying a plate of biscuits, a packet of crisps and a glass of slightly warmed lemonade for me to take the tablets with. She handed me the pills, which I took without question. I knew I couldn’t refuse the food either, had I done so then she might have made a big thing about it and told Dad and Grandma I was coming down with something nasty. That may have meant more time off school, which I didn’t really mind, but that would also mean less time playing out with Carol and I did mind that. So I thanked her and smiled into her face.
She sat on the bed beside me. She did that sometimes, it usually meant she wanted to talk and she looked as if she was in a good mood. She had brushed her hair, which was longer now; the natural curls fell loosely around the tops of her arms. Her makeup was perfect, as usual, and I had to admit she looked good. I knew she hadn’t been told about the little episode with Mrs Green, I was still waiting for the explosion over that but I held a glimmer of hope that perhaps the old bat wasn’t going to say anything.
“I’ve been thinking about getting another dog,” she said suddenly. “We’ll have to get round your grandma first though. I thought perhaps you could mention it to her, if you tell her you want another puppy then she just might listen.”
I shrugged. “Hmm, I think I would like a puppy, but I’ll miss Bonzo.”
“Of course you will, darling. We’ll all miss him; we had him for a very long time. But you have to remember that he was an old man and that he died peacefully in his sleep. He’ll be with Jesus and with Our Lady now, they’ll look after him.”
“Erm ..... I know. Is Grandma still very upset about it?”
Roma let out a theatrical sigh. “Yes, she’s very upset, but time’s a great healer. She’ll feel better about it soon and while she’s grieving, she doesn’t need you behaving badly. You be a good girl for her now while she’s so unhappy, don’t get upsetting her more then she already is, will you?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll behave.”
I wondered why the hell she always thought I was going to misbehave, surely I wasn’t that bad. I felt that I must have been responsible for everything that went wrong in that house. I looked into her eyes, she was still smiling. She was wearing one of her favourite blue calf length skirts and a frilly white blouse with little puff sleeves. The sleeves were hidden beneath a thin navy cardigan and she looked quite smart, quite young too for a woman pushing forty. Lifting one of her legs, she leaned back beside me on the bed and scratched violently at a vein. Her long painted fingernails left red ridges on her skin. There were no signs of the so called ‘nerve rash’, it seemed to be forgotten, but she was talking about those varicose veins of hers quite a lot.
“Oooh, these things are driving me crazy,” she said in a pained voice. “I’ve got to go and see the doctor about them, he might say I have to have an operation, do you understand what that means?”
I glanced at the purple thread veins on her shins and calves and as she lifted her skirt, I noticed the sagging little lumps beneath her skin. They looked like bunches of grapes. I knew they were varicose veins, I’d heard of other women having them worked on.
I began to nod. “Yeah, I understand. It means you’ll go into hospital and come out with your legs cut, but the veins will be better.”
She laughed loudly. “I wish it was that simple, sweetie! I’m afraid it’s a very serious operation, mine will be anyway. You see, my veins are very bad, they could become seriously infected and I could be very ill.”
“Then you might die?”
“Oh darling, you mustn’t think like that, it’ll upset you and give you nightmares. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have mentioned it, should I?”
“Don’t worry, Mum. I won’t have nightmares about it.”
“Ahh, you’re trying to make me feel better, aren’t you sweetie? It might be a while yet before I have it done anyway, I won’t leave you for long if I can help it. Now eat up your crisps and finish those biscuits. I thought you might be off your food, what with missing Bonzo.”
I pushed the last handful of crisps into my mouth and screwed up the empty bag before starting on the biscuits. I listened to Roma waffling on again about her operation and about missing things when we lose them. When I’d finished eating I stretched out on the bed and turned towards her, resting my head on one arm.
“Do you miss people sometimes, Mum?” I asked her.
“Of course I do.”
We hadn’t lost any close relatives that I could remember so I was interested. I thought she might mention the baby boy again, the one she’d lost at birth. I wanted to know things but I was often afraid to ask, though Roma’s present demeanour seemed to lull me into a sense of security.
“Who do you miss then, Mum?”
“Well, I suppose I miss Nicky.”
I was surprised by her reply. “You mean that man in the picture downstairs? The one on the sideboard?”
Roma seemed to forget about her itching legs. She sat up and hugged her knees; her face took on a wistful look. “That’s him, that’s my Nicky. I would have married him, you know.”
“Why didn’t you then?”
Because I married your dad instead. It was the war, love. It was all because of the war.”
I had heard the story of him before, this Nicky whose photograph still adorned the sideboard, pushing my father’s picture out of sight. Grandma always told me he was a long term boyfriend of Roma’s, that he came from a very good family in Scotland and that he was a fighter pilot. She said he was stationed at RAF Cosford, a place not far from here. He had wanted to marry Roma, so Grandma said, but for some reason the wedding never took place, Roma married my dad, much to Grandma’s disgust.
“Did he die then?” I asked. I knew I was getting daring but she seemed in a talkative mood.
“No,” she said softly. She folded her hands behind her head and lay back on the bed again. “Nicky didn’t die; I thought he’d been killed though. I saw the telegram saying he was missing presumed dead. We had some wonderful times together; he was lovely, very clever and handsome too. All the girls were jealous of me when he took me out. His uniform was always perfect, so were his teeth and his hair. He had lovely thick dark wavy hair, you can see how shiny it was on that photo.”
I was fascinated. “How did you meet him?”
“It was at Cosford. All the RAF were stationed there, some Americans too. I used to go there to sing for them, did you know I was in the South Staffordshire Operatic Society?”
I nodded. I knew all right, I’d never stopped hearing about it from Grandma. Many times I had been told how Roma could have been a famous opera singer had she not married my dad and adopted me. How she would have managed I just didn’t understand because those parents of hers would never have let her leave them.
“We used to hold concerts for the airmen,” Roma went on. “I had one of the leading parts in an opera called Faust, I was Marguerite.” She began to shake her head slowly from side to side. “It was the first time he’d heard me sing and he couldn’t resist me. He must have asked someone for my address because he sent flowers the very next day, a lovely big bunch of flowers. Then when I sang there again he was waiting for me and that was it! He was absolutely lovely, so generous. He took me out to the very best restaurants, bought me presents and he even asked me to marry him. He was going to buy me an engagement ring but then he was sent away.” Roma’s face dropped with what appeared to be genuine sadness. “He told me he’d be back, he promised, but when he did get back it was too late.”
“What do you mean, Mum?”
She sighed and the sorrow seemed to wash over her, making her performance totally believable. “It had been so long since I’d heard from him, I was sure he must be dead. Perhaps I should have had more faith in the man, who knows? Anyway, when I was convinced Nicky was never coming back, I met your dad and we got married. Then, one day, when I’d been married for about a year, Nicky came home. He called here to see me; he’d not been killed, just taken prisoner by the Japanese. He looked so old, so very tired, he’d been ill, you see. A lot of men didn’t survive those prison camps, some starved to death and I don’t think Nicky would ever have been the same again. But he never forgot the girl he left behind; he came back to me just as he promised.”
“Were you pleased to see him?”
“Yes, very pleased, in a way. But I couldn’t hurt your daddy, I couldn’t leave him so I sent Nicky away. It broke my heart, darling, but I managed to do it. I’ll never forget watching him from that front door step, I watched him walking out of my life for the very last time. He looked so sad.”
I have to admit the tale had me spellbound for a few moments. Roma was a good teller of tales; it was like listening to the story line for an old war movie. “Did Grandma know he came back?” I asked her.
“No, love. No one ever knew he came back to me, not even your dad, so don’t tell him you know about it, will you?”
“I won’t. I won’t tell Grandma either, she would have wanted you to marry that Nicky, wouldn’t she?”
I saw Roma frown. “You mustn’t say things like that, Billy.”
“It’s Julie now; you don’t call me Billy anymore.”
She laughed then, I had started picking her up whenever she used that name for me and she didn’t seem to mind. I think perhaps the psychiatrist had said something about it to her.
“Oops, sorry ..... Julie,” she said coyly.” I keep forgetting you don’t like your nickname anymore. Just make sure you don’t forget though, Julie, don’t forget that what I’ve told you is a secret and if you don’t keep secret or if you tell lies, you’ll get into serious trouble.”
I had no intention of telling anyone. I almost liked Roma when she was like this; it seemed she wanted to be my friend when it suited her. Watching her climb off the bed and close the curtains I could see what men found attractive about her. Her round hips would sway sensuously as she walked and her cleavage was almost always on show. Her blouses were low and her sweaters tight. She made the most of her ample curves but she wasn’t exactly pretty. Her nose was too big, her lips too thick and her make up far too heavy, but there was a kind of scary charm about her, she could make anyone believe whatever story she wanted to tell and she oozed sex. That was the woman in Roma, the rest of her was a total child.
“Do you ever miss Micky?” I asked her suddenly; keen to let her know I’d seen him a few days earlier.
She spun around and smiled at me, placing her hands on her hips. “What?”
“Mick Clayton, you know who I’m on about. He used to come here a lot but we hardly ever see him now, do we?”
Roma sighed loudly and suddenly folded her arms across her body. “Yes, love. I know who you’re on about. I can’t say I miss him, why should I? I expect he’s working, that’ll be why we don’t see so much of him these days.”
“Perhaps, but he used to come here a lot. I always remember him sitting with you in the front room; you’d be in there for ages.”
She laughed again, tossing her head and running her fingers through her bouncing red curls. She stood in front of the dressing table mirror and began admiring herself. “Yes, I think young Mick had a bit of a crush on me for a while. Do you understand that, Julie?”
I nodded cautiously. “Er ..... I think so. Does it mean he fancied you?”
“Yes, I suppose it does, a lot of men have felt that way about me, but Mick was way too young. I remember him when he was just a child, your Grandma used to look after him while his mother was at work.”
I could never imagine Grandma looking after anyone, not even her own daughter. I had heard the story many times of how the family came to know Mick, I didn’t really want to go into all that again but as Roma seemed so open at the moment I wondered if I might learn something new.
“How old were you then, Mum?” I asked carefully. “How old were you when Grandma and Granddad looked after Mick?”
“I’d be about eighteen, I think. I remember the war was on and his mother was working in a munitions factory. She had no one else to look after him so your grandma did it, well, actually Mick’s mother put an advert in the paper shop and I told Grandma about it. She said it would be all right and we needed the bit of money we were paid for it. I couldn’t go out to work then, you see, your grandma wasn’t well enough for me to leave her. It was only later on when I had to go and find a job. That was when I worked as an usherette at the Hippodrome in town, the place where I met your dad. So I suppose you could say that looking after Mick was my first job.”
“I see,” that made a bit more sense to me. “So it was you who looked after him really?”
“Yes, I suppose so, but Grandma likes to think it was her. When Mick was older and we didn’t need to look after him anymore, he still kept coming to see me, he never forgot his auntie Roma.”
“Do you think he still remembers me?”
“I should think so, love.”
“Well he didn’t speak to me the other day when I saw him.”
Roma’s brows shot upwards and she swung around to face me. “What? You’ve seen Mick?”
“Yes, he’s got a girlfriend now.”
“And how on earth do you know that?”
I stifled a giggle. Roma had drawn me in with her chatting and her smiles and I said just a little too much. “I was coming away from Mrs Green’s shop with Carol Malone, last Saturday it was. We saw Mick and this girl and it was really funny. They were laughing and he had his hand on her ..... on her bum and they were having a right snog.”
I waited for Roma to laugh again, but the friendliness had already drained from her face.
“Don’t tell lies,” she snapped, her voice echoing around the small bedroom.
I flinched. “I’m not telling lies, Mum. I saw him, Carol saw him too and .....”
“Shut that lying mouth of yours! What have I told you about making up stories? If Mick had a girlfriend he would have been here to talk to me about it, I know he would.”
“Er ....perhaps he will come, later on.”
I wished then with all my heart that I had kept my mouth shut. Why did I tell her? What was wrong with me? I should have known better. Why could she still throw me off guard like this? I felt the full force of Roma’s hand crash against my cheek, leaving a burning red mark there. I fell back onto the bed and found myself curling my body into a ball and wrapping my arms across my face and head to try to protect it.
“Little liar!” Roma screeched. “I’ve told you so many times about making up stories. You just love causing trouble, don’t you? There’s something wrong with you, no wonder I’m having trouble with my nerves when I’ve got a little devil like you to look after. I don’t want to hear you say anything like that again, EVER!”
A sharp pain stung my ribs and took my breath as Roma sunk her fist into my flabby body. Another punch hit my stomach and I cried out as I doubled up in agony.
“Don’t make such a bloody row!” Roma said, almost in a whisper now. It amazed me how the well spoken voice would change when she was angry like this, she would curse and swear and drop her aitches. It was as if another person had taken over her body. She punched me one more time, always in a place she knew would not be seen so any bruising wouldn’t matter. Finally I felt another almighty slap across the back of my head and she stood back, watching me sobbing, wrapped in a ball on my own bed.
“Please, Mum,” I managed to say breathlessly. “Please don’t hurt me anymore.”
“Yes, you may well beg for bloody mercy, you little bitch. You have to go and spoil everything, don’t you? I can’t even talk to you without something like this happening. You’ll drive me into an early grave, my girl. Now I think you should apologise to me, don’t you?”
I nodded vigorously. “Yes, I’m sorry.”
“So you should be. And admit you were lying again or you’ll get more than another slap from me.”
Reluctantly I nodded again. “I’m sorry, I was lying.”
“I should think so. I don’t know why you do this, Julie. Sometimes I think you just like hurting me; I think you’re jealous of me. That’s it, isn’t it? You’re jealous.”
I took a long shuddering breath and managed to speak again, in a small, timid voice. “No, Mum, I’m not jealous.”
Roma snapped back at me with the venom of a cobra. “Of course you are! And it’s no wonder, look at you! I’m not surprised no one likes you, just look at the fat on you! Listen to the way you whinge and whine, you’d better smarten yourself up when you get a bit older or you’ll never get yourself a man, that’s for sure!”
I sobbed quietly into my pillow. Over the years I had learned not to shout too loudly when Roma hit me, shouting attracted attention at times like that and only caused more trouble, made her tell more lies about me. I couldn’t see what I had done wrong. Telling the truth wasn’t a bad thing, or was it? Once again I was nothing, she had made me nothing. The anger and hatred that had been filed away inside me began to resurface, but there was no point showing it, I couldn’t’ win.
As I opened my eyes and looked up at Roma, I noticed she was much calmer now. She even smiled and her voice had a touch of sweetness about it as she spoke.
“You look tired, sweetie,” she whispered. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’ve been running around a bit too much at school, we keep telling you about that. I hope you’re not coming down with something. Never mind, get undressed and into bed, an early night might do you good.”
She opened my dressing table draw and pulled out my pyjamas. “Come on, love. Let’s get you into these and then I’ll tuck you in. You’ll feel better in the morning, everything feels better once the night’s over.”
It was many years later, while talking to Dad, that he told me about that picture of Nicky. I had believed Roma’s story, there seemed no reason why I shouldn’t but apparently the man never existed. The old photograph was of a semi-professional singer who had appeared at the Hippodrome where both Roma and Dad worked. She was afraid to tell Grandma that she was seeing my father, a mere electrician, so she got hold of that picture and took it home, telling her mother that he was a well to do young fighter pilot. Even the name was made up, but Grandma was delighted and actually allowed her daughter out some evenings believing she was spending the time with him. Actually, she was with my dad. Grandma wanted to believe in Nicky, so the photo took pride of place in the sitting room, where it remained until after Grandma’s death. Then it was finally replaced by Mom and Dad’s only wedding photograph, one that had been hidden in their bedroom since their wedding day. The same picture I had seen on the fireplace at Gran and Granddad Whitehouse’s home all those years ago.

[Emms]

Eight
Just as Roma had predicted, I started my periods shortly after my eleventh birthday. She had already told me what to expect, that it might be painful, that I couldn’t wash my hair or have a strip wash while I was bleeding or I’d be seriously ill and that it would happen every month until I was around fifty years of age. Apparently, I could have a baby now so I had to keep away from boys.
I had picked up various other bits and pieces, some true, others total old wives tales from Carol and a few other girls who had older sisters to talk to. I had spoken to Laney about ‘women’s matters’ too, she put me right about one or two things, laughed and said she wasn’t sure if I’d really be ill if I washed my hair when I had ‘the curse’ as she called it. She also explained that childbirth wasn’t quite as bad as she had once said, that women often liked to make out they’d had the worst experiences of it, as if in competition with each other. Both Carol and I liked Laney and she didn’t seem to mind us spending a bit of time with her.
Roma had gone into a bit more detail about the actual sex act, she hadn’t laughed about it as Laney did, she had told me all about the marvels of a woman’s body and how we were blessed with the ability to have sex and to procreate. She tried to convince me it was a wonderful experience, but in spite of her eloquent imagery, I didn’t see the big deal. What mystified me the most was how on earth a woman could bleed for around five days every month for possibly half her life and not die? A man only had to cut himself shaving and he panicked, and we were called the weaker sex?????
“You look really nice today, Mrs Price,” I said to Laney, being careful not to call her by her first name unless she told me to. Grownups liked it that way, unless of course you put the word ‘Auntie’ before their name, that was different but I didn’t want Laney to be my auntie, she was more like my friend.
She placed a mug of tea and a glass of cool lemonade on her kitchen table before going back to the washing up. “Ta very much, love,” she replied in a happy voice. “Well, I s’pose I’ve ‘ad ter tek a bit more care with me frocks and make up since I left the factory. I can’t go ter work wearin’ me flamin’ hair curlers now I’m behind the counter at a chemist’s, can I?”
“I suppose not. I think you looked nice before, anyway.”
“Ahhh, that’s kind of you, me girl! This new job don’t pay so much as I got in that old factory, but it ain’t ‘arf cleaner and easier ter do. Still, now me oldest’s lad’s workin’ I can afford ter tek a bit of a drop in wages an’ I have to say, I like this job a lot better. No more bloody shifts, eh? I can put me old feet up every night and sit by the fire watchin’ telly.”
I giggled behind my hand. “Do you really do that every night, Mrs Price?”
Laney grabbed a tea towel and dried her hands, holding one up to the window and admiring the new length of her fingernails. “Well, per’aps not every night,” she looked into my eyes for a second and winked at me. “But I can do it if I want to. Blimey, I can’t believe the length of these nails, workin’ on them machines played havoc with me hands so I ain’t so ashamed of ‘em no more. And I don’t have ter try and work out what shift I’m on when I’m plannin’ summert. I’ll let you inter a little secret if you like.”
I was all ears, eager to take part in a grownup’s conspiracy.
“Thing is, cocker, I’ve bought meself a ticket fer the bleedin’ Beatles concert. I’m goin’ with my mate ter see them at the Gourmont in town, all the stars go there now, have done since the old Hippodrome burned down. Mind you, I never thought them Beatles would come ‘ere, I can’t hardly believe it. A woman my age goin’ ter see the bleedin’ Beatles, would you believe it?”
I sighed and felt a little envious of her. “I wish I could go,” I told her. “I’d really like to but my Grandma would never let me.”
Laney grinned. “Don’t you worry, me love. There’ll be time enough fer all that when you’re older. Now, tell me a bit about what you’ve been up to? I ain’t seen ya for a while.”
I sipped the soft fizzy drink and smiled at Laney. “I’ve been off school again so I haven’t been up to see Carol, haven’t been up this end of the street for ages.”
“Oh, was it them funny turns you’ve been havin’? Your epilepsy been playin’ up?”
“No. I don’t know what it was but my mum always thinks I’m ill.”
“That’s probably cos she worries about you. I can’t say I know you’re mum that well. I’ve seen you’re dad around a bit, he always seems a nice bloke.”
“He is nice.”
“Yeah, and there’s that lad that goes and visits you’re ‘ouse, ain’t there? What’s his name? Mick, ain’t it?”
“Oh, you mean Mick Clayton? We hadn’t seen him for ages, then he suddenly started calling round again. I don’t know why.”
“Me neither, cocker. He used ter pal about with a young lass who lived on the Dunstall Road, just round the corner from ‘ere. Mind you, everyone said she was way too young fer him. The bloke walks past our house some nights, I see him goin’ inter the off license ter buy beer. I can’t say I’m that keen on him. Good lookin’ lad but ..... I dunno, there’s summert about it I don’t like.”
I thought for a moment before I replied. I didn’t really want to talk about Mick, he was a pest, a nuisance. After Roma had accused me of lying about him, he called again one afternoon while Dad was at work. I heard an argument between Roma and Grandma, apparently Roma had been to see him but I didn’t want to know why. I had simply climbed the stairs to my bedroom and left them to it. Mick had changed, I didn’t like the way he looked at me now and he often smelled of drink. Since Irish John had decided to go and play happy families with his wife and kids, Roma must have been lonely. She needed Mick Clayton and he seemed keen to go back to spending hours in our front room with her behind a locked door. But he had started smiling at me, looking at me with predatory eyes. I knew that look, I had seen men look at Roma in that way and I understood it now, I didn’t like it.
“I don’t like him either,” I said eventually. “I think my mum does though.”
“Does she now?” Laney’s pink painted lips pressed together to make a thin line and she nodded slowly. “She’s a bit of a funny one, you’re mum. The woman keeps herself to herself, always did, like her parents. Still, I s’pose she’s been good to you, tekkin’ you in an’ all that when no other buggar wanted ya.”
“Yeah, I suppose she has.”
“And I never see your grandparents at all. What about your dad’s parents, are they still alive?”
“My other granddad’s dead but I think Gran Whitehouse is still around.”
Laney looked puzzled, then she laughed and little lines appeared around her wide, liner rimmed eyes. “You think your gran Whitehouse is still alive, don’t ya know if she is?”
“I haven’t seen her for a while.”
“Oh, so if you ain’t seen someone fer a while then they might have popped their clogs, eh?”
I giggled. “Er ..... perhaps not.”
“I guess it seems that way at your age. I wish life was still that simple.”
I smiled again and took a gulp of my soft drink. I thought it had been kind of this woman to ask me in and even kinder of her to offer me a glass of pop. It was lovely and cold too; nothing like the slightly warm stuff Roma always gave me, assuring me that anything too cold would be no good for my weak little tummy. What bollocks that was, but I let her get on with it. To be honest, I was absolutely made up with this woman’s generosity. How many others would have bothered to notice a sad young girl walking alone and kicking at last autumn’s dead leaves.
I hadn’t seen much of Carol lately. She seemed to have met some other girls whose company she preferred. I’d found a couple of new friends too, a pair of lively black girls named Pamela and Paulette who lived a few streets away and I believed they were related in some way. I liked the girls and they didn’t seem to object to my company but my time out of the house was limited and it really didn’t seem worth walking all that way just for half an hour’s playtime. But this short time I had spent with Laney was well worth it, it was time away from the loonies, time spent in the normal world. I felt comfortable with Laney, her kitchen was bright and smelled of bacon and eggs. She treated me almost like an adult, as if she had some respect for me and she credited me with some sense. She had a bit of a reputation with men according to some of the other children, she liked a drink and could swear like a trooper at times, I’d heard her, but none of that mattered to me. She was nosey, I knew that too and there was always the chance she had invited me in just in case I would be the bearer of a bit of juicy gossip, but none of that mattered.
We talked about school and a few other things of little importance. I watched Laney place two slices of bread under the grill, asking me if I wanted one. I accepted and waited for her to butter a wedge of toast, put it on a plate and then push it towards me as she sat at the table to drink her tea. She nibbled on her slice, I did the same and I got the impression she was glad of some company.
“Now I want ya ter tell me summert,” she said, licking her fingers. Her pretty round face was suddenly filled with concern. “You don’t ‘ave ter answer me if you don’t want to, but I’m just askin’.”
I looked at her expectantly; no one ever asked me anything. “I’ll tell you anything you want if I can,” I said.
She smiled gently and shook her head. “I dunno, it’s like talkin’ to a grown woman talkin’ ter you sometimes. The thing is, you said you’re mother liked that young Mick Clayton, right?”
“I think she does, she spends a lot of time with him.”
“Does she? Hmm, and how come she knows him so well?”
“Well, my grandma says she used to look after him years ago, when he was little and his mum was at work. That would have been before you moved around here. I think it was Mum who looked after him though, she’s a lot older than he is. I think ..... I think they needed some money cos Granddad was always losing on the horses so they got paid to look after Mick.”
“Ah, I s’pose it would have been a bit before my time. I didn’t come here til I got married. Unlucky street, this one, I wore married five bleedin’ minutes and he pissed off with another girl. Not after knockin’ me up twice though and the bastard never paid a blasted penny terwards either of them kids. Anyway, enough about yours truly, so you’re mum’s known that Mick a long while then?”
“Oh yes, but he doesn’t live around here now, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t, thankfully.” Laney swallowed a chunk of toast then washed it down with the dregs from her mug. “I ain’t stickin’ me nose in where it ain’t wanted, cocker,” she went on. “But there’s summert about that bloke that I don’t like, you watch him. Know what I mean?”
“I think so, he drinks a lot, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but it ain’t just that, me love. Perhaps you don’t understand these things yet. It might be a good job if you don’t to be honest.”
“Why?”
She looked down into her empty mug. “If I’m honest, love, the bloke gives me the bloody creeps, that’s all. I know there’s a lot who’ll say he’s a great feller but I reckon young girls like you should steer clear of him.”
I was slightly confused but had to agree with her. There was something increasingly creepy about Mick Clayton.
“He doesn’t talk to me much,” I told her. “He spends most of his time in the front room with my mum.”
Laney nodded knowingly. “Hmm, I see. I’d have thought he liked ‘em a bit younger than your mum, but it teks all sorts I s’pose.
Suddenly I realised that I was talking to another adult about the goings on in our home, I was speaking about someone Roma appeared to hold dear. I panicked a little and my heart started to thump. If Roma ever found out she’d go ballistic and Grandma would have an attack of the vapours. I’d get a slap or two, perhaps even more, I’d be grounded, banned from watching TV and Roma would definitely have one of her heart attacks in front of Dad. There might even be talk about where I came from again; Grandma often blamed my biological family for my unacceptable behaviour. It seemed I must have inherited no end of evils from that family, nothing bad could possibly have been learned from the loonies, they were bloody saints, that lot! No, I knew I had to shut up, it just wasn’t worth it.
“I’d better go now, Mrs Price,” I said as I slid carefully off my chair.
“Hey, you ain’t finished your drink yet.”
“I know but I’d better get off. My mum doesn’t like be out too late.”
“All right then, love. But will you stop callin’ me Mrs Price? It makes me think of me ex-mother-in-law. Me names Laney, right?”
“Okay, bye Laney.”
“Bye Julie, cocker. Don’t make it too long before you come ‘ere again.”
I thought a lot about Laney after that. She was one of the few people who actually made me feel good about myself. I wasn’t doing too badly at school, some of the teachers actually seemed to like me and I always did well at art or English. The classroom wall was filled with my paintings, even some of the other kids thought I was good at the subject. The summer hadn’t been a good one, it had rained most of the time and I remained my lonely self, playing my lonely games at home and sometimes drifting off to the other end of the street and calling on Laney. If she wasn’t in I’d either walk across the road to Carol’s house or perhaps take a trip to see my new mates, Paulette and Pamela. There were still the trips to the hospital to see the doctor about my epilepsy, which seemed to be behaving its self quite well. I’d stopped having to see the psychiatrist, that wasn’t a bad thing, what a wanker he’d turned out to be. He asked me a lot of questions and I answered them as truthfully as I thought I’d be allowed, but he never seemed to actually do anything. A nurse once told me about a place where I could go and stay for a while, it was like a school and there would be other children there too, children who weren’t well, like me, but of course, my parents couldn’t come with me.
“She won’t want to go, I tell you,” Roma insisted. “She’ll never go anywhere without me and her father.”
The nurse had smiled gently at me and lowered her head so that she could whisper in my ear. “Well, would you like to go, dear?” she asked.
I looked at Roma, then at the nurse, then back to Roma again. She held her head high; her eyes were huge and bright with anticipation. I wanted to go, I so wanted to give this mystery place a try, but I saw one of Roma’s eyebrows lift quizzically and I remembered the things she could do to me. I had to please her.
“No thanks,” I said, shaking my head. “If my mum can’t come with me then I don’t want to go.”
“See! I told you so!” Roma’s tone was triumphant. She threw out her arms to me and hugged me tightly to her. “You wouldn’t want to go anywhere without your mummy and daddy, would you, darling.” I shook my head and sighed.
I’d been in trouble a few times at home but if I’m honest, I deserved some of the bollockings Roma gave me. Of course, Mrs Green eventually told her about my behaviour in the shop.
I had the usual treatment, a good slap when no one was around and Roma put on a wonderful pantomime in front of my dad, making out she could take no more of this kind of behaviour from her wayward daughter. There was no TV for days and no playing out after school either, but it all seemed so long ago now. There was the time when Carol and I had teamed up with a few others and scribbled some choice obscenities on the wall of the Municipal Grammar. A man in a car had seen us, stopped us and asked us our names and where we lived. Like the idiots that we all were, we told him and he passed on the information to our school. Roma was called to see my head teacher about that one so I was in even more trouble, Dad told me he didn’t know what he was going to do with me. I’d upset Roma so much and he couldn’t cope with her. Why the hell don’t you leave her, then? I’d thought, but I didn’t dare say that. But when a neighbour told Roma I had charged her son sixpence to look through the window at our paintings of naked ladies, Dad actually laughed. He had watched Roma shouting and screaming about the shame of it all, seen Grandma lie down on the sofa and place her hand on her brow, saying she could take no more but he’d stifled a childlike giggle before leaving the room.
“At least the wench has got some enterprise in her,” I’d heard him say to Roma later. “Come on, I’ll bet that little lad thought he was in heaven looking at those pictures.”
“Don ‘t be disgusting, Albie!” Roma had screamed. “I won’t have it. Those are beautiful pictures, they’re art, not filth for a bunch of kids to snigger over. How dare she do that! My mother’s really upset about it, she blames that school.”
“Yeah,” Dad sighed. “She always does.”
I had hoped that perhaps for once Dad would take my side, but he didn’t. When Roma broke down in tears he hugged her as usual, but he didn’t scold me. I simply nodded to me and mouthed “it’s okay”. Then, with a jerk of his head he gestured towards the stairs, telling me to go to bed.
Perhaps one of the worst of my ‘little tricks’, as Roma was beginning to call them, was the time I set my bedroom on fire. It wasn’t actually a trick at all, I’d been smoking, that was all. Carol and I had shared a cigarette before and I didn’t enjoy it much, but as there were no sweets in my school bag, I’d found a packet with one Woodbine inside, lit the thing and almost choked on the smoke. I hadn’t yet learned the art of inhaling, I didn’t quite understand why the grownups sucked on these things anyway, but we all thought it made us look cool. We were in our last year at junior school and all thought we were ready to take on the world. Even I thought I could do that, it was just Roma I knew I couldn’t take on. I waved my hand in front of my face as the room filled with smoke. I couldn’t open the window to let it out as the frame was still nailed shut, every window in the house was like that except possibly for the one in the kitchen. Roma had developed a fear of moths and other flying insects, which was one of the reasons she gave for never allowing windows to be opened. I took another drag on the fag, decided I’d had enough and tried to put the thing out by rubbing the end against the top of the electric fire. I thought the thing was dead and dropped it behind my headboard, it landed among the little pile of magazines and drawing paper I’d pushed under there from time to time in an attempt to tidy the room. I threw myself on the bed and sulked for a few moments. I had almost fallen to sleep when I felt the tickle in my throat. I coughed and when I opened my eyes they were stinging from the smoke and I could hardly see.
I knew what had happened. My heart beat like a drum. I was willing the smoke to stop but the mess beneath my bed had caught fire and there was nothing I could do. Roma and Grandma were downstairs; I thought I could hear their voices buzzing. I’d be for it now. Through the smoke I could see flames and panic set in. The wallpaper was slowly turning a sickly shade of brown and there was no liquid in sight that I could have used to dampen the flames. I had to open that door, had to get out. I tried to put one foot in front of the other but I froze. Oh shit! What had I done?
“Help!” I called. “Mum, help!”
I was finding it hard to breathe and my eyes were stinging. I could see the leaping yellow and orange flames through the thick smoke, my bed was on fire. Suddenly I found my feet would move again. I rushed to that door and grabbed the knob. I could hear someone running up the stairs. I flung the door open and dashed outside, right into Roma’s arms.
She let out a high, blood curdling scream and dragged me across the landing into her bedroom. Pulling a blanket from her own bad, she wrapped it around me. Then she took hold of the thick double eiderdown and rushed back into my room, throwing the eiderdown onto my bed. It dampened the flames slightly but the smoke seemed even thicker. Roma slammed the door shut and placed one arm around me.
“It’s all right,” she whispered. “Come on, love, don’t be frightened. Just come with me, you’re safe now.”
I had never been so pleased to see her in my life and I have to say that she seemed quite calm about the whole thing, almost as if she was enjoying it. She half carried me downstairs, I could hear her breathing becoming faster. Obviously the fire hadn’t been as bad as I had first thought but I was still terrified. Once in the safety of the sitting room we hugged each other and Grandma fell back onto the sofa, one hand clutching her breast. It was a perfect impression of one of Roma’s so called heart attacks.
“Oh, my darlings,” she moaned breathlessly. “What has happened, I can smell smoke.”
“Quickly, Mom!” Roma pushed me into a chair and placed one hand on each of her mother’s shoulders. “Please, Mom, don’t pass out. We have to get the fire brigade. I’ll go to the phone box. I’ll send Julie next door to fetch Mrs Grant and she can sit with you while ....”
“Don’t you dare, Roma!” Grandma seemed to suddenly come back to life. “I will not have that woman in this house.”
“Oh, all right, all right, have it your own way, Mom. But I’ve got to get to that telephone box, Julie’s bedroom’s on fire. I just saved her, it was a miracle, I walked through the flames and saved her life.”
I almost laughed. If I hadn’t been so scared myself I might have done. Roma was a true performer, that was for sure. She rushed out into the street leaving the front door open and I heard her screaming hysterically for someone to call for an ambulance and a fire engine. Someone must have done it because both arrived fairly quickly. They clumped upstairs with their hoses and there was a lot of noise, but soon it was all over.
Roma pulled me onto her lap and looked doe eyed at the two firemen. She gave them the same story about walking over flames to save me, but the one simply looked at the other and shrugged. Grandma lay sobbing on the sofa. One of the firemen said that it wasn’t a good idea to have the windows nailed down like that but Roma told him it was a necessity as I often tried to climb out of the window and run away.
Chance would be a fine thing, I thought.
The damage hadn’t been too bad, the room needed decorating and some of the antique furniture up there had to be thrown away. I needed a new bed too and had to sleep on the sofa downstairs again for a while. I didn’t mind that too much. It meant I could watch TV quite late and I got into programmes like No Hiding Place and Z Cars. There was a variety show too called Stars and Garters, I enjoyed that too.
Roma had seemed to enjoy telling people how she had saved me from that fire, she even spoke to some of our neighbours about it and I definitely heard her telling the story to a woman at the local shops. I smiled to myself as I thought of that woman, of Roma, the woman they made me call mother. I was learning to laugh at her even though she still scared the shit out of me. She was the same with the doctors at the hospital, she lied to them about me all the time, I had often listened to her bawling, watched the tears roll down her cheeks as she told them how she just couldn’t stop me eating. Then she would take me home and buy me sweets before making sure I ate a huge meal. Surely everyone at that hospital must have known she was a neurotic cow, but no one did anything about it. I was always the one to be blamed; I was the difficult child, the girl with a personality disorder.
My room wasn’t quite ready and I was still sleeping downstairs. Roma was convinced I had started the fire on purpose and that was the story she intended to stick to, I didn’t really care anymore. I had called at Carol’s house only to find no one there. I had been disappointed. An old woman who lived nearby told me that Georgie had beaten Winnie to a pulp again after a drunken night out and the kids had gone to stay with an aunt on the other side of town. That meant Carol probably wouldn’t be in school for a while too. There was still part of me that envied that girl. I envied the fact that her bruises could be seen, her mother wouldn’t be accused of lying if she told the police what was going on, trouble was, she never did tell them. They had to work it all out for themselves, something they couldn’t do with me. Then I remembered Carol’s tears when she told about one of her father’s drunken rants, the time I had watched her shaking and sobbing silently. I recognised those feelings and hugged her until the trembling stopped. I was filled with guilt then, how could I envy this child, but at the same time I longed for a pair of arms to hug me when I felt like that, but I was always at home at those times, in my room and alone and with no one to listen, no one to believe me. This was my life now, doing what Roma wanted, telling Roma’s truth rather than the real truth. It was the only way I felt I could survive.
Pamela and Paulette weren’t at home either. Pammie’s dad told me I could wait for her if I wanted, but I decided to make my way home. The evenings were still light, the warm weather wasn’t quite over and I had begun my first term at senior school. I’d hoped things might be different there, but I was just as unpopular. Many of the children I knew had left the area already, due to the demolition of some homes. The families had been spread out all over the town, put onto huge council estates in houses I heard had hot water and bathrooms. Grandma always said she’d never leave our house, but as the bulldozers were getting nearer, I wondered if they’d move us on and leave the old woman there to rot along with her dusty old belongings.
I took a little detour on my way home; I wanted to make my journey a little longer. I turned out of Waterloo Road, crossed the Five Ways Island and walked along Stafford Street towards town. When I reached the top I stood still and looked around, once the street would have been flanked by row after row of tiny terraced houses, but now the area had been cleared. The grownups said all this was to make way for the new University the town would be having, they’d even moved the old market from the back of St Peter’s church and its old buildings had fallen into serious decay. They should have been taken over by the Civic Buildings where the new town hall would apparently stand but no one seemed to have started work on it yet. Stafford Street looked like a bomb site. Weeds grew in abundance between the cracks in the scattered brickwork while old discarded newspaper and empty cigarettes packets lay rotting among the rubble. A huge JCB Earthmover, that would have dwarfed any prehistoric monster, was continuing to scoop up some of the debris from beneath the partly demolished walls. Its long neck was hunched, predatory fashion; its jerky jaws scooped up my memories and spat out my dreams.
I turned down North Street to make my way home and passed a man walking his dog. He grinned at me, I smiled back politely. They’d finished some of the building here and tall apartment blocks stood where once there had been houses and pubs. Pavements had been dug up ready for the building of the new ring road we’d all red about. Most of the grownups seemed to think it would be a total waste of time and money. Carol and I had a wonderful time in those apartments a few weeks earlier; we’d knocked every door on each landing then jumped in the lift that took us down to the next one. Eventually we were caught, of course, but we were a bit more clued up these days and remembered to give false names and addresses. Back on the Waterloo Road I passed tall, three storey Victorian houses where the well to do once lived. Most of them had been converted into flats now, Pammie and her parents lived in one of those flats while her cousin Paulette’s family rented one of the smaller houses. Many of the larger buildings had been converted into offices. I always enjoyed passing them and trying to imagine who once lived there. The front gardens were walled, the road was lined with trees. The houses were often double fronted with huge bay windows, stone steps up to the front doors and they had basements and attics which probably meant their owners once had servants. I walked past the old Spiritualist Church and the Molineux Football Ground, home to Wolverhampton Wanderers football club who Dad said were doing very well at the moment. Esther’s house was around here somewhere, in one of the smaller streets. I could have paid her a visit, I supposed, but didn’t fancy listening to her constant moaning and groaning. I had a strange feeling as I walked these streets; I knew they had a demolition order slapped on them and it was as though I was trying to make a permanent imprint of them on my brain because I knew they were soon to disappear. They would be gone forever, wiped off the face of the earth, the way my childhood had been.
By the time I reached our street again it was very noticeable how small and old the houses looked. I did think about calling on Laney for a while, but I saw her younger son returning home on his pushbike. He threw one long leg over the cross bar and balanced on one peddle as he skidded to a stop near the alley at the side of her house. The time was getting on anyway; I didn’t want Roma moaning at me. I was walking quite quickly as I passed the Off Licence where they still pulled pints behind the counter and some of the old ones still popped over there with their jugs to be filled at night. I noticed old Porky Grunt, the name we used for the local pig bin collector, pulling up in his rusty old pickup truck ready to collect the week’s supply of stinking leftovers everyone scraped into the special bins for him. There was a slight curve in the street and the houses at one end were hidden from me. It was only then that I noticed a dark haired young man swaggering towards me. I recognised him straight away, it was Mick Clayton and he was coming from the direction of my house. I breathed a little sigh of relief as I realised he must have been on his way home, he’d paid his little visit to Roma already. I knew him by his walk, he was a cocky little git these days, handsome enough, and he knew it. It seemed it wasn’t just me who didn’t like him; Laney had noticed something about him too. For a moment I thought about crossing the road but decided to walk on defiantly. When he came closer I pretended I hadn’t seen him but that wasn’t something I could get away with. I hoped he’d just walk past, just ignore the kid who was in the way, but my luck was out. He actually smiled at me. His teeth were white and straight and his large blue eyes set off his thick dark hair perfectly. He began to slow down. As he came closer I could smell drink on him and in his cupped hand he held a cigarette which he puffed on once and then coughed loosely before flicking the nub of the fag into the gutter. I smiled at him quickly and almost passed him, but he stopped and placed a rough hand on my shoulder.
“You not speaking to your Uncle Mick, then, little ‘un,” he said in a slightly slurred voice. He’d been drinking more than I first thought.
I looked at him, trying hard to remain polite in case he told Roma I’d been rude to him and she made me pay for it. If she really wanted to punish me, she’d find a way and it wasn’t passed her to break something of Dad’s or Grandma’s then swear she’d seen me do it. It had happened before.
“Hello, Mick,” I said quickly. I tried to walk past him but he grabbed my arm.
“Hey, there’s plenty of meat on you, isn’t there?” he said, laughing quietly. “Anyway, where’ve you been hiding every time I come round to see the family.”
I felt my heart bounce. “I er .... I thought you liked to be on your own with my mum.”
“Why should I? I’ve not taken a good look at you lately; you’re growing up, aren’t you?”
I tried to pull away from him. “Sorry but I’ve got to go home. I’ll be late.”
He began squeezing my arm until it hurt. “Hey! Hang on a minute. Don’t get pulling away from your Uncle Mick.”
“You’re not my uncle, are you?”
He laughed again, louder this time. “You’re getting a few airs and graces for a kid your age! And you’ve grown a fair pair of tits, you don’t get many of them to the pound, they’ll be as big as your mother’s soon.”
I was angry now. I hated my new breasts, I hated my body. “I’ve got to be home soon, let me go?”
“Getting lippy now, are we?
“No, I just want to go home. My mum’ll be cross if .....”
He cut me off mid sentence. “And I’ll be cross if you walk away from me. I can’t believe them tits, they could be hand reared.”
I looked down at my coat which hung open. It was obvious by looking at my sweater that I was turning into a woman far too soon.
“How about letting me have a feel?” he asked, lowering his voice and bringing his face close to mine.
“No thanks!” I tried to wriggle from his grip but he only laughed at me.
Glancing quickly around him to make sure the coast was clear, Micky Clayton grabbed both my shoulders and pushed me into the nearest alleyway, forcing my back against the pig bin which was waiting to be emptied, the lid moved and the acrid smell of rotting pig swill wafted upwards. Many of the houses were empty now; there were few people around, but still enough to give Porky Grunt some work. I just wished that someone would come, that Mick would be caught but then perhaps I’d be blamed, everything was always my fault.
“Come on now,” Mick whispered as he pushed his hand under my coat, pulling at my breasts. “Don’t let me down, how about a little feel?”
It was Granddad all over again, but rougher and without the words of praise. I could feel my heartbeats in my ears. Mick squeezed one of my breasts. It hurt as he kneaded it with one hand. When I winced it made him laugh. Tears began prickling my eyes. I began wriggling around but he had his heavy body pressed against mine. His hands fumbled around for a few more seconds and he squeezed hard between my legs. I turned my face away from his, I hated the smell of booze and stale tobacco.
“Come on, give us a grope, love,” he said breathlessly.
I could feel the little rebel rising inside me, the repressed anger and frustration was fighting to get out. I gritted my teeth. I was determined not to let this happen to me again, determined that Mick Clayton wouldn’t make me into nothing the way my grandfather had done. The words flew from my lips as I tried desperately to push him away, words I’d heard at school many times and now I knew what they meant.
“Fuck off, Mick! Leave me alone you bastard!”
He just laughed at me, making me even more angry and afraid. “Ooooh, got a temper have we? Come on, open them legs for your uncle.”
“You’re not my bloody uncle. Leave me or I’ll tell my mum ..... I’ll tell the teachers and .....”
“Ha!” Mick’s face came closer to mine. He held my neck with one hand, the other was still squeezing me between my legs. This was a place I now knew was supposed to be private. I felt tears slide down my cheeks.
“Who the fuck do you think’ll believe a fat little tart like you,” he growled menacingly. It was as though he had been taking lessons from Roma. “Tell if you like. No one’s going to believe a little head case who has to go and see a fuckin’ shrink.”
I wanted to scram for help, but I couldn’t. He was right, no one would believe me. Roma would punish me again for telling lies and Dad would believe her, he always did. The school wouldn’t believe me, the doctor wouldn’t either and even if he did he’d do nothing, no one ever did. I screwed up my eyes and waited for the inevitable.
I had never been so grateful for anything as the sound of Porky Grunt’s hob nail boots on the cobbles. I heard the rattle of iron against concrete as the pig bin collector dragged one of the bins across the pavement and emptied it into his pickup. I could hear his steps again, the sound echoed down the alley and it was obvious he was on his way here. Mick groaned, let me go and stood back.
“Just you wait, little girl,” he said, his chest heaving as he panted for breath. “There’ll be another time, love, don’t you worry.”
He wagged his finger in my face, grinned, then walked away, his head held high.
I wiped my tears on my coat sleeve and ran, almost crashing into the pig man as he turned into the alley.
“Steady on, cocker,” he said. “What you been up to?”
I didn’t reply. I just ran and ran as fast as my bulky body would allow me to. When I got home I was dizzy and out of breath. I collapsed in a chair and looked up at the ceiling, it was spinning madly.
“Juliana, dear,” Grandma said from her pile of cushions. “What have I told you about running? It isn’t good for you and people will be talking about you, you’re far too old to run about like that. Young ladies should walk carefully and slowly.”
I was shaking but she didn’t notice. “I ..... I thought I was ..... late.”
“I should think you did, look at the state of you. Now leave your coat on for a while. You’ll be perspiring and you mustn’t let yourself get cold, you’ll catch a chill if you do.”
I closed my eyes and continued to pant, though the dizziness had stopped. She was talking bollocks again but that was nothing unusual. Roma came in from the front room where she had probably been with Mick for the last few hours. She looked her usual self, she was fat but her makeup and clothes were perfect, cheap but perfect. She smiled at me gently and tossed her head, the copious red curls danced around her shoulders. I hated Mick, I hated her. She flashed me a sweet smile and walked into the kitchen.
“Want anything to eat, love?” she called to me.
I managed to say no and pulled myself up. Straight away I made for the stairs and finally shut myself in my room. I threw myself on the bed and sobbed. Then I waited for the trembling to stop, it finally did.

Nine
I didn’t cry when Roma told me Grandma was dead. I was sad about it, but losing Bonzo had seemed more upsetting. She had apparently taken one of her ‘turns’ early on a Sunday morning, passed out and never come around. The whole house was in virtual silence for days. Granddad sat staring at the wall for hours, his dead wife’s wedding ring placed on his finger. He ordered Roma to fetch him a bottle of whiskey from the off licence and drank the whole lot in one afternoon. Roma appeared to be functioning on auto pilot, walking around in a daze, answering questions with either a yes or a no and sometimes joining her father in a little drink or two, which I noticed often turned into four or five and ended with her rushing to the off licence again.
Only Dad held it together. He seemed to be the only one still able to smile and he brought home a tiny tabby kitten for me who I named Sophie. She was adorable, my heart leapt when I saw her and as I held her gently in my arms, I felt a warmth from deep within, a rush of love that was completely new to me. I was a young teenager now, my maternal instincts were stirring and my emotions were at their highest level yet. Strange then that that the gift of a kitten could replace any grief I felt after losing my grandmother.
The wake was small. There was just Roma, Dad, Granddad and me at home with Aunt Esther and Mick Clayton. I hadn’t been allowed to attend the funeral, I was considered at thirteen to be far too young. I had been left at home on my own while Grandma was laid to rest. Perhaps for the first time I had been alone in that house and I treasured that time. I walked into every room, even opened the cellar door and peered down the stone steps into the darkness, but didn’t have the courage to walk down them. I opened various drawers and cupboards, some for the first time ever and searched through the dust and decay. I found everything from Edwardian Christmas cards to 1940s ration books. I came across a pile of dog licences, some dating as far back as 1912. I thumbed through a yellowing copy of the Radio Times dated 1936 and an old copy of the Express and Star newspaper from 1916. I read the Lost and Found column with interest; someone had found a sow running down Dudley Street at the weekend. That made me smile; perhaps they had let my Aunt Esther out for a walk then. I even took a look inside Grandma’s piano stool, which had always been out of bounds for me. I found sheet after sheet of fading piano music, some written by hand on printed staves and each page painstakingly sewn into a sheet of grey fabric in order to protect it. Roma’s birth certificate was in there, so was her marriage certificate and some faded photographs of Grandma and more of her family, but what interested me most was when I put my hand on my original adoption papers. I now knew the name of my biological mother, it was Eileen Flynn. Apparently the adoption had been sorted out by a Sister Cecilia from the local convent, so the story Roma had given me about taking me home from the local hospital was more lies.
I said nothing about it when the little tribe returned from the cemetery. The men looked like penguins in their black suits and white shirts while Ester made me think of a professional mourner the way she wore her little black hat with a thin veil to it. She removed the hat once she was inside the house; carefully placing it on the side board then touching her tightly curled blue rinsed hair and glaring at herself in the huge mirror. She looked down at me, her tiny dark eyes bulging in her wizened features, then she smiled and commented on how much I had grown. Mick grinned at me, which made me shiver, but no one seemed to notice. Roma put the kettle on and they all made for the food she had placed on dainty plates on the table. I watched them nodding and speaking in low voices as they munched their way through the little buffet and drank their tea. It always amazed me how nice people were about someone once they were dead.
“Lovely sandwiches, Roma,” Esther said through a mouth full of salmon. “Very nice, not too much cucumber on them.”
Roma almost smiled and lifted the stainless steel teapot from its stand on the table. She let the spout hover above the half empty cups. “Thank you,” she said in a broken voice. “I wanted to put a nice spread on for my mom. More tea, anyone?”
“No thanks, dear,” Esther placed her hand over her cup and shook her head. I’ll be on the toilet all night at this rate; I’ve had four cups since we got back from the cemetery.”
“I’ll have another,” Dad said, pulling at his tie which was obviously giving him more grief than he was feeling for his mother in law.
Perhaps it was the thought of old Esther the ferret sitting on the loo with her cotton bloomers around her ankles that made me smile, I’m not sure but Dad may have had a similar thought. He looked away and grinned to himself and I might have giggled then, but I noticed Mick was looking at me. I had said nothing about the incident in the ally, it had been over a year ago now and nothing had happened since, though Mick often winked at me or squeezed my arm if he came close enough. There were times when he didn’t visit for months, then he would suddenly appear again, out of the blue and Roma would hardly leave his side while he was in the house. He still looked at me in the same way, with those predatory eyes. He was dressed smartly, the suit may have been cheap and well worn but he didn’t look bad in it. He still had his dark good looks but he was putting on weight, I noticed he was becoming rather podgy, especially around the middle. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small bottle of what looked like Brandy.
“Anyone want a drop in their tea?” he asked, looking around.
Everyone looked at each other, shrugged and then nodded. Only Roma actually said the words ‘yes please’ and ‘thank you’. She was the first to lift her cup for him to top it up with the stuff. He looked a little miffed when he noticed how much the drink had gone down by the time everyone had their tipple, so he put the bottle to his lips and took a heavy swig himself. Dad rolled his eyes, took his cup and walked away from the table.
“Want some?” Mick asked me, smiling as he watched me playing with my new kitten on the back of Grandma’s armchair.
I shook my head. “No thanks.”
Roma frowned at me. “I should think not!” she snapped.
I took little notice of her. I had tried a few drops of booze once or twice, usually at Christmas when there was quite a bit in the house, but I hadn’t yet acquired much of a taste for it. I had already helped myself to the food, making sure I got my share. Roma had made far too many sandwiches, but they weren’t large. She had used thin sliced bread, not too much filling and had cut them into small crust less triangles. There were slices of fruit cake too and a plate of ginger biscuits. I helped myself to another slice of cake before that lot finished it off. My appetite wasn’t getting any smaller, but I have to say I didn’t look quite so dumpy these days. Perhaps it was because I’d grown taller or it could simply have been due to my new, more feminine shape. I didn’t eat so many sweets now, possibly because Roma had stopped buying them for me and in spite of the size sixteen dresses; I actually looked like a girl, albeit a fat and ugly one.
“Ah well, perhaps she’s better off,” Esther said, shaking her skirt so that the crumbs that had fallen there were tossed onto the carpet. “My sister never had a happy life.”
Who the hell would have much of a life living with HIM! I thought, watching Granddad stuffing cake into his mouth, his false teeth clicking as he chewed. He wasn’t drinking so much now and he’d been off to the betting shop again so it seemed he was getting over losing his spouse. Everyone said time was a great healer and the woman had been dead for a whole week.
The women both wore black yet they seemed to carry it off better than the men, who were obviously totally out of their comfort zones. Esther wore a ladies’ suit or ‘costume’ as she called it. She looked and behaved nothing like my grandma; it was unbelievable that they could be sisters. I suppose she looked the way an old woman should look, small, wrinkled and wearing thick stockings and black lace up shoes. No ringlets in her hair and no jewellery. As Esther systematically ran down every one of her neighbours and quite a few of ours too, I tired of her shrill voice and looked at Dad for a little light relief. I needn’t have bothered, he looked as miserable as the rest of them but that was probably due to the fact that he detested Esther, not due to any sorrow over losing the woman who had made his life a misery ever since he’d moved in with the family.
Roma had played the grieving daughter beautifully and her recent behaviour gave me the impression she wasn’t play acting this time. She really was at a loss. I wondered if perhaps she might become a real wife and mother now that she was free from the shackles of that woman, but I was totally wrong, Roma’s psychotic behaviour became worse. She looked striking in her tight black dress. She may have been fat but her curves were all in the right places. Her makeup was toned down a little for a change, her jewellery was as blatantly on show as her cleavage and her hair, which had grown considerably, was pulled back off her face and held in place with a black plastic Alice band. The look was far too young for her, but I was used to that little girl look with Grandma.
I had been watching Roma earlier, watching her expert hands spreading butter on thin slices of bread in the kitchen, her painted fingernails were the colour of fresh blood. I had offered to help but was simply told to sit down, there was nothing I could do, this was a funeral and I was to have nothing to do with it. In other words, I was to keep well out of it just in case I was to take any of the glory away from her, she was the grieving one, she was the child who had just lost her mother. I honestly believe she was afraid, she had lost the person who had controlled her for all of her life, what would she do now? How would she manage as an adult human being without her mummy to tell her what she must or must not do?
As I was growing more independent and was a little less likely to play her games, there was now no one for Roma to look after. Since the age of nine she had done everything for a mother who was perfectly capable of doing many things for herself. If Grandma snapped her fingers Roma would come running, didn’t the daft cow realise she was now free? Although in her own way, my grandmother had been relatively kind to me, I didn’t think I was going to miss her much and I found it hard to understand why Roma was so upset.
The little group of mourners were becoming fidgety. Sophie jumped down from the back of Grandma’s old chair and sniffed at the crumbs Esther had left on the carpet.
“Well, I’m going to get changed,” Dad said, pulling off his tie. He swallowed the last dregs from his tea cup and moved away from the table. “Can’t say I like funerals much.”
“I don’t think anyone likes them,” Roma told him, her voice still croaky from earlier weeping. “And it’s so cold. I was shivering standing there at the graveside, Mom wouldn’t have wanted me to be that cold, she’d have worried about me. It’s a good job Julie wasn’t there; my mom would have worried sick about her standing in the wind like that.”
“At least the rain kept off, dear,” Esther sighed and pushed Sophie away from her with one foot. “It’s amazing how many funerals you get to go to when you reach my age, isn’t it? I remember when they buried my Harry; he was only sixty, poor man. We gave him a lovely send off, put a really nice spread on for him. All his friends from work came; do you remember it, Roma?”
Roma began to nod slowly as she sat staring into space. “Oh yes, I remember it. Uncle Tom had a nice funeral too, didn’t he?”
My head shot up as I heard the name Tom. My mind shot to the man in the photo I had seen on the fireplace in Gran and Granddad Whitehouse’s living room, the uncle I knew virtually nothing about.
“Was that your brother, Dad?” I asked, almost excitedly. “Was that the uncle Tom they talked about when .....?”
Roma shook her head and butted in before my father had the chance to speak. “No, love, we’re talking about uncle Tom on our side, Grandma’s brother. You must have heard her talking about him. You were only small when he died so I don’t think you remember him.”
“I don’t remember my other uncle Tom either.”
Esther lifted her chin and gave a little sniff. “We didn’t go to that funeral, dear. Anyway, what did everyone think of the service? I thought the vicar was a bit quiet, to be honest, I could hardly hear him speak at one time.”
Then go get yourself a hearing aid, you old bat, I thought to myself. I looked at Dad and he winked at me, it was as if we read each other’s minds for a second. Sophie had been milling about on the carpet, as cats do, brushing her nose against the table legs and purring loudly. I reached down and took hold of her, placing her fluffy body on my lap. As I pulled her head towards me I ran one finger around her furry nose. She purred and pushed, rubbing against my skin before she bit me playfully. Grandma would have told me to stop teasing her in case she scratched me, I was almost waiting to hear those words of warning, but Grandma wasn’t here. No one seemed to mind so I tickled the cat’s paws and watched her roll her young and healthy body around in play. It was a good feeling. I did wonder about my other uncle Tom though, one day I’d ask Dad about him, but not just yet, the time wasn’t right.
“I thought the service was lovely,” Roma said, breaking the uneasy silence.
“Yes,” Esther nodded. “It was nice, just very quiet. Not many flowers, were there?”
“Well, you know your sister,” Dad put in. “She didn’t have any friends and not much family left so there wasn’t anyone to send flowers, only us lot.”
“My mum sent some,” Mick insisted, obviously feeling slighted by Esther’s remark. “It was a fair size bunch too; cost her a bit an’ all. She wouldn’t have minded coming today but she wasn’t asked, was she?”
Esther appeared to ignore him and looked straight at my dad. “What about your family, Albert? Did they send flowers?”
Dad shrugged and stretched, peeling off his jacket and throwing it over the back of one of the dining chairs. “No one from this family sent any flowers when me flamin’ father died, did they? Same when we lost our Tom, seems like everyone except our Julie’s forgotten him and the kid never even met the bloke. I s’pose me mum thought if she sent flowers it wouldn’t be appreciated.”
Esther frowned. “You did tell your mother that my sister was dead, didn’t you?”
“Oh yeah, I told her. Now like I said before, I’m off to get changed.”
He made his way to the stair door. Roma left her seat and followed him, placing one crooked finger on his temple and gently caressing the part of his hair that was turning grey.
“You’re tired, love,” she whispered. “Let’s not have an argument now, especially not with Julie around, all this has been upsetting enough for her as it is.”
Dad sounded resigned to the situation. “I don’t want a row, I’m just going to get out of these bloody clothes, I hate suits at the best of times.”
“You do that, sweetie, it’s been a sad day for us all and we’re all bound to be feeling a bit tetchy.”
Her tone was so kind and filled with understanding as Dad made his way up those stairs. It amazed me how she could behave so differently at times. She flashed me what appeared to be a genuine smile and began clearing away the cups and plates from the table.
“I’ll bet you a pound to a penny he told his mother nothing!” Esther said, her voice growing tight. “That woman never did like our family anyway.”
“Shhh!” Roma placed one finger against her own lips and leaned towards her aunt. “That’s enough, we’ve got to do our best if only for Julie’s sake. The child’s been through enough lately, she knows I’ve got to go into hospital for that dreadful operation on my veins, she knows it might be touch and go for me and now she’s lost her grandma. We’ve all got to be strong for her.”
Yeah right, I thought to myself. I’d heard of other women having this operation for varicose veins and they didn’t make that much fuss. Sure, Grandma was dead and I’d been fond of her, but I couldn’t say I was heartbroken about it. I watched Roma take over; as she tilted her head and pursed her lips I could see her mother living on inside her. She moved towards me and stroked my cheek with one hand.
“It’s all right to cry, sweetheart,” she said gently.
“I’m okay, I don’t want to cry.”
“Perhaps it’ll hit you later, when the shock’s over. I’ll be here for you, darling, remember that.”
I nodded. Roma could be so believable but I knew her by now, she would be there to hug me and caress me, to wipe away any tears I might shed, but she could still change in a second into a monster who thought nothing of hurting me physically or telling my father lies about me. I wanted to trust her, but I couldn’t.
Esther sighed heavily and Mick poured the remaining contents of the scotch bottle down his throat. Within a few moments Esther had her coat on, goodbyes were said and it was back to just the usual loonies again. Even Granddad had gone out, either to the pub or to the bookies. Once the visitors were gone Dad came down stairs again. He switched on the TV and I could hear the voices of Scott and Virgil Tracey in an episode of Thunderbirds, they were communicating by radio as they set off to save the world from some great disaster. I just carried on playing with the cat and ate the last few left over biscuits.
By the time the news came on the TV I was already bored. There was very little that went on in the world that really interested me, it was always unhappy news about trouble in South Africa or some boring politician spouting off about things I didn’t understand. I stood in the doorway to the tiny kitchen and watched Roma. She was scurrying about like a disorientated mouse, washing dishes in the tiny sink, scrubbing the kitchen table top which was also a stand in ironing board and suddenly she collapsed into the only chair in the room, firing up a fag and blowing out the smoke slowly as if in an attempt to relax. Her hands trembled, her eyes were wild and wide like those of a terrified animal. At first I thought she might be about to have one of her fake heart attacks, but no, this was real. I had never seen the real Roma before, but here she was, a frightened child lost and alone. Dad appeared behind me and ducked his head as he walked into the kitchen. I could hear Roma’s breathing; her shoulders lifted and fell at a fast rhythm. I decided to make myself scarce, I knew something was going to happen but I wasn’t fast enough. I heard her scream, a shrill, clear sound that echoed around the tiny space and would have cracked ice.
“It’s all right love,” Dad said reassuringly as he put out his arms to her and she folded into them.
“MOM ..... OH MOM!” Roma called out. “Why did you leave me, Mom?”
Dad held her firmly as she sobbed and screamed. “Shhh, love, calm down now.”
“She’s gone, Albie! What can I do? Help me .... help me .....”
Dad turned and looked at me for a second. He jerked his head in a gesture that told me to leave. For once he was in control, he was the only one who could calm her down, and eventually, he did it. She sobbed like a baby; she was a little child crying for her dead mother, she couldn’t cope without her. This wasn’t the usual well rehearsed stuff; this was Roma, the sick and demented child crying for a mother who had been equally sick. I wasn’t sure which scared me the most, this Roma or the controlled psychopath I already knew. I ran to my room and threw myself on my bed, hugging my pillow for dear life. It was scary living with a woman like Roma.

She soon took control again. Her vein surgery was a complete success, Dad told me so. The night before she went into hospital she came into my room, sat on my bed and told me how much she loved me. She informed me that her op was a very dangerous one and that she might not pull through but that if she did happen to die she would never actually leave me. I had visions of her haunting me for the rest of my life, but I put those thought away fairly quickly. Once she was home, her legs bandaged from ankle to groin, she really milked it. Dad and I waited on her for a while and she shed a few tears because she couldn’t dance at Christmas, then a few more because it was the first Christmas without Grandma. She gave everyone the usual load of bollocks, apparently, instead of simply removing the veins which were varicose; the surgeons had replaced them with plastic tubes which wouldn’t bend properly. That meant she would be left disabled for the rest of her life, so she said, and then there was her imaginary heart problem too, of course, that was getting worse. She was Grandma all over, another sad old woman pretending she was sick simply to give her more control. I almost laughed when she explained all this to me but I pretended to believe her, Dad did too, that was the way we survived in our house.
She began to cling like a leech to my dad; she hated him being out of her sight and often faked one of her heart attacks so that I would have to fetch him out of work. She still refused to see a doctor about them though; I think that was the giveaway. Mick was visiting more frequently now; I think he’d lost his job. He virtually lived at our house when Dad was at work. Fortunately, Mick left me alone most of the time, he was either in that front room with Roma or out somewhere with her, she could go out now as there was no Grandma to scold her for not being around. For a woman whose legs weren’t supposed to work properly she certainly did a lot of walking, without any sticks too, amazing! I detested Mick Clayton; I cringed whenever he came to our door, but what could I do about it? What could I do about anything? I was just a kid, I was nothing.

[Emms]

This chapter contains details of sexual abuse that may cause triggers, just a warning.

Ten
The house was peaceful when it was empty. Without Grandma there I could spend a few hours alone from time to time. Granddad was out somewhere as usual, Dad was at work and Roma was either shopping or possibly meeting Mick. There were fewer male admirers for her these days, perhaps that was because she was satisfied with Dad and Mick, or perhaps it was because she was getting older and a little less desirable.
“So your real mother gave you up when you were a baby then?”
Carol Malone lay beside me on my bed. She had just listened to the story of how I had found my adoption papers in the piano stool and we both lay on our bellies, our lower legs bent at the knees, crossed at the ankles and swinging up and down. A pair of little misfits, we were, into our fourteenth year now, both of us, but I looked considerably older than she did.
“Would you like to find her?” she asked me.
I shrugged. “Perhaps, maybe later on, I dunno.”
“I like her name, Eileen Bernadette Flynn, that sounds quite posh.”
“D’ya think so? It doesn’t sound all that posh to me, it’s Irish I reckon. It says my religion was RC, that’s Roman Catholic.”
“I know what it bloody means!” Carol turned her head towards me and gave me a rather reproachful look. “That’s on my birth certificate an’ all but me mum never goes to Mass now. I still think your real mum sounds like she’s got a posh name, hey, d’ya think she was rich or something? Any idea who your dad was?”
“I don’t know,” I was becoming irritated. “I’ll probably never know if she was posh or not and there’s no way I can find out who my dad was so there’s no point thinking about it.”
“Well, haven’t you asked your mum?”
“No.”
“Why?”
I shrugged again. “She wouldn’t tell me anyway even if she did know.”
Carol sighed then. We both had our chins rested on our folded arms and had just shared the remains of a small bottle of Coke. I had swallowed the last dregs before placing the empty bottle on the floor beside the bed. I suddenly belched loudly, slapped my hand over my mouth and we both giggled, relieving any tension that may have grown between us. I watched Carol digging around in her school bag. She pulled out a packet of Wrigley’s and generously offered me a piece. I took it and removed the foil rapper, then folded the gum into my mouth and began chewing vigorously. Grandma would never allow me to chew gum but Roma didn’t seem to mind. It was a good substitute for food, it kept my mouth occupied but meant I wasn’t actually swallowing any calories. My fingers toyed with the gum wrapper for a few moments, folding it into the shape of a fan. I’d seen a boy at school chew his foil wrappers along with the gum and spit them against a wall so that they stuck there. I thought I might try that later but some did say the foil gave you a tingling sensation in the fillings of your teeth.
“It’s no use,” I said sadly, bringing my mind back to our conversation. “No good asking my mum about anything, she won’t tell me. It’s hopeless asking Dad too cos he only tells me what she wants him to. According to the dates on them papers I was put up for adoption almost straight after I was born. Mum always told me she went and chose me from the hospital, like you choose a puppy from the dogs home, I s’pose. I don’t think that’s quite true though, the papers say the adoption was sorted out by somebody called Sister Cecilia at the convent. I reckon that Eileen must have gone there, I know unmarried girls can have their babies in convents.”
“Yeah, they’re same as that Mother and Baby home by the West Park, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Mum’s always said that woman didn’t want me, but I dunno. I’ve heard things on telly about adopted kids, me mum doesn’t know though or she’d go mad but I can watch that telly at night sometimes when Dad’s at work cos Mick Clayton comes and takes Mum into the front room for ages.”
“Does he still do that?”
“Yeah, and now Grandma’s gone and me granddad’s always out I get to watch what I like sometimes. It’s handy at times, having a dad working shifts. I remember this one programme and they said things were very different all them years ago, it was much harder for a woman if she had a baby before she was married then and it’s bad enough now.”
“I guess it was. We miss a lot on the telly in our house, we’ve still got one of them tellies that you put money in the back to watch it, our mum’s always saying she’s skint and so we don’t get to see the end of half of the stuff on there when the shilling runs out. I think you could still ask your mum a few things though, ask her when she’s in a good mood.”
I smiled sarcastically. “She’s never really in a good mood.”
“She’s always nice to me,” Carol looked surprised. “I’ll bet she’d tell your a few things if you asked her.”
“No, I’m not asking her nothing!”
Carol guessed I didn’t want to talk about it anymore so we changed the subject. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some music but she said she didn’t really have the time. Her mother was going to see her sister later so tea would be ready early in that house. Carol would be babysitting most of the evening, not a job she enjoyed and I thought about asking if I could join her for a while, but decided against it. I wouldn’t be able to stay out late so it wouldn’t be worth it and if Roma thought I was babysitting, especially for a family like the Malones she’d turn into Grandma for a while and forbid me to hang out with Carol again. I became envious of little Carol again just for a while, I wished I had some brothers and sisters to look after or perhaps just one who might look after me.
I didn’t see Carol out; we simply smiled at each other and planned to spend time together the next day. We weren’t together so much at school these days; we weren’t even in the same class now. Somehow I had ended up in the A stream and Carol was in the B class. That B class was where I wanted to be, if I’m honest, the kids in that class always seemed more fun and went on more school trips than we did, even though we were supposed to be cleverer. I watched through my bedroom window as Carol left and then I flicked through my little collection of vinyl 45’s. I was the proud owner of a portable automatic record player now as well as a brand new bed and a newly decorated bedroom, the only modern room in the house. Some of the antique furniture that had survived the fire was still there though, including my great grandmother’s mahogany chest of drawers which had always been out of bounds for me. Carol and I had searched through the drawers one afternoon and found a good collection of Great Grandma’s clothes, including a pair of whalebone corsets. I also found a pair of genuine silk stockings in one of the smaller drawers at the top of the chest; Carol had been suitably impressed, I just wished all that old crap had been destroyed.
I loved my record player. It would play up to five singles, all balanced above the turntable; each one ready to drop into place when the previous record was finished. Fantastic technology, we thought back in the 60s. It sure beat the huge ancient radiogram we had downstairs, that only played hard plastic 78s and you had to buy a box of needles for it once a month as they wore down in no time. I played my music far too loudly, Dad was always telling me off about that and I couldn’t play it at all when he was on night shift and was trying to sleep. The house was still like a shrine to a bygone age but since Grandma’s death a few more modern objects had appeared. We had a new TV set, a more modern version. There was a formica topped table in the living room now and in the kitchen a red plastic transistor radio took pride of place on the windowsill. Dad even splashed out on a pair of new curtains for the living room window, the old flowery ones were dropping to bits and would never have stood another wash, but Roma sobbed her heart out when he took them down. The lack of Grandma’s influence was slowly beginning to show, but far too slowly for my liking.
I was never sure when someone would come home, either Roma or Granddad. Dad was on what we called the afternoon shift which meant he wouldn’t be home until after I was in bed. I was totally alone except for Sophie the cat and I thought I’d make the most of it. It wasn’t being alone that I actually liked, it was freedom from those loonies that gave me the enjoyment. I put on a few singles and turned up the volume while I changed from my school uniform into a sloppy sweater and a brightly coloured patterned skirt. The hem just about reached my knees, I wasn’t allowed to wear anything shorter and the real tiny minis hadn’t yet come into fashion outside of London. I knew I had the body of a young woman now; the shape wasn’t too bad, there was just too much of it. My thighs and bottom were already beginning to dimple from cellulite, there were little pink stretch marks on my stomach and my boobs fit into a C cup, yet I still hadn’t reached my fourteenth birthday. Although those boobs of mine were a real embarrassment to me in the school shower room, there were times when I didn’t think they looked too bad, they were still pert in those days. Of course, like all breasts of that size, they would end up pointing to my bloody knees eventually.
The woman next door banged loudly on the bedroom wall, she always did that when my music was too loud. I didn’t fancy a lecture when someone returned home so I grudgingly obliged and turned down the volume a little. There were too more loud thumps on that wall which meant the woman wasn’t satisfied and I had to lower it again. I sat on my bed and thumbed through a teen magazine, still chewing the gum Carol had given me. I didn’t hear anyone enter the house, the Beatles ‘Ticket to Ride’ was blaring out and once the song was finished the fancy record player did its job and another single clicked into place. The softer tones of Elvis Presley’s ‘Crying in the Chapel’ took over for a few minutes and it was only then that I heard a man’s voice calling up the stairs.
“Roma! You up there, Roma?”
I heard his boots clumping on the stairs as he climbed them and I froze. It was Mick Clayton, by the slurred sound of his voice he’d been drinking too. Oh shit! Why did he have to turn up now? Still, I was convinced that when he realised Roma wasn’t here he’d either disappear or wait for her downstairs. He might throw a few insults at me, might have a go at bullying and intimidating me but he wouldn’t touch me, not here, not in this house, surely he wouldn’t.
“Roma ..... anyone ..... is there anybody in this bloody house or not?”
I could hear the clumsy way he was moving around on the landing. Yeah, the bloke was well pissed by the sound of him, pissed as a bloody newt and it wasn’t yet five O’clock in the afternoon. He wasn’t in a good mood, I could tell that. He must have heard the music coming from my room so he opened the door and commented on the look in my eyes.
“What’s up with you then, Julie? You look like a fucking frightened rabbit! It’s only your uncle Mick, anyone’d think I’d got two flamin’ heads or summert.”
I shrugged and looked down at my magazine. “Nothing’s up, Mick.”
“Huh! Don’t sound like it. Where’s your bloody mother?”
“I don’t know. She’s probably gone to the shops, she won’t be long.”
Mick steadied himself by leaning against the door. “Well, she should be here NOW!” he said angrily. “I’ve come all this way to see her, cost me a bloody fortune on two busses so I want to see her, not a fat little cow like you!”
I felt slightly relieved by those words but I was still scared of him. I tried my best to be polite even though I hated the man. “She’ll be back soon,” I said. “She won’t mind if you wait down stairs, you can make yourself a cup of tea or..... or I’ll make you one if you like.”
Mick sniggered sarcastically and slumped onto the bed so that he sat beside me. “What the fuck do I want tea for, eh? I want to talk to your mother and all I can find is you playing your daft bloody music up here.”
I looked into his eyes; they were a deep penetrating blue and heavily framed with black lashes. His hair had a wave to it but it seemed messy and in need of a wash. I could smell the drink on his breath, he wasn’t just in a bad mood, he was absolutely foul for some reason and so drunk that his movements were slow and sloppy. I shuffled across the bed and tried to get up. The music stopped for a moment and another record dropped onto the turntable and began to play, it was “Little Red Rooster’ by the Stones.
“I’ll turn this off now,” I said, still trying to shuffle away from Mick but he leaned towards me and one of his hands flopped onto my lap.
“Don’t turn it off,” he said, his tone a little softer and his breath still stinking of Scotch and stale tobacco. “You ain’t got too bad a taste in music, cocker! I like this one, they don’t play the Stones in our local, only the old fashioned crap.”
I gingerly pulled myself off the bed and stood watching Mick for a moment. He was smiling now but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. He’d been drinking somewhere for most of the afternoon by the looks of it. The pubs closed at half past two in those days and didn’t open again until around seven, but there was always a landlord somewhere who’d allow an afternoon lock in for the regulars. Mick reached for the magazine I’d left on the bed and began to flick through the pages. He stretched out his legs and accidently kicked over the empty Coke bottle I’d left on the floor. He cursed loudly.
“No wonder your mother moans about you, Julie,” he said. “Leaving your bloody rubbish all over your room.” His eyes scanned the walls; the pictures of the pop stars I had hung there took his interest for a time. “Huh, you’re as bad as the rest of ‘em, hankering after blokes you can’t have. I’ve just got rid of one like that, right little tart she was, I’m worth four of bitches like her, trouble was, she couldn’t see that. Seems she took a liking to some other bloke so I dumped her, no use to me if she’s off shagging someone else, right, Julie?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, ‘course.” I guessed why he was in a mood now, some girl had probably realised what a wanker he was and had dumped him. Now he wanted to tell Roma all about it while she pretended to understand and sympathize. She would be his cheer leader, she’d agree with everything he said and that would make him feel better. I placed one hand on the door and took a another step further from the bed. Mick turned back to my magazine and continued to thumb clumsily through the pages.
“What the fuck’s this shit then?” he asked, his tone nasty again.
“It’s just some stuff I’ve been reading. I’ll go and make you a cup of tea now, shall I?”
“Ah, stay here, ya daft little cow! What’s this mag all about anyway? These stories, the ones in pictures ..... are they supposed to be love stories or summert?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Huh! Kids stuff, all of it. What the hell do you know about love, eh? Bet you’ve never even been kissed, have ya?”
“No, I haven’t.”
He looked at me and smiled again, then he began to laugh and looked me up and down. I could feel my heart beating and I knew I had to make my get away now though I still didn’t want to upset him. I tried willing Roma to come home, for the first time in my life I wished Granddad would come home too, even Carol would do, had she forgotten something before she left? Was there a chance she might return and I’d have the excuse to leave this creep without upsetting him. I was afraid; this man was as unpredictable as Roma could be at times. I could see him lifting his body off the bed and moving towards me, almost as if it was happening in slow motion. This was it, I had to go and it had to be now. I almost threw myself out of the door and onto the landing. Another second and I would have jumped the top step and made my way downstairs, but it was too late. Mick was behind me and he grabbed me around the waist, pulling me back into the room and falling on the bed, pulling me on top of him. I heard myself scream but Mick took no notice. He began to laugh, grabbed hold of my arms and rolled over so that he was on top of me. Pressing the weight of his body against mine he kissed me on the lips, hard and wet. My body recoiled and he lifted his head before laughing again.
“There ya go! That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he told me.
I could smell his foul breath and felt it against my cheek. I knew I was becoming tearful as I pushed against the weight of his drunken body. It was no use, he was too heavy.
“That’s better,” he whispered. “I like girls when they’re quiet. All that screaming and swearing won’t do you any good, it didn’t last time, remember that, eh? You’ve grown a bit since then, I’m sure them tits of yours must be hand reared, you know. So you’ve been reading about love and all that crap, eh? Kids stuff, it’s a real man you want, a real man like me!”
I felt as though my heart was going to explode from my chest but somehow I managed to speak. “I ..... I don’t want you, Mick, not like that. Please let me go, I don’t want a man, I don’t want you.”
“Really? Who the fuck do you want then? Come on, must be someone. A kid with tits like yours must be gagging for it. All girls like you want a man, just that up til now it’s only been in your dreams, it’s a fuckin’ good shag you need, lady.”
I shook my head violently. I didn’t really mean to shout so loudly, the words simply burst from my lips. “Get off me Mick. Leave me alone!”
He laughed even more loudly. “That’s it! Go on, say no when you really mean yes, you’re learning. Make out you’re all shy and all virgins, you’re all the same, load of bollocks, you love it really. Another four or five years and you’ll be up the stick like all the other little shag bags your age. Pregnant and down the aisle with any daft fucker whose daft enough to think it’s his kid. You’ll be the same, just a slag, like your bloody mother.”
“No I won’t, I’ll never be like HER!”
“Want to bet on it, eh?”
Something seemed to snap then, the old rebellion, the long suppressed anger? I wasn’t sure but I had been bullied all my life, especially at home, I wasn’t having this. Mick had tried before and lost, I was determined to get away from him. I pushed and pulled at him, dug my fingernails into his back but his jacket was too thick for him to feel anything. As he brought his face down onto mine again I bit his lip. He winced and stopped for a moment, lifting his head and staring down at me with horrified eyes. Then his expression changed, this wasn’t anger that I could see, the man was excited. The more I pushed and squirmed beneath him in an attempt to escape, the more the bastard enjoyed it. He groped my breasts, squeezing until it hurt. I heard him laughing at my futile attempts to escape but I refused to give in. He was strong. Had he been sober I would have had no chance but as he laughed and rolled around on top of me, he suddenly slipped to one side and I brought back my fist, thumping him in the chest.
“Leave me alone, you pervert!” I screamed. “Fuck off, Mick! Let me go!”
His drunken unsteadiness gave me the edge again for a second. I managed to elbow him this time, right in his neck. I heard him gasp and I began to roll from beneath him and off the bed. I l crashed hard on the carpet. I winced as my knee landed on a pencil sharpener I had dropped there long ago. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I knew how but Mick had steadied himself and he grabbed my ankle. As I fell again, he followed and we both crashed into the record player. The music scratched to a stop and the weight of both our bodies smashed the thing to pieces. My pride and joy, a cheap little portable record player was broken to bits. I screeched as we hit the floor again. Mick was straddling me now and he brought back one hand and slapped me hard across the cheek. I began to cry.
“Shut up you fuckin’ daft little bitch!” he said through his teeth. He grabbed my hair with one hand. The plait that had hung down my back had broken loose and the crinkly strands were flying about my face.
“Where’s ya curls gone now, eh? Got no granny to put yer curlers in at night now, have ya?”
I could feel the tears flowing but still I tried to fight him. I tried hard to hack at the back of my throat and I spat in his face, but it was a futile attempt. “Piss off, Mick” I screamed.
“Shut yer fat mouth, kid! You want to take a good look at yourself, all fat and blubber! You should think yerself lucky a bloke like me wants anything to do with you. Grateful, that’s what you should be! You should be thanking me, you’re just another little whore, just like ya mother!”
He grabbed at my skirt and pulled it up to my waist. I screamed and writhed and squirmed as I tried to get away but it was useless this time. He undid the zip of his trousers and cursed loudly when things didn’t seem to be going his way. Then he roughly rolled me over onto my stomach, wildly tearing at my clothes like a madman. He pulled up my sweater and my breasts were bare. Roughly, he kneaded them from behind. I suddenly realised he had ripped off my knickers. He was hurting me in a way I had never experienced before and I thought I was going to die. I wasn’t even sure what was happening. I thought I knew all about sex, most of us girls thought we knew it all but in reality we were just naive children. This wasn’t the right part of my body, no way. The pain was excruciating, I could hear myself sobbing.
Suddenly I felt his body slump heavily onto my back. The woman next door banged loudly on the wall again. She must have heard the painful animal sounds that came from my lips. She had no idea what was happening in this room, I wasn’t even sure myself. I didn’t realise things like that could happen to that part of my body, surely it was the wrong place. I had screamed and sobbed and gritted my teeth. I didn’t realise then that alcohol could have a certain effect on a man’s capabilities. It wasn’t until it was over that I realised he hadn’t used his own penis to rape me, the bastard had used the empty pop bottle, he couldn’t get an erection, he was too pissed.
*******,

“I don’t know what your dad’s going to think about all this, Juliana!”
Roma was standing at the dressing table in my room, neatly folding the damp cloths she had used to clean me up. She dipped her hands one last time into the bowl of warm soapy water that stood on the top of the chest of drawers, then dried them with a soft white towel.
“He’s not going to be too pleased,” she said with a sigh. “He was over the moon when he bought you that record player for Christmas. It cost him a lot of money and how do you go and repay him, eh? You smash it up in one of your silly temper tantrums.”
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Mum,” I insisted as I lay back on my bed. “I told you what happened.”
Roma looked around the room as if I hadn’t even spoken to her. “Just look at this place! You’ve never been one for keeping your bedroom tidy but this is ridiculous.”
“It wasn’t my fault; I didn’t do it on my own.”
“Then who on earth helped you make this mess, was it that Carol Malone?”
“No!”
“Or was it that Pamela and erm .... what’s her name?”
“You mean Pammie and Paulette?”
“Those are the ones, those two black girls. Have they been around here? I don’t know, the trouble you get yourself into and I’m soft enough to let you bring your friends here. Then I go out for an hour and this is what I come home to. Not only have you made a right mess of your room and broken your record player but you’ve done this stupid perverted thing to yourself too.”
My eyes were sore from crying and my head ached. I shook my head. “I didn’t do it, Mum. You know I didn’t, I told you.”
“Stop telling lies, will you? No one else has done it, unless of course you’re going to say the fairies came in and did it. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, my girl.”
I rolled onto my side and winced as I moved my legs. Taking one of my pillows in my hands I hugged it to my stomach. “I’m not lying,” I could hear my own words and my voice was flat. It was no use; she was having none of it. Roma Whitehouse believed what she wanted to believe. That was the way she was and there was nothing I could do about it.
“Here we are!” She reached some clean underclothes from the dressing table drawer and threw them on the bed beside me. Then she reached for the soft towel again and told me to roll over. She had already done a good job of cleaning me up and it seemed the bleeding had stopped. She began patting me dry with the towel, she was gentle, almost kind in a way as she wiped away the evidence Mick Clayton had left behind. She had already disposed of the bottle, taken it downstairs and thrown it in the dustbin.
“Now get yourself dressed,” she said. “I’ll make a pact with you if you like, it might keep you out of trouble.”
I shrugged and reached for a tissue to blow my nose. “Okay, but I haven’t done anything wrong. I shouldn’t be in trouble.”
“Well you are whether you like it or not! But I can make it a bit easier for you if you like.”
Her voice was calm. I couldn’t believe how unfazed she seemed after what had happened. I remembered those first few moments when she’d come home, I couldn’t believe the change in her now from her initial outburst. She knew what had gone on. When she finally arrived home she found Mick crashed out on her and Dad’s bed, snoring his head off. She found me next and when I tried to explain things she went totally ballistic. She called me th biggest and dirtiest liar that had ever walked this earth, her eyes blazed with anger, hatred and jealousy. Mick would never do that, he’d never be unfaithful to her, I was the jealous one, of course, I was the liar who wanted to cause trouble. I had tried to explain but she shouted me down. Her voice rose to a crescendo and she slapped my face, meaning both cheeks now burned. She had thrown Mick out. I’d heard her shouting at him while he cursed and moaned and pleaded, insisting in his almost semi conscious state that I had led him on all the time. Oh, she knew all right, but she had turned it all into Roma’s truth, as she always did. She was so unruffled and matter of fact about it all now that I was waiting for the next explosion. It didn’t come.
“This is what we’ll do,” she said almost enthusiastically as she helped me get dressed. “I’ll have to tell your dad about the record player, he won’t be pleased but you know I can’t lie for you, you know I can’t tell lies. I’ll tidy the rest of the room so that it doesn’t look too bad. You’ve just got to learn to keep control of that temper of yours when things don’t go your way. Your dad’s going to be very hurt when he knows you’ve smashed that record player, what was the matter? Wouldn’t it play properly or something?”
I shrugged again. There was no point trying to disagree with her.
“Well,” Roma went on. “I’ll say nothing about the stupid thing you did to yourself with that bottle. If you say nothing then neither will I and that should keep you out of a bit more trouble. But if you start telling lies about Mick again just to get yourself out of trouble, then I’ll have to tell your father, I’ll have to tell the school too. You’ve got to stop telling these wicked lies or you’ll have to be sent to the psychiatrist again. I’ve never heard anything like it, doing such a thing to yourself with a bottle, I just hope there’s been no permanent damage done. You’re a disgusting girl, but I’ll keep quiet about it if you do, I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you.”
I felt tears prickling my eyes and nose again. I knew I couldn’t win. I had to give in, at least for now. Dad would believe her, he always did, or he pretended to just for an easy life. At least all this had taught me never to trust anyone who said they couldn’t tell lies. I didn’t want Dad to know about this, I shivered at the thought of the school finding out too. I didn’t fancy the idea of them hearing Roma’s truth, I thought I’d end up locked away and never be allowed to mix with my mates again, the few that I had. There was a small chance, I supposed, that I might be believed, but that wasn’t good either. I didn’t want anyone to know what Mick had done to me, I felt dirty, I felt abused. He had taken something away from me that no one could ever give me back; he had taken my innocence, my dignity. Whatever, I felt between a rock and a hard place, either way this had to be a secret. I filed my pain away with all the rest of my misery. Yet it wasn’t Mick who I hated the most, it was Roma. He came close to the top of my list but he wasn’t the only one who was part of the conspiracy. Roma was supposed to be my mother, the one who should have protected me from grief the way a tigress will protect her cubs. I had heard her cries of anger when she threw Mick out, they had very little to do with any feelings for me. He had been unfaithful to her, as she saw it. Her little bit on the side had just slapped and raped her thirteen year old daughter, sexually assaulted me with a bottle! But Roma didn’t care about me, all she thought about was the fact that her lover could no longer declare undying love for her, he had wanted me too. I had become sexual competition. Mick never visited our house again.

[Emms]

Eleven
Dad was drinking coffee in the kitchen. He took a Woodbine from its packet, put the end between his lips and struck a match to light it. The smoke rose and made a little halo above his head. His hair was still thick, cropped short and turning greyer by the day. The back door was open slightly, something that would never have been allowed when Grandma was alive. I could hear the sound of iron scraping against concrete and the roar of the digging machines which seemed to be coming closer every day. The whole area was disappearing before our eyes; houses were in the process of demolition just streets away as the second phase of the slum clearance was getting underway. We wouldn’t be living in this hovel for much longer.
I think I was still in shock over what had happened a few weeks earlier. I’d almost convinced myself at one point that it never happened at all, that I’d dreamed about Mick Clayton on that day, but the scars and the soreness told me otherwise. Although I openly accepted Roma’s truth, deep down I knew, the memory would go away but only to return much later and it beleaguered me. She had kept her word, of course. She had said nothing of the injuries Mick had caused and I kept the pain to myself. Thankfully it was easing a bit, the physical pain at least. I was amazed at the speed in which the human body could regenerate its self.
Dad grinned as he noticed me standing by that partly open door. He had been angry with me over the record player, of course he had but I think he was beginning to forgive me. I was earning myself a right reputation for having a short fuse, which was probably quite justified but it gave Roma more ideas for fantasies and lies to tell about me. Whatever went wrong she would blame me for it. Sophie meowed at the door. I opened it a little wider and she jumped down the step and into the yard, her belly ripe with kittens. The man next door free wheeled his bike down the alley at the back of the house and down the entry into the street. He was going to work, his dirty canvas bag slung over his shoulder. It was early, the man didn’t see me in that doorway, he didn’t even look, no one looked at us, and no one knew what happened inside these walls. People only knew what you told them, only saw what you wanted them to see and only believed what they wanted to believe themselves. I had learned that long ago.
“You all right, Jule?” Dad asked, blowing his cigarette smoke towards the tiny window.
His voice had broken my thoughts. I smiled and squeezed past him, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. I switched on the hot plate. I didn’t like our electric cooker, it was too slow. Everyone I knew had a gas cooker which I thought was much easier to use, but Roma was afraid of gas for some reason, she seemed to think the house would blow up if we didn’t get rid of every gas appliance and replace it with an electric one. Even the old coal fires were gone now and had been replaced by cheap electric heaters with bright orange bars. I was actually allowed to use the cooker now, well, occasionally I was. I could make toast, boil an egg and boil the water for my morning wash, which was what I was doing now. What a difference that old woman’s death had made.
“I’m okay, Dad,” I said, glancing at my reflection in the mottled mirror on the windowsill. All the mirrors we had in this house and yet I still preferred the one in the kitchen that Dad and Granddad used for shaving. “I want to make sure I’m not late for school,” I went on, opening the top buttons of my dressing gown. “If you’re late they give you detention now.”
Dad grinned again and sat back in the one and only chair. He rubbed one tired eye with his nicotine stained finger. He was always sleepy after a long night shift at the factory. “They gave us the cane in my day, not bloody detention! Anyway, you kids today don’t know you’re born. If you got up a bit earlier then you wouldn’t be late, right?”
“I s’pose so.”
Dad sighed; he could hear the flat tone in my voice. “What’s up, love?
I reached for a towel and waited for the kettle to boil. “Nothing.”
That was a dismissal and Dad knew it. Still, he tried. There were no more games with him; perhaps he thought I was too old. He didn’t hug me anymore and I never put my arms around him either. He had taught me to ride a bike and I was quite an expert on the thing now. Occasionally we talked a little; we might even share the odd laugh. Yes, Dad tried.
“I dunno, love,” he said, yawning loudly. “I dunno what’s happening today, dunno what’s going on with young ‘uns that’s for sure. I mean, if I’d behaved the way you have at times I’d have had such a leatherin’ off me dad I wouldn’t have sat down for a week.”
He reached the newspaper that had been rolled up on the table and opened it at the back page, his eyes skimming the sports columns. He always read the paper backwards like that. World War 111 could have broken out but my dad wouldn’t have known about it until after he’d read the sports pages at the back of the newspaper.
I took a brush from the windowsill and dragged it through my hair, which had been cut again. Leaning past Dad, I studied a couple of spots on my chin through the small mirror. There was so little space in that kitchen, but like most of the houses, just about everything had to be done in the kitchen, not just cooking and washing clothes. We all washed in there, the usual strip wash using water heated on the stove. There was no other access to running water in the house. Dad laughed at me and shook his head.
“What d’ya keep looking in that mirror for? You’ll end up as vain as your grandma, you will!”
“I don’t think so, Dad.”
“Well, perhaps not quite, eh? Still, you won’t have time to mess about in the mornings once you start work. If you’re late then they’ll dock your pay. You’ll find it a lot different, you know, growing up and goin’ to work.”
“I know. I’ll be glad when I’ve left that school, I don’t like it much but I’ve got two years to go yet.”
“That’ll go quick enough, you’ll see.”
“I wish it would.”
“You still not getting on with some of the other kids then?”
I shrugged. “Some of them are okay but a lot have moved away now cos their houses have been knocked down. The teachers don’t like me much though, well, some of them don’t. They like the clever ones, the pretty ones and those who behave all the time. They’ve got their favourites, Dad.”
“Well, you know what to do about that, make sure you behave yourself!”
“I’m not that bad, not really. There’s loads of kids worse than me, I just always get picked on. Didn’t you ever get into trouble at school?”
Dad grinned for a moment and put his newspaper down on one knee. “Oh yeah, I got into bother, love. Not so much at school, they was a lot stricter in them days, it was at home when I used to get me good hidings. I remember when we were all off to the allotments one Sunday. Me dad sent me and Ray, that was me best mate, to pick a few spuds, one of our neighbours said we could have a few. There wasn’t much money about to buy food in them days, love. Well, we took a few more spuds than we should have, we pulled up the spuds, cut the tops off them and planted them back again, just the leafy bits so it looked like the spuds were still there.”
I tried to imagine my father as a child, it wasn’t easy, he always looked so tired these days. I watched him stub out his cigarette in the ashtray and fix his eyes on a spot somewhere on the un-plastered brick wall. He smiled to himself; it was obvious his childhood memories were flooding back.
“Then there was the time we let the chickens out of old man Sutherland’s back yard,” Dad went on. “We got caught, we always did. God knows what we did it for, guess it was cos the old buggar was such a pain, always moaning at us for kicking a ball around in the street.”
I grinned and wrapped a tea towel round my hand ready to remove the kettle from the hot plate. “Did you get into big trouble over the chickens?”
“You can say that again. We’d never have been caught if it I hadn’t been so tall.”
“What?”
“I was the only one wearing long trousers, see. We had turn ups on our trousers in them days and mine were all full of feathers when I got home. I remember our mum wanting to know why they were there and none of the other little devils with me even noticed. But old man Sutherland did when he came bangin’ on the door wanting to know if I’d got anything to do with his chickens runnin’ riot in the street. Didn’t take any of ‘em long to work out who it was when they saw me trying to pick the feathers out of me turn ups. Me old dad wasn’t too pleased, I can tell you. I can still remember him chasing me round the back kitchen, and you know how small that was, smaller than this one. My God, me backside was sore by the time he’d finished with me.”
I laughed and expected Dad to laugh too. Instead he looked at me with soulful eyes as if longing for his youth again.
“Did my mum ever get into trouble, do you think?” I asked him, Roma virtually never spoke of her childhood.
“Probably, but not for the same kind of things. She didn’t have a happy life, you know, there’s a lot that you don’t know, a hell of a lot.”
“Then tell me.”
“Ah, there’s not enough hours in the day for me to tell ya everything. I remember one time though, me and your mum had only just started seeing each other and we were sitting on the wall by the chip shop. We weren’t out late, your grandma didn’t like your mum going out much. Anyway, we were just havin’ a natter and a fag and who the hell should come round the corner? Your bloody granddad, all dressed up and off to the pub. He ignored me, he usually did and he went straight up to your mum and told her to put that fag out or he’d knock it out of her mouth. I spoke up a bit then, I told him she was only having a smoke, he smoked an’ all so what was the big deal? Anyway, he was having none of that lip off a young lad like me, I was only twenty one, so he slapped your mother right across the face, knocked the fag right out of her mouth, just like he said he would. She was twenty seven years old, that’s how they treated her, love, it wasn’t easy for your mum.”
I pictured the scene. I knew she would have cried, would have made Dad love her up and make it better. I hated the woman most of the time but couldn’t help feeling sorry for her just then.
“What did you to then, Dad?”
“Oh, I had a go at your granddad. I told him to leave her alone, called him a bully and all that but we didn’t say much in then days, not even at twenty one years of age, not to older people. As far as I know though, he didn’t knock her about again.”
“You always stuck up for her, didn’t you, Dad?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, love, somebody had to. She broke her heart, you know, I reckon she was more embarrassed then anything else, her dad slapping her like that in front of her boyfriend, the only boyfriend she’d ever had.”
“I thought that Nicky was her boyfriend before you.”
“Yeah, her and your grandma liked people to think that. That’s another story I’ll tell you when I’ve got the time. Anyway, she’s done a lot of crying, has your mother. I know sometimes it’s hard but she’s had a load of shit for a life, you know that, don’t you?”
“So have I.”
“Not so much as your mum, love. Believe me, there’s times I could have dried for her meself. I remember when we first got married, we had some wedding pictures, you know, some nice ones with the bridesmaids on and all that. Your grandma cut them all up one night after we’d had a row. There was only one left that she didn’t get her hands on, the one that’s on our sideboard now, the one that was in our bedroom til the old woman died. She’d never let it stand anywhere she could see.”
“And were Gran and Granddad Whitehouse on any of the wedding photos she cut up?”
“No, me duck. They didn’t go to the wedding.”
“Why?”
Dad hesitated for a moment and looked me in the eyes. “It was cos of our Tom, cos of me brother. Your grandma didn’t want him at our wedding cos he wasn’t well, his brain didn’t develop properly and he couldn’t talk. I think they was worried he’d show them up in front of the bloody vicar or summert. Well, when I told me mum and dad our Tom couldn’t come, they wouldn’t come either.”
“That wasn’t fair! Tom should have been there, why didn’t you put your foot down about it?”
“Sometimes it’s better just to let things be, better to give in cos it causes more trouble in the end when you don’t. I’ve told you about that with your temper, let things alone, just go with what life throws at you and get on with it. Like I said, there’s a lot that’s happened to your mum that you don’t know.”
Same with you, Dad, I thought to myself, there’s a lot you don’t know about me too.
The kettle whistled as it came to the boil. I heard movement upstairs so I guessed either Roma or Granddad would be coming down soon. Dad looked up at the ceiling and reached for a clean mug from the cupboard. He lifted the lid on the teapot and frowned as he emptied the cold contents down the sink.
“I’d better make your mum a cuppa,” he said wearily. “I always take her a drink up in the mornings when I’ve been on nights, with all this gassin’ we’ve been doing I almost forgot.”
“Don’t use all the boiling water, will you? I need it to have a wash.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. Let me make a fresh pot of tea and then I’ll get out of your way. You’ll have the kitchen to yourself to do your ablutions.”
“My what?”
Dad giggled. “That means all the stuff women do when they’re gettin’ ready. Blokes don’t have time to pamper themselves like you wenches do.”
“I don’t pamper myself!”
“Come off it. I know you’ve been using my razor to shave your flamin’ legs.”
We both laughed then, but I felt so sorry for this man, my father. Reluctantly I had to let him go, let him get on with the usual task of keeping his wife happy. Unlike Roma, my dad was a real person. He smelled of Lifebouy soap and of the factory where he worked. His greying hair was no longer darkened by Brylcreem; it was as natural as the rest of him but also just as insipid. Though kindness shone from those pale blue eyes, so did his weakness for Roma, his desire to keep his mouth shut and keep the peace. But at least he was real, totally unlike the family he had married into. As I listened to Roma’s steps on the staircase I watched the man who had been the only iota of sanity in this house. I suddenly thought of my early childhood, of the child who knew nothing and met no one outside of these walls. The child who should have spent her time at play, learning about life, but who instead was a victim of Roma’s various fuck ups. I realised then that I had never known a real childhood and I grieved for it for a moment. I loved my dad but despised his weakness. He could have stopped all this, taken me away from the loonies who had brought me so much misery. But then, that wouldn’t have been Dad, I realised that if you love someone you accept then as they are, warts and all, nothing more, nothing less. I watched him pour milk and tea into Roma’s mug, saw his face light up as she entered the kitchen, her cotton nightdress hanging lose and limp over her body, her hair a matted mess of fading red curls.
“What on earth have you been doing, Albie?” she said. “I was worried, why didn’t you bring me my tea in bed?”
“I got side tracked a bit; I’ve been talking to our Julie. She’s starting to grow up, you know.”
Roma laughed loudly and tossed back her head. “What, that one .... her .... grow up? You must be joking.”
“Come on, let’s get out of this kitchen so the girl can have a wash. Here’s your tea, love.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. And Julie, don’t keep your dad talking in the mornings again, he’s got to go to bed and you’ve got to get ready for school. Come on, hurry up! It’s no use preening yourself in that mirror, you’ll never win any beauty contests.”

Twelve
It had been a cold Easter, wet too, but the weather had taken a turn for the better and the early summer sun had been shining all day. I had watched Pammie from my seat on the park bench, she walked through the tall wrought iron gates and looked carefully around her, as she always did, as if afraid someone might be following her.
Most of the buildings on the main road had been boarded up for some time and they suffered the way derelict buildings often do. Windows were broken, doors had become sheets of either steel or plywood and whole walls were now a blank canvas for the local graffiti artists. Pammie’s house, which she still shared with her parents and younger brother, was one of the few that had survived the urban rot and demolition machines that had invaded the area. There were a few shops left, a couple of pubs and the old park. I knew the park would survive, it had been there since Victorian times and would continue to be here as long as kids like Pammie and I needed somewhere remotely pleasurable to spend a Saturday afternoon. Those old benches served a good purpose, they were often a bed for the homeless or for those who had drunk too much and couldn’t find their way home. Yes, the parks would survive and so would the pubs, as long as they sold booze and there were idiots like my granddad around to devour the stuff. I knew he was getting pissed more regularly these days but I never mentioned it.
Pammie began to wave frantically when she saw me. She towered over most of the girls our age and seemed to have a knack of always looking good. There was nothing very feminine about her; she had thrown an oversized sweater over a pair of denim flares but with that figure, a pair of endless legs and almost perfect white teeth, she could look good wearing a sack. I’d put on what Dad called my ‘posh frock’, a high-necked sleeveless smock dress in a bright red cotton fabric. It had four huge buttons from the neckline to the fitted bust then it flared outwards to hide a multitude of sins, the hemline ending somewhere around the middle of my thighs. I covered my top half with a short, white imitation leather jacket, cheap and cheerful and the height of teenage fashion. Dad didn’t approve of the length of my skirts, ‘wide belts’, he called them, but always had a touch a humour in his voice when he teased me about wearing them. It had taken me a while to persuade Roma to allow me to wear really fashionable clothes but she had finally given in. I was in my last year at school now and no longer had to take a trip to the ladies loo on my way out and turn over my waistband to shorten my skirt. I still put my mascara on once I’d left the house though, then rubbed it off again with toilet paper before getting home. I didn’t want to push things. Pammie wasn’t wearing makeup, I don’t think she ever bothered with it. Her wiry black curls were cut less than an inch from her scalp, giving her a boyish look. The style suited her, especially with the dangly gold earrings she was wearing, the only jewellery on the whole of her body. She had grown from a skinny tomboy into a very attractive teenage girl with sculptured features, a soft walnut coloured skin and a superbly flat stomach. I ran my fingers through my own straight brown bob and tossed my head, a gesture I thought made me appear sophisticated. Reaching into my white plastic handbag, I took out my cigarettes, feeling very grown up as I lit one and drew on it, blowing the smoke upwards. I knew Pammie smoked too, most of us did in those days even though we hid that fact from our parents. I smiled to myself as I thought of the other packet I had stashed away in my room at home. Home was now a council estate on the other side of Wolverhampton. It was very different from our old house around here; we had a bathroom now, hot running water and gardens front and back. There were neat lawns in our new road, many decorated with flower borders partly hidden by neatly trimmed privet hedges. There were a few families who didn’t seem to possess a lawn mower and those who decorated the fronts of their homes with an old mattress or an unwanted sofa that had the stuffing falling out of the back, but on the whole, most of the houses were well kept. Our old home was long gone; Carol’s house had been demolished even earlier and so had Laney’s. Most of us had been scattered about the town on various estates and moved to new schools. Of course, we all promised to keep in touch, we meant to, but we were kids. We all made promises we didn’t keep and it had been quite by chance that I met Pammie a week ago in the town centre. She had seemed so pleased to see me and we had made arrangements to meet here, in the West Park by the old bandstand where we used to play. It wasn’t really that long ago but it seemed a lifetime since we’d played on the swings and slide or fed the ducks on the boating lake. We were only children then, and of course, now we were so grown up. I mean, Pammie was already fifteen and I would be too in a couple of months. We’d probably be starting work this year, yes; we really believed we were adults.
“You lookin’ good, girl,” Pammie said as she stood beside me, her accent a fascinating mixture of Black Country and Jamaican. “Have you lost weight?”
I laughed and blew out more cigarette smoke. “You only saw me last week, you daft sod! Don’t think I’ve changed much since then.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t stay together long, I don’t think I looked at you properly. You got makeup on now and I love your jacket.”
“Thanks, you’re looking pretty good too, Pam. Wish I’d got a figure like yours.”
It was Pammie’s turn to laugh then. “You should go dancing, that’s how I keep skinny, dancing and I still play netball, the team like me cos I’m tall, see. Hey, you got a fag to spare?”
Sure, here.” I handed her the packet and she helped herself with long dark skinned fingers, striking a match and cupping the flame with her hand to protect it from the wind as she lit her cigarette. “Thanks, girl. Great to see you again, I missed you since you move away, missed the laughs we had, hope we c’n have them again.”
Pammie was always full of it; she could always cheer anyone up with her compliments. Perhaps that was part of her appeal. She had always been a popular girl, not just with the other girls from the Caribbean but with just about everyone who met her, even her teachers. She may not have been the brightest student in school but on the sports field, Pamela McPherson was queen and I had honestly never met anyone who didn’t like her. Even my dad said she was a nice girl and he rarely spoke about any of my old school mates.
“Yeah, I lost a bit of weight,” I told her, looking down at my body. “Not enough though.”
“Did you go on a diet?”
I shrugged and we both began walking slowly across the grass. “Kind of,” I said. “I just don’t eat all the meals me mum gives me and I don’t eat the puddings and cakes. She moans about it but she can’t force me to eat, not like she used to when I was little.”
Pamela looked shocked. “You mean your mum? She used to force you?”
“Yep, sometimes.”
“Nobody force you when we were in that playground though. I always remember you eatin’ sweets at school; you don’t like sports either, do you?”
“Not much and I’ve not changed either. Still, I might take your advice and go dancing, that’s if I can find someone to go with.”
“You not got a boyfriend?”
“Nah, can’t be bothered. The boys at my new school don’t like me much and I reckon lads are more trouble than they’re worth.”
Pammie burst into a loud giggle. “Hey, you sound like me mum. She’s always sayin’ me dad’s good for nothin’, that all he talk about is cricket and that he never wants to come to church. How’s you dad, Jule? I not seen him for ages.”
“He’s okay.”
“He still workin’?”
“Yeah, he’s still at the factory. He bought an old car a few months ago, a Ford Anglia.”
“Oooh, very posh!” Pammie said with mock sarcasm. I wish she could have seen the thing, it was two tone blue and rust and it broke down regularly once a week. But at least it served its purpose, kind of. “My dad still goes to work on his bloody push bike,” Pammie went on. “I think that’s what keep him skinny, all that peddlin’ down the road every mornin’. Not like me mum, she’s always moaning about the size of her arse. She says she can’t find clothes to fit her anymore. If she could see you now she’d want to know how you done it!”
I grinned sheepishly. “I use the ciggies instead of food, the more I smoke the less I eat. I never eat chocolate and sweets now, it does work, you know.” I looked down at my right hand for a moment and used the rough side of my matchbox to try to rub away the nicotine stains that were beginning to appear on my one finger.
“Does your mum know you smoke?” Pammie asked as we continued strolling through the park.
“Does she hell! Does yours know you do?”
Her thin eyebrows shot upwards. “You must be kidd’n’, girl! She’d only get vexed about it so I keep me mouth shut. I don’t get so much pocket money as you so I get my smokes off Joshua, the bloke livin’ down the road. I think he fancies Paulette, do you know him?”
“Nope, never met the bloke. How old is he?”
“He’s eighteen now, his parents come from Barbados not long ago, brought him with them but he had to say he was younger or he can’t come, he’d have been too old. I think he’s workin’ now though, but it’s not official or nothin’. He’s got money comin’ in and no one to spend it on, so he hang around Paulette and buy her things, she’s not goin’ to say no to him. He’s not good for much and me family don’t like him, I c’n get a packet of fags off him when I want though.” She grinned and lowered her head. “He think I like him, he think I got a crush on him or somethin’.”
“Doesn’t sound like you have to me.”
“I’ve not. He’s a raasclat, always gettin’ into trouble with the law and he needs to be careful, they’ll find out he’s workin’ and he shouldn’t be. They’ll find out he shouldn’t be in this country too if he’s not careful. He shows off, you know, throws his money about and that. Nah, I don’t like him, I seen better lookin’ dogs. Paulette think the same, he got no chance with her either, but he’s useful.”
Her coffee coloured eyes glistened as she laughed but she sensed my disapproval and looked away.
“Hmmm, you be careful, Pam, that’s all.”
She tossed her head and ignored my comment; she must have thought I was a right boring fart. I didn’t dislike boys, my past experiences with Granddad and Mick Clayton hadn’t totally turned me off, but I was wary. I quite fancied a lad called Colin who went to my new school but he didn’t seem keen. We shared a liking for art and English and had the same taste in music. We had both been chosen once or twice to read out our own poems in class, a great privilege, but his behaviour was better than mine and he usually fared better at exam time. We both owned records by Jimi Hendrix and Pink Floyd, that had come up in one of the few conversations we’d had, but there were prettier girls than me flaunting their skinny bodies and tiny tits in his face. I was realistic, I didn’t have a chance. What was the point, anyway, we’d only end up having a quick snog and a grope at the back of the bike sheds if we did get together, that would end up in a couple of shags, then he’d tire of me and go off to find the next silly bitch who had her legs open. Wasn’t that what all lads wanted in the end?
“I not had much luck wi’ boys meself,” Pammie said suddenly, breaking my thoughts. “I mean ..... look at me ..... I seen bigger tits on me ten year old brother! But you .....” she wagged a long finger in my face, “I bet you c’n pull any boy you want. You shouldn’t worry about being a bit plump, the boys won’t mind, I think you look sexy, at least you got some shape, girl, not like me.”
“Bollocks!” I drew hard on my cigarette and let the smoke out through my nose. “I look like a pregnant dwarf! All boobs and belly and me legs look like they’ve been cut off at the knees, they’re way too short. ME! Sexy! You must be joking! I walk like a penguin too, well, that’s what a couple of lads at school have told me. Even me mother tells me I’ve got no chance getting a bloke, yeah, a pregnant dwarf, that’s what I look like!”
“You ever seen what a pregnant dwarf look like, girl?”
“No, have you?”
Pammie laughed, “No, but bet it don’t look like you. I seen one of them little tiny people on the telly, you know, really pretty she was.”
“Yeah, worse than a pregnant dwarf then, that’s what I look like.”
“And I c’n’t find a lad tall enough for me, eh? Lord! If I was lyin’ in bed next to him he’d feel for me tits and wouldn’t know if I’d got me front facin’ him or me back!”
We stared at each other for a few seconds then burst into laughter at our own horrific self images. It was a wonderful moment, a moment of maturity too as we realised just how ridiculous we sounded and laughed a little more, shaking our heads in disbelief.
I was the first to speak. “We’re a right couple of freaks, aren’t we, Pam?”
“Seems like it, girl. Lord, we could always make each other laugh, couldn’t we, Julie? I think we both know we’ll never win any beauty contests.”
“That’s true enough, and we make each other laugh cos we’re funny people, that’s not a bad thing, is it?”
Pammie pressed her full lips together to make a line as she smiled, nodding vigorously. Then she drew on her cigarette and clicked it so that the ash was carried away on the wind. “Yeah, that’s what we are, funny people. And talkin’ about funny women, I liked your mum but I always thought she was a bit strange. How she doin’ these days?”
I looked away. “Oh, her! I erm ..... I guess she’s okay.”
Pammie looked thoughtful. “I never got to know your mum that much, hope you don’t mind me sayin’ she was a bit strange.”
“I don’t mind at all, Pam. She IS strange.”
“And you old granddad, he still live with you?”
“Yeah, afraid so.”
“Ah, don’t be like that about him, they’re your family, girl. It like me mum always says, you only got one family but you can’t choose them. You c’n choose your friends but you can’t choose your family.”
“Yeah, too right you can’t!”
“Hey, you soundin’ miserable now, I don’t come here to meet you and be miserable.”
“Okay, let’s talk about something else then.”
So we chatted as we walked, chatted and smoked, recalling our childhood together, remembering the days when it should have all seemed so simple. I really did like Pammie; she was silly and girlie like some of the females I knew, she also didn’t appear to want to compete with me in any way. She didn’t have my interest in fashion or pop stars, but she was always kind and up for a laugh too. I didn’t want to talk about Roma, she hadn’t been exactly easy since we’d moved. I did most of the local shopping now, Roma had decided she wasn’t well enough to leave the house alone, God knows why. When she did go out it was always with Dad. She’d walk beside him clinging to his arm and would embarrass him by kissing his cheek while they were in the butchers or the chemists. I’d seen her do it and could tell it made him feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t pull away or there would have been floods of tears once they got home. She told him there was a problem with her balance now, that she was seeing the doctor about it but I knew that was just more of the usual Roma crap! It was as though she had to be seen holding onto my dad, proving to the world that he was one of her possessions, that he was her prize. As for me, I was a possession too, but I didn’t always tow the line these days. When she did talk about me to anyone, which wasn’t often as she didn’t mix much, she made me out to be the devil incarnate but I was past caring now. She carried on with her life as she always had done, making sure things went her way, whatever the consequences, whoever got hurt. She didn’t seem to have any men friends now, no one on the council estate seemed interested in her. Well, she was well into her forties now, still fat, still wearing clothes a size too small and twenty years too young for her. As she never went out alone there was no opportunity to meet anyone. She still didn’t mix and neither did I, not often anyway. The kids at my new school thought I was just as peculiar as the ones had at my old one.
Pammie and I continued to walk, talking and giggling from time to time. We each smoked another cigarette, one of her’s this time and when I’d taken the last drag from mine I flicked the end onto the path with my thumb and finger.
“Do you ever see Laney Price these days?” I asked.
Pammie didn’t disappoint me; she said exactly what I thought she would. “We don’t see none of the old ones no more, not the ones that moved away. I remember you hangin’ around with Carol Malone, she’s been left ages. I know you used to like Laney, I think we all did.”
I nodded and stumbled a little on my kitten heels. “Yeah, Laney was nice, she treated me like I was a grown up, like I was somebody.”
“I know, she treat all us black kids like that too. I remember when she work in the chemist shop, she don’t work there now.”
“I know. I think most of those old shops are shut now, aren’t they?”
“Yep, they are. I remember Laney leavin’, me mum was really sad about it, she liked her too. That woman treated us like we were normal.”
I couldn’t hide the surprise in my voice. “You are normal!”
Pammie folded her arms across her chest as if becoming guarded. “Am I? I wonder about that sometimes when I hear the things people say.”
“What bloody things?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know, girl, you got a pair of eyes in your head. You must see the way some white people look at us and hear the things they say.”
I felt embarrassed. Of course I’d heard racist remarks but I never really associated any of them with Pamela, she was just, well, she was just Pamela McPherson, my old mate from school. “People don’t call YOU names though, not you and Paulette ..... do they?”
“What colour’s this face, Julie? I get called a lot o’ names, so do me family. You know what I’m talkin’ about. You ain’t been walkin’ about with your ears shut, girl, you heard it, wogs, nig nogs, black bitches, there’s loads of it! Don’t tell me you’ve not heard all that stuff, Julie Whitehouse.”
I felt ashamed for a moment. It had always occurred to me that I was the only one who had been bullied, the only kid in school to be called names. How could I have been so stupid? I began to see things differently.
“Yeah, I’ve heard those insults, Pam,” I said sheepishly. “Doesn’t mean I use them though.”
“I know that, girl.” Pammie looked sad and stopped to lean against one of the old wrought iron struts that held up part of the bandstand. “I hear the name callin’ most days when I’m not just hangin’ out with other black people. It’s not just me that get it, it’s all of us. I know me dad gets it at work, he’s like a lot of us, doin’ the jobs the white people didn’t want but and listenin’ to all the jokes about us. He don’t mean no harm but there’s blokes at his work that look at him like he’s a piece of shit! And we all get sick o’ hearin’ the name callin’ sometimes. It’s no fun walkin’ into a room and knowin’ you’re different, just waitin’ for somebody to say something about you, knowin’ that it don’t matter how hard you try, it’ll be somebody else who gets the best job or the better housin’. They put your family on a nice estate when your house was knocked down, didn’t they? Know where they’ll put us, eh? In them new flats where no one else wants to go, they put most of us there.”
”I’m sorry, Pam. I think I understand. At least, I know what it feels like to be different.”
“You’re white, girl. You can’t know how it feels.”
“Yes I do, honestly! I get called fatso and thunder thighs and all that. I get looked down on and laughed at, the grownups all say I’m spoilt rotten just cos I’m the only one and can have a few more clothes and things. But it’s not like that at home, Pammie, honestly, if you really knew you’d never believe me.”
“Aw, come on, Jule, I remember you’d got loads more toys than most white kids, let alone us lot.”
“I know, but half the time I didn’t even want all that stuff.”
“What you want then, eh? You got a nice house now, got good parents, you even had your granddad and granny livin’ with you, I’ve not seen mine for years, they wouldn’t know what I looked like now.”
“It’s not a nice house, Pam, not really,” I insisted. “That old place was just full of ancient stuff that should have been thrown out years ago and it’s not that much different now, we’ve had a few new things since we moved but not much really. As for my granddad, he’s a bloody pain. It was always Dad who kept him and Grandma and even now the old bloke doesn’t give up any of his pension. They probably think I don’t know, they still think I’m a kid but my granddad’s always been useless. He spends any money he gets at the betting shop or in the pub and comes home wrecked out of his head sometimes. He pisses it all up the wall in the end, that’s what my dad says always happens to booze, it just gets pissed up the wall.”
Pamela grinned and her face came to life again. “Yeah, guess you’re right about the booze. Still, I always think your mum was nice, even if she is a bit funny, and your dad was lovely.”
Suddenly I began to feel very guilty for the things I’d said. Perhaps it was because I’d realised I wasn’t the only one with problems or possibly because of some misplaced loyalty to the loonies at home.
“Yeah, Dad’s all right,” I said. “Perhaps I’m just in a mood, wrong time of the month, as Laney would have said.”
Pammie sighed and took one final drag from her cigarette before dropping it and stubbing it out with the sole of her shoe. “I don’t get it, Jule. Why you not happy, eh? Look at yourself, girl! You got nice straight hair, good clothes and now your face not so fat you look a lot better. You’ll get a nice job soon too, I bet. I’ll just end up in some factory workin’ all the hours God send and gettin’ called the wog, you can bet. Paulette and some of me friends want to train to be nurses but I ain’t got the brains for that, at least you got the brains, girl.”
I laughed sarcastically. “I’ve not got bloody brains. Believe me, Pam, if I’d got brains there’s things that have happened in our house that never would have, not if I’d been clever. I just want to get the job that pays the most, I don’t care what I’ll be doing, I just want good pay so I can save up and get out of that shit hole as fast as possible.”
“What you on about, Jule? What’s all this stuff that’s been going on at home?”
I hesitated for a moment. “Nothing really. I ..... I just want to go somewhere and be respected and liked, that’s all.”
Pammie nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I know what you mean there. I s’pose it’s not just about bein’ black, is it? White people got their problems too, eh? And I respect you, Julie, and I like you, always have.”
I couldn’t help smiling. I had a sudden desire to hug this girl, we knew we could never fully understand each other but we could respect each other, that was what mattered. Still, I wasn’t into hugs, all that touching meant nothing to me, I was well used to Roma’s false caresses and the groping from Granddad and Mick Clayton. Hugs and kisses weren’t really for me and by the smile Pammie gave me, they weren’t her thing either. I longed to tell her the truth, to open up to her, but I couldn’t, the time wasn’t right, I wondered if it ever would be.
“I respect you too,” I told her. “And I like you, people have always liked you, ever since I’ve known you. You’re the popular one; it’s you who should be happy cos you’ll always be loved.”
“Huh! If you really knew me, girl, you might not say that. There’s things about me that even the other black girls might not like about me if they knew, even them that call themselves me sisters, there’s a few of them wouldn’t like me if they knew more about me.”
I was confused. I tried to get her to tell me more but she refused. She just pushed her hands into the tight pockets of her jeans and walked on slightly ahead. Turning once and smiling, her wide beguiling smile that made everyone like her so much.
“I guess I should say sorry again,” I said.
“What the hell for?”
“Oh I dunno! We’re both daft, arent’ we?”
“Yeah, a stupid pair of bitches.”
“Right pair of wankers!”
“You right there, girl!”
We both laughed then. For one very special moment we stopped and looked at each other, it was as if we both wanted to confide in someone, we almost did, but once again, the time wasn’t right, not for either of us and we both respected that. I knew black people often had a hard time, but there was absolutely nothing to dislike about this girl, I was way too naive to realise what anyone could have found distasteful about her, especially other black girls. Why should she worry? I thought. There was always some crowd somewhere for her to assimilate with. No, she wasn’t really like me, she wasn’t an outcast, a freak, a little girl no one believed and who everyone thought was spoilt rotten. I pushed the feelings of self pity out of my head and our conversation returned to the usual trivialities, to music and movie stars. We ignored a few jeers from a bunch of older girls who stood by the toilets, as two workmen, more than twice our ages, whistled at us we both basked in what was then considered a compliment. Occasionally I think we both noticed an underlying sadness in each other’s eyes but we asked no more questions. When the afternoon was over we bought a cup of tea in the park cafe and shared it between us. We promised we would see each other again, we really meant to, I doubt if either of us could remember what got in the way.
It was many years later when I learned what she had been trying to tell me. Pammie was gay, that was all. As if that would have made any difference to the way I felt about her, but for her at that time, she must have been so sure it would make me hate her.

[Emms]

Thirteen
I opened my bedroom curtains to a cloudless sky. It was one of those summer Sunday mornings when the sun was shining but the air was cool and dew glistened on the leaves in the garden. I was absolutely made up at having a garden. It was only small but lined with green shrubs, roses and rows of bedding plants either Roma or Dad had planted. There were also a few pots of pansies lining the path and I could hear the song of a blackbird coming from a distant roof top. I stood there for a few moments and scratched my head, my hair needed washing. I let my face contort into a lazy yawn before pulling on my tatty old dressing gown. It had been pretty once, all flowers and padded quilting but now it was flat, faded and old. I loved its softness and comfort though. I felt safe when I was wearing it for some reason.
At least I could get out and about now. I wasn’t allowed out late and Roma always gave me the third degree once I came home but I didn’t feel so much of a prisoner these days. My bedroom seemed huge; the whole house was so much bigger than the tiny terrace I’d been used to. The council had allotted us a three bed roomed home because of Granddad so I guess the old man did have his uses. Roma and I seemed to be arguing more and more, usually over nothing. We’d had a little spat the day before simply because I had opened the door to the postman. How dare I do that! She had come up behind me and taken a parcel from him, guiding me out of the way before flashing him one of her relaxed smiles that would fool anyone before closing the door. Then she had started on me, it wasn’t my place to open the front door to anyone, I was just a child. Her high pitched screams penetrated deeply into my head and of course, the little rebel was rising again inside me and I retaliated just as noisily. She was still at it when Dad came in but suddenly her screams of temper turned to sobs of pure sorrow as she ran into the kitchen, her hands covering her face, sobbing like a five year old who had just banged her head. Dad held her and calmed her down, scolding me for causing trouble as usual. This kind of thing was happening more and more often now. She would make a lot of noise but was saying and achieving nothing.
The epileptic seizures had almost stopped, I had been discharged by the hospital and no longer had to take medication. I did have a few minor seizures but they were so small that only I knew I’d had them. They messed with my memory a little but I could hide that pretty well, people just thought I was a bit weird. For most of the time I was just a moody teenager, like any other. But Roma seemed to enjoy making me feel different; she liked to intimidate me when she could though she still insisted she adored me more than anything else in the world and appeared to take some pleasure from hugging me at times. She had turned very religious too, though she never went to church. The house was filled with fancy crucifixes and little statues of Our Lady of Perpetual Succour. Roma prayed a lot, sometimes openly and out loud, but when she was in a certain mood it seemed I was always the target for her frustration. I was used to this now, I had my room to retreat to and would turn up my radio or record player, the new one Dad finally agreed to buy for me, and then I’d get another bollocking for making too much noise. Sometimes I’d play right into Roma’s hands; I could tell when she was sparring for a fight, usually not long before Dad came home. I tried to stay calm and not play her games, but at times I couldn’t help myself. I would scream as loud as she did, push my face back into hers as she lunged hers forward into mine. Then she would grab hold of something, anything, an ornament, a cup or a plate, anything handy. She’d usually smash it against the wall on the floor, then throw herself onto the floor and curl into a little ball where she would often remain until Dad came in. She would always be crying real tears, she would tell him I was the culprit, I had smashed whatever had been smashed then attacked her. Of course, Dad would believe her and I’d be for it again. He would always have to take her in his arms and whisper a few endearments in her ear, then she would finally shut up and probably spend the rest of the day sitting beside him on the sofa with her head on his shoulder, watching TV. Once in a while Dad would look at me and give me a little wink, but he never stuck up for me.
Still, it was a beautiful morning so what the hell did Roma’s psychotic behaviour matter? I looked through my window again and caught sight of Dad in the yard, or the ‘patio’ as we liked to call it. He bent over to tip some rubbish into the dustbin and our little dog, Butch, a young Cairn terrier Dad had brought home for Roma a few months ago, yapped at his heels. I was amazed how old Dad was beginning to look. His tired face showed the stain of his day to day existence, of hours spent working in that filthy factory, of arguments with management at the now regular union meetings and of years with living in Roma’s pocket. Living with her and the rest of the loonies had been a constant battle of wits in its self, yet he had survived it, as I had.
There were actually a few photos scattered around the house of Granny Clara and other members of Dad’s family. He’d taken me to see my Granny Clara again, or ‘Gran’ as I called her. I had grown fond of the old woman, she seemed so normal compared to my other grandmother and I loved listening to her tales of life on the canals. She had given me quite a few old photographs and Dad had written the names of everyone on the back of each picture, explaining who they were and how they were related to us. It was as though once one grandmother was gone, the other was allowed back into my life. Shame granddad Joby wasn’t still around, a stroke had taken him years ago.
Granny Clara had actually been to visit us in the new house. She seemed to get on fine with Roma, but that didn’t mean anything. My other granddad was still here, still wondering around, getting in everyone’s way, coughing loudly as he brought up another lump of yellow phlegm and spat it into a handkerchief, or into the sink if he thought no one was looking. He still spent much of his time in the betting shop or down the local, but no one minded that, it kept him out of the way.
My bedroom was a disgrace, there were records everywhere, many old and scratched 45s with the centres missing. They lay around on the floor with discarded magazines, an old tube of mascara and an empty packet of tampons. I was an untidy cow, I’ll admit that. I took a little more care of my albums; they were a more expensive way of buying music so I had to save any pocket money I had for those, either that or wait until Dad or Roma bought me one for Christmas or my birthday. I had a very varying taste in music, there was everything from The Beatles to Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac to Joni Mitchell. The new form of ‘prog rock’ was quite interesting so I was very proud of my albums by Pink Floyd and Cream. I didn’t draw and paint these days, I was more into writing poems these days and on my dressing table top were piles of old exercise books and sheets of paper half scribbled on. Roma had refused to clean my bedroom, can’t say I blamed her. But when I did try to have a good clear out she came thumping up the stairs and gave me a right bollocking for making too much noise and messing up the carpet on the landing. It was the same with my washing, she would wash for Dad and Granddad, she waited on them hand, foot and finger most of the time but now I had to see to most of my own needs. It was a complete turnaround from when Grandma was alive and I wasn’t allowed to do anything for myself. Yet every time I wanted to wash some of my clothes Roma would tell me it was the wrong time. I did seem to manage to get most things clean at some point, usually by hand washing in the bathroom when there was enough hot water, but I never seemed to get it right. She would always accuse me of using too much washing powder or of dripping water on the stair carpet while I carried the wet clothes down to hang them outside. It was the same with the ironing; Roma refused to do any for me but would rarely allow me to do my own. It was crazy! There were times when it was easier to wear creased clothes even if it did mean more bullying at school.
I pushed my feet into a pair of pale blue slippers and took a sneaky look in the mirror, shuddered then went to run myself a bath. At least I didn’t have to ask permission to use the bath now but I knew there’d be moans and groans about using too much hot water. I savoured the time I spent lying in warm, soft bubbles and dreamed about leaving school and finding myself a new home.
“How long are you going to be in there?” It was Dad who wanted the bathroom. He tapped on the locked door for the second time that morning.
“I’ve almost finished,” I called through the steam, wrapping a towel around my hair. “Won’t be a minute.”
“And how long’s a bloody minute?” Dad groaned.
“Depends which side of the bathroom door you’re on.”
I heard Dad laugh a little. “Oh, very clever. Come on, me wench, hurry up! I want me wash and shave.”
It amused me how we all seemed to fight over that bathroom. There was another loo downstairs so no one was ever left dying for a pee, that wasn’t the problem. It must have been the pure novelty of having a room where we could all see to our personal hygienic needs in private, behind a locked door. No one ever fought for a space in the old kitchen, this was pure luxury. A real bath to lie in and soak with no fear of unwelcome visitors, a private place where legs, armpits or even pubes could be shaved without interference. It was a great place for a crafty fag too. If I opened the window the smoke would float outside along with the steam and no one would smell it. These windows were metal framed too so they couldn’t be nailed down, not even if Roma wanted them to be. We all had to make sure they were never opened after dark though or she’d have hysterics, something to do with a fear of moths coming in. I loved this bathroom and refused to come out of it until I was good and ready. I think Dad understood even if he did moan.
“There you go, all yours now,” I said as I opened the door and filled the landing with steam.
Dad grinned cheekily as he waved a hand in front of his face. “About time too, and I’ll bet there’s not a dry towel to be found in the house now.”
“Ah, there’s plenty in the airing cupboard.”
“Well, better not use too many or you’ll have your mum moaning about the washing.”
“What a shame.”
“Oi, don’t be so cheeky, you. Behave yerself!”
I grinned as I watched him disappear through the door. “Okay, sorry, Dad.”
I could still hear him complaining in his special, comical way. I fastened the buttons on my dressing gown to hide my baggy pyjamas and made my way downstairs. My hair, which was growing longer and longer again, was still wrapped in the old towel. Sophie was sitting by the front door, she was really fat and fluffy now and as I ran my fingers through her fur, she closed her green eyes tightly and purred loudly with feline approval. There would be no more kittens, her first litter had been easy enough to find homes for among our old neighbours, but a visit to the vets meant there would be no more. I had been disappointed at first but I understood things better now, Sophie could stay out all night and behave like a right little tart, flirting with every Tom cat in sight and there would be no more kittens. That couldn’t be bad. Butch, who couldn’t have been much bigger than the ageing cat, sniffed around my slippered feet and wagged his tail as he greeted me. His golden brown fur had been clipped short for the summer and his face looked like it belonged on a little old man with a moustache. I loved these little creatures, they brought me a lot of pleasure and I think they cared about me too, if animals can care. As I marched into the kitchen and reached for the kettle, Butch jumped into his little cardboard box and curled up there, lifting his head to watch me intently.
I hadn’t realised how long I’d spent in that bath, it was late morning now and I could smell the chicken roasting in the oven. Roma had prepared the vegetables and they simmered in four separate saucepans, she could put on a good spread for Sunday lunch, I’ll give her that. As I filled our new electric kettle and plugged it in I could hear her hoovering in the lounge, the radio was playing Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band in the background. Our kitchen was huge, no one bumped into each other in that room or any other in this house. Roma hadn’t liked the place at first and shed many tears for her old home, but she seemed to have become used to it now. I was never sure what mood she’d be in from one day to the next; she was a law onto herself in that respect. Roma could destroy people so easily; destroy them with just a few short words or with one of her manipulative plans. Everything that went wrong in our house was someone else’s fault, usually mine and I often unwittingly gave her the ammunition to fire right back at me. She was a woman who looked at every situation and every opportunity and worked out a way of turning it to her own advantage. In short, she was a user, rather like her father, and she was mentally unstable like her mother. But what made Roma so dangerous was the fact that she was actually quite intelligent.
I could still hear the hoovering going on the other side of the wall. Granddad sat at the kitchen table slurping tea, making me feel sick as usual. The old man groaned as he moved, he was really getting on now and was almost completely bald. As he thumbed through the Sunday paper I could see the sadness in his cloudy blue eyes and I almost felt sorry for him. He was sober; he wasn’t seeing the world through beer goggles for once. He knew I despised him and he must have known the reason. I believed that was why he hardly ever spoke to me anymore. He must have been able to see, with perfect clarity, just what he had done to people, how he had used and abused his own wife, his daughter, his adopted granddaughter and possibly other young girls who had been unfortunate enough to be in his company. He would probably have even screwed the cat if she’d let him. But these days he could hardly raise a pint let alone anything else. That was probably one reason why he hadn’t touched me for so many years.
I nodded to him and he returned the nod, adding a gruff ‘morning’ to the gesture. I imagined he must have woken up every day with an overwhelming desire to bet on something, to have a little flutter, as he called it, to take a few risks. He must have felt sad that he couldn’t control anyone anymore. He didn’t come anywhere near me now and hadn’t been able to really bully Roma for years. I wondered for a moment about his own childhood, what had made him this way. The sins of the fathers were visited on the children even onto the third and fourth generation. Well, his lot must have been a right bunch of bastards then. I wondered if, at the end of their lives, they had all drifted into annoying insignificance, as Granddad had done.
The sound of the hoovering stopped and Roma dragged the vacuum cleaner with her into the kitchen, winding the flex around the handle and replacing it inside the cupboard under the stairs. Her cheeks were flushed, a thin line of sweat shimmered on her forehead and her mouth was turned down at the corners, giving her the look of a sulky child. She moved quickly and expertly around the kitchen, stepping carefully over Granddad’s feet and reaching down behind the washing machine for the dustpan and brush. There was so obviously nothing wrong with her legs or her balance, yet she still insisted she was disabled and couldn’t go out without Dad’s arm to hold onto or she would fall over. Still, she placed a hand on the small of her back as she straightened her body and groaned for effect, another little performance of hers. She was being watched so some part of her antimony had to hurt, like her mother before her, if Roma wasn’t ill then she might just lose the control she had over her family.
“Want a cuppa?” I asked her, merely out of politeness. I reached a clean mug from the cupboard.
Roma smiled and pushed a few strands of heavy hair behind one ear. “No thinks, love. Not the way you make it.”
“What’s wrong with the way I make it?”
She laughed. “Your tea’s like dish water and your coffee’s like mud, that’s why!”
I shrugged and spooned coffee into the mug for myself. “Okay, if you say so, Mum. I’ll have one then I’ll get out of your way, I can see you’re cleaning up and trying to cook dinner at the same time.”
“Yes, and a bit more help from you wouldn’t go amiss.”
“What? I go to the shop for you, don’t I? And if I offer to help with the housework or anything you always say no.”
“That’s because you leave more mess behind than there was to start with when you try to clean up. Anyway, you might just have to do a bit more for me in future, you’d better learn how to cook and clean properly.”
“Why?”
Roma looked deadly serious as she wiped a damp dish cloth across the rim of the sink. “Well,” she said without looking up. “There might have to be a few changes made in this house, love.”
“What do you mean, Mum?”
“Oh, I expect you’ll have to know soon enough.”
She continued rubbing and scrubbing, wiping surfaces that she had only wiped seconds earlier. I could tell something was coming, could tell by the tone of her voice and by her expression. There were times when she could make me feel like absolute shit and I had a feeling we were on the brink of one of them. I looked around the large kitchen, there were shelves filled with pots and pans, a new electric cooker and a blue doored sink unit with a stainless steel draining board and sink, very posh, even though all the fixtures and fittings belonged to Wolverhampton council.
“Okay, what’s the problem, Mum?” I asked, pouring boiling water into the mug and stirring in a couple of sugar free sweeteners.
Roma stopped scrubbing and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Oh well, suppose I may as well tell you now. I ..... I might have to see the specialist at the Eye Infirmary soon. I suppose you’ve heard me and your dad talking about me needing specs, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, you need then for reading or something, don’t you?”
“Well, I’m afraid it’s a bit worse than that, love.”
“What do you mean?”
She took a deep breath and sighed before beginning to speak. Her voice trembled with emotion and was so convincing I almost believed her. “The thing is, I’m afraid I’m going blind, love! I don’t know how long I’ve got before it happens but I’m losing one of the most precious possessions anyone can have, I’m losing my sight. I haven’t told your dad yet, it’s going to be so hard for him to cope, he’s not a strong man, I think you know that, so I’ll have to choose my time carefully, but I’ll tell him soon.”
Perhaps it was she was just a little too emotional, a tad too dramatic with her choice of words, I don’t know, but this was Roma talking bollocks again, I just knew it. Still, I thought I’d better play the game, up to a point at least, but I wasn’t going to accept all this without a few questions.
“So the doctor’s told you this then?”
“Of course he has, darling! You sound as if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh I believe you, don’t worry.” I tried to sound sincere but I heard the scepticism in my own voice.
“I should think so!” Roma snapped. “I’m not the one who tells lies in this family, you know! So when my sight has gone you might find you have to do a bit more to help in the house.”
“I will if you want. I’d help now if you’d let me but you never do. Sorry to hear about it though, when are you going to tell Dad?”
She closed her eyes for a moment as if with exasperation. “I’ll tell him when I’m ready,” she groaned. She seemed to have forgotten she wasn’t talking to a five year old anymore. “You’ll have to learn to do some of the things I won’t be able to do, but you’ll need to do them properly, not in the half hearted way you usually do things. I’ll need all the support I can get from you, so please don’t make things more difficult with your silly temper tantrums and with getting into trouble at school.”
“Mum, I’m fifteen, I don’t get into trouble at school anymore, it’ll soon be time for me to leave anyway.”
“Well, once you do leave I hope you can get a job. Your father might have to give his work up to look after me, I won’t be able to manage without someone here all day.”
Thoughts of Grandma and her fake illnesses shot through my mind. Was Roma about to do the same to me? Was I going to be forced to care for this woman the way Roma had done for her mother? She should be so lucky, I thought, but still I played the game.
“Okay, Mum. We’ll have to see how things go, won’t we?”
“We know how things are going to go. And not a word to your dad, I must be the one to tell him.”
“Sure, I won’t say anything to him.”
“I hope I can trust you, don’t you dare let me down!”
“I won’t.”
Granddad looked up at his daughter wearily. It was obvious he was having nothing to do with this and he was quite used to us all talking in front of him as if he didn’t exist. Still, the old arsehole wouldn’t have got involved anyway. He always crept away when Roma announced something as dramatic as this. It was if he knew this was just another of her fantasies. I certainly did.
“I’ll go in the other room then,” he said in a croaky voice. He rolled up his Sunday newspaper and placed it under one arm. “I don’t want much dinner, Roma, so go easy on mine when you put it out.”
I nodded as if in agreement as he shuffled out of the room. “I don’t want too much either, Mum. Just a few slices of chicken, please, and a bit of veg. No mash or roasties, if you don’t mind.”
“Giving me your orders again, I see!” Roma’s tone was sharp. “You’re not eating enough lately, you’ll make yourself ill, lady. I don’t know why you bother with these stupid diets, getting me to buy you sweeteners when you could just do without sugar like I do. You can lose as much weight as you want but it won’t make any difference, you’ll still never get yourself a boyfriend. You’ve either got it or you haven’t got it, Julie, and you haven’t. I don’t know, after what I’ve just told you and all you can think about is how much food you want on your dinner plate, I don’t believe it. Haven’t you got any heart?”
I felt guilty. There was a small part of me that wanted to believe her, wanted to perhaps learn one day that she was telling the truth for once in her life. Looking at her, my eyes could see a sad and frightened woman who was about to have her life changed forever, but I was almost grown up now, and unlike children, who see with their eyes, grownups see what their heart is feeling. I knew this was simply Roma’s truth but for a few moments I respected that truth as if it was real.
“Okay, I’m sorry, Mum. I should have thought about you, it can’t have been easy for you knowing this. And I know you love coking us meals and watching us eat them, I’d just like mine to be a bit smaller, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your cooking just as much as I used to.”
She seemed to soften and smiled amiably, reaching to me with one hand and resting it on my shoulder. “I suppose you’ve got other things on your mind at the moment, sweetheart. I can’t expect you to understand how scared I am, I’m so afraid I’ll never see your face again, that little face I’ve loved so much for so long.”
“Oh I think I do understand, honest, but you should talk to Dad, he needs to know.”
“Yes, he does, but I don’t want to frighten him. Your dad’s got enough on his plate at the moment with all this union stuff at work, I’ve no idea why he wants to go off to all those meetings and get involved with all that stuff. It’s not even as if he gets paid more for doing it. And as for you, my love, I just want you to behave yourself.”
I understood well why Dad spent so much time at union meetings; it was to get out of the house. Had he gone off to the pub the way other men did then Roma would only have made his life hell when he came back, but with work it was different. It was her last sentence that offended me.
“Come on, Mum,” I said softly. “I’m not some kind of monster, you know. I don’t stay out all hours of the night, I don’t do drugs and I’ve never been arrested. I’m not that bad really, am I?”
“Hmmm, you could have fooled me. I often what you do exactly get up to when you’re out of this house, you worry me and your dad to death, you do. So I don’t want you saying a word to him about what I’ve told you, I’ll tell him when I have to.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I want, love.”
Roma moved away from me and began to check the boiling vegetables. “Right! We’ll say no more about it for the moment.”
I watched her lifting saucepan lids and opening the oven door. There were no signs of her eyesight failing, but perhaps that was just the way it was, perhaps one day everything would just all go dark for her, as if someone had switched off the light. As much as I wanted to believe her, my natural cynicism took over. Sure, she held the newspaper at arms length now when she read it, but so did a lot of people her age, she was in her late forties after all. Yes, I’d heard her and Dad talking about glasses for reading but going blind? Surely there would have been some signs. I wanted to ask more, to find out the name of whatever illness she had, how long before it became worse? Would any treatment be offered at all? Was there anything available? But I remained silent; I didn’t want to start her off again now she seemed to have turned pleasant towards me. I poured milk into my coffee mug and slopped a few drops of milk onto the work surface. For one, Roma didn’t go mad about it. She simply mopped it up with a dish cloth she already held in her hand. She seemed to have no trouble seeing the spilled milk or any other marks on the worktop. This was Roma playing her games again, I knew it now and it was beginning to make me angry. It seemed a good time to get out. I inched past her and made my way towards the kitchen door. She called me back in a low voice; there was still a smile on her lips.
“Hang on a minute, love. There’s something else I think we need to talk about.”
“What have I done now?” I sighed.
“Nothing at all!” she pretended to look shocked by my remark. “It’s just that you should really go and get dressed, sweetie.”
“Okay, I’ll drink me coffee in the front room and then I’ll put some clothes on.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean, love. A girl your age shouldn’t really be walking around a house where there are men when she isn’t wearing her clothes. It’s not exactly decent.”
I sniggered to myself. The way I’d seen her behaving in front of men and here she was telling me I wasn’t decent in my own home.
“There aren’t any men in this house, Mum,” I said. “Well ..... only Dad and Granddad and they’re not ..... well, that’s not the same as other men, they’re family.”
Roma’s tone was sharp again. “Shhh ..... keep your giggling down, will you? All right perhaps your granddad wouldn’t bother now at his age but it’s not healthy in front of your father. Sometimes things happen between daughters and daddies, sometimes men can get .....”
I cut her off angrily “You mean like Granddad when I was a kid?”
“Oh no! We’re not going back to the stories you used to make up, are we? I thought that was all over. I don’t understand you.”
“And I don’t get you either. For God’s sake, Mum! I’ve got a dressing gown on that’s buttoned up to my neck and pyjamas on underneath it.” I took a sip of my coffee and adjusted the towel that was still draped around my hair. “Anyway, Dad’s not like that. He wouldn’t do anything to me, he never has done and he won’t. I know my dad.”
“It’s still not decent, love. It’s not quite right. If anything ever did happen you’d be the first one to go running telling tales and you know whose fault it would be, walking around like that, it’s not on. Men can’t help themselves sometimes, I’m only telling you for your own good, any man can get the wrong idea if a girl flaunts herself in front of him. They all moan when something happens but it’s always their own fault. I want you to go and make yourself decent, right now please.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. First she was prattling on about going blind, telling me how scared she was that she might never see my face again and now she was accusing me of indecent behaviour in front of my dad. What was wrong with this bitch? I was well angry now, Roma was out of order, didn’t she realise that?
“I am decent!” I snapped.
“Really?” Roma’s voice was changing, it was becoming harder but she kept it low. “I think I know what you’re doing, lady. You think you can take your father away from me, don’t you?”
I almost laughed. “Oh for God’s sake! Don’t be so bloody stupid, Mum!”
“I wouldn’t call me stupid if I were you? You won’t get away with it, I’ll always win. You don’t have the strength or the brains to beat me, sweetie. Now be a good girl and go and get dressed. I don’t want to see you walking around this house in your nightclothes again, certainly not when your father’s in the house. I’ve seen the two of you laughing behind my back, I’ve seen the way you look at him sometimes and the way you’ve started telling him jokes and making him giggle like a bloody little schoolboy. Well it won’t work, Julie! Never in a million years!”
This hadn’t been what I had expected from her. It took me a while to get my head around it all, to comprehend her twisted thoughts. So now she was in competition with me for my dad’s affections, sure we’d shared the odd joke now and again, we shared a similar sense of humour, but he wasn’t like Granddad, he never had been and I certainly didn’t fancy him. Suddenly I began to see Roma as an adult might see her, the woman couldn’t understand love between a man and his child, whether it was his adopted child or not, Dad was no pervert. I had met enough perves in my life to know he wasn’t that depraved. Roma was scared, I managed to suss that out. She was jealous, in her own distorted beliefs she probably thought it was the done thing for daddies to shag their daughters at some stage, after all, it had probably been done to her. She must have been terrified I was going to steal him from her just as her twisted values made her believe I had stolen Mick when he sexually assaulted me. I had been the enemy then and I was still the enemy.
I looked into Roma’s eyes and saw a calculated glint in them. She frightened me. One moment she was the loving, caring mother then suddenly she would pounce, ready to hurt and destroy with her spiteful words. Then she could so easily transform again into a woman who would envelop me with hugs, kisses and tender words. She was the classic ‘nice cop/nasty cop, it always broke me. I wasn’t sure what was coming now but I had an idea I’d better make myself scarce. I was always her target, she could make me feel that I was nothing, but this time I decided I wouldn’t rise to the bait.
“Okay, I’ll get dressed when I’ve had my coffee,” I said, taking another sip of the warm liquid and swallowing hard. I felt as if I was a five year old again, could feel my heart crashing in my chest with a mixture of fear and anger. The adrenaline was flowing, my flight or fight reflexes were poised and ready. I tried to calm myself, I’d talk to her gently, I would calm her too, I could do it, I could play the grown up. How foolish I was to think I could actually do that.
“There’s nothing funny going on between me and Dad,” I said gently, though there was a slight tremble in my voice. “I think you know that, Mum. You don’t have to share him with me, honest you don’t. It’s a different feeling, the love he’s got for me, it’s not the same as the way he feels about you. Yeah, we have a laugh sometimes but it’s not about you. We’re not ganging up against you or anything, honestly.”
She almost seemed to be listening, to be taking in what I was saying to her. Then I blew it. I must have thought I could take over as the adult for a few seconds and I regretted my words ever since, though I meant every one of them.
“Look, Mum,” I said with far too much grown up confidence. “Dad doesn’t want me the way you think he does and even if he did, I wouldn’t want him. So you don’t have to make out you’re ill to make me feel sorry for you and to get him to love you more. He loves you anyway; you must know that, he does everything you want him to. You don’t have to be jealous of Dad and me.”
Oops! Wrong! I’d done it again. I’d dropped myself in it big time. Roma threw the damp dishcloth into the sink with so much force that it stuck to the tiles on the wall for a second or two before slowly sliding downwards. Tossing her head in a theatrical gesture if anger, she placed her knuckles on her hips. I could see her eyes beginning to blaze but she kept her tone flat, she spoke almost in a whisper. Why the hell had I said those words? Why didn’t I just take it the way Dad always did? Why hadn’t I walked away and obeyed her when I had the chance? I always seemed to give her the ammunition she wanted.
“Don’t get too big for your boots, lady,” she snarled under her breath. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I’m not the one who tells lies, I don’t make things up about my health, I’m not the story teller who tries to get people into trouble, that’s YOU, my girl!”
I turned away from her. “Sorry, Mum. I ..... I’ll go upstairs.”
“Oh, sorry now, are you? I’ll make you sorry for what you’ve just said. So, you think I’m jealous of you and your dad, eh? Let me tell you, there’s no one who means more to your father than I do.”
She flung herself into my back, pushing my face against the door. The mug flew from my fingers and landed on the cheap Formica topped table, rolling off and crashing onto the floor tiles. She grabbed my shoulders and flung me around so that I was facing her. The towel slipped from around my head and fell to the floor. Her face contorted with anger as she pulled at the damp mass of hair that had fallen over my face. I attempted to remove her hands from my head. The more I pulled the more she did too and I winced as I realised she had torn out a few strands. I had seen her in a temper before, it was a temper that could outshine mine any day yet I was one of the few that had ever seen it at its worst. I had felt her slaps, taken the lashings of her tongue many times and been on the receiving end of her set ups and lies. But this was different. She didn’t slap me, she brought back her fist and punched me in the face the way she might have punched a man. I was already crying, but for the first time I fought back. I pushed my whole body against hers and sunk my teeth into the skin t the top of her arm. She clawed at my face with her long fingernails; I felt the skin ripping and could feel warm blood dripping from my nose where she had punched me. This was out of order, the woman was crazy and she needed locking up. With all the strength I could muster I pushed her, so hard that she stumbled and fell back against the sink.
“Fuck off, Mother!” I screamed. “You’re mad, you are! Fucking mad!”
She stared at me and growled through gritted teeth. “Don’t talk to me like that, you little bitch! Don’t try to mess with me or I’ll make you sorry, just you watch!”
She lifted her hand to me again and the little dog leaped from his box, barking incessantly. She buried her fist into my flabby midriff. This had been my biggest mistake, fighting back. For a woman who was supposed to be so frail and was losing her sight, she was certainly strong. I doubled up in pain and gasped. She placed one hand against the wall to steady herself, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. Her eyes darted around her as rapidly as she was breathing, her lips seemed to widen into some kind of crazy grin. I hugged my aching ribs and fell into one of the dining chairs. Suddenly the door opened and Granddad was standing there, his mouth dropped open.
“What ..... what the hell’s going on? What are you two doing?”
Within seconds her expression changed and she threw herself onto the mat in front of the sink unit. She rolled in the spilled coffee and cried out as if in pain.
“Julie ..... no, please ..... no Julie ..... don’t .....”
Then she rolled onto her back, her skirt was covered with coffee stains, she was still crying out for help. I know what she was doing. I panicked.
“Mum, stop it! Stop doing that! I didn’t push you that hard, you flew at me; what was I supposed to do?”
“Help me,” she wailed as she rolled on that floor. “Oh Albi, help! Al .... help me!”
Granddad copped out as usual. He Shaking his head to himself he moved away out of sight. I rushed into the hall, blood still streaming from my nose. I was just in time to see Dad running downstairs, a towel draped around his neck, half of his face still smeared with shaving soap.
“What the bloody ‘ell’s goin’ on?” he yelled.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I moaned between sobs. A sharp pain still stabbed my ribs with every breath and I fell against the stair rail. I was shaking. I could still feel blood streaming down and pooling on my upper lip. I heaved loudly at the bottom of the stairs but Dad rushed past me.
I could hear Roma’s words, I knew what she was doing.
“Al ..... help me,” she stuttered. She ..... she threw coffee over me ..... then she ..... she pushed me and I’ve hurt my side, oh Al ..... I ..... I only asked her to get dressed before dinner and she ..... she went crazy. She attacked me, Albie, I had to try and stop her. I was only protecting myself.”
I sat on one of the steps, placed my head in my hands and sobbed. My tears were hot and salty and every breath felt like a knife ripping at my breast. Roma’s hysterics drowned my sobs and I could hear Dad desperately trying to console her.
“Calm down, love. You’ll make yourself ill again. You’ll give yourself one of your heart attacks. Come on, stop it now.”
“Why ..... why does Julie do these things,” I heard her bleating to him. I can’t take much more of her, Al. I don’t deserve this, I really don’t. She’s going to do something really bad one of these days, I can feel it.”
“All right. We’ll get this sorted out later, right now you need to calm down. What’s that on your arm?”
“It’s a bite, Albie. The nasty little bitch bit me. Oh, al, what are we going to do with her? She’s going to get into real trouble with that temper of hers one day, I just know it.”
“Yeah,” I said breathlessly as I dragged myself up the stairs. “One day, mother, one day.”
Later, when the pain and was about to be taken over by stiffness and the bruises were beginning to appear, all was quiet downstairs. I slid gingerly off my bed and studied my face in the mirror. I had a huge raw bruise on my eye and my old dressing gown was soaked with blood. I couldn’t breathe through one nostril and there were still smears of blood on my chin. Dad had been up to give me a lecture. I hadn’t bothered to say anything, there would have no point, I would never have been believed. It was all my fault, as usual. I silently opened my wardrobe door and pulled out two dresses and a skirt my parents had recently bought for me. There were a couple of pretty blouses too and a sweater that was almost brand new, I removed them all, including my flared jeans. I liked them all, they were the height of fashion, but as I ran my fingers across the hem of the little summer skirt I realised they meant nothing to me. I didn’t want them. I had been thrilled when Roma had given me these things as presents, bought with Dad’s money, of course, but I was in a mood to destroy. I had to destroy something; I couldn’t get rid of her so I suppose the next best thing was something she had given me. In a moment of sheer craziness, I ripped the clothes to pieces with my bare hands. I even used my teeth at one point to help tear the fabric into shreds. Then, realising I had foolishly cut off my nose to spite my own face, I cried again. I was damaged goods. My personality was deeply flawed, a legacy from Roma that I was to carry with me for many years.

[Emms]

For anyone in the US who doesns't know our education system, 'O' levels were external examinations you used to take at school back in the 60s, you took the exams the teachers advised you to and you also had some choice in the subjects. They're called GCSE's now but in those days we left school at just 15 unless we stayed on to take our O Level exams and I didn't.

Fourteen
I was outside the headmaster’s office when Colin Edwards saw me. He walked along the corridor with a couple of his mates and smiled at me. I returned the smile, waited to see if he might speak, but he simply carried on. I wasn’t sure what I liked about him anyway. He was like most boys of his age, all acne and a bad sense of fashion. Still, he had nice eyes, a good taste in music and he was always friendly, even though he was known as a bit of a geek.
I didn’t dislike boys. Granddad’s games and Mick Clayton’s perverted antics hadn’t entirely put me off males. I had almost completely obliterated what Mick had done to me from my mind and for some reason I found lads quite appealing, though I couldn’t decide exactly why.
Like most girls my age I longed to be in love, to make love, but tarts from a council estate didn’t make love, they just let men shag them. I wasn’t sure of the difference but I knew there was one. I also knew I looked far more adult than many of the girls in my school, especially with the right clothes and a bit of makeup but the lads weren’t exactly queuing up to ask me out. I’d noticed one or two looking at me though, some would smile but boys weren’t too fussy. If a girl had a good pair of knockers and wore her skirts short enough, she could find herself sought after before her fourteenth birthday. I must admit I was of the opinion that males were arrogant, immature and rather stupid but having one smile at me gave me a pathetically good feeling. It was a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. I felt that I must be doing something right and that I didn’t look too bad, even though my clothes were still a couple of sizes larger than they should have been. I wasn’t popular, people still called me a daft cow but at least I hadn’t been called a fat one for a while.
Clothes were a sore point at the moment. After my little outburst in the bedroom only my school uniform and the clothes that were in the wash had survived. Still, Roma had been surprisingly kind to me over the last few months, perhaps because she was pleased with her achievements. I had spent a couple of weeks hiding at home, waiting for the bruises to fade. She had sent a message to the school telling them I had a cold. She had won again, made me feel like shit as usual. After our little fight, not only had Dad spent the entire day pandering to her needs, he had also cancelled his union meeting the following afternoon because she said she still felt a bit wobbly and was afraid of being left alone with me. He hadn’t joked with me or shared a giggle behind her back since that day. Roma had her way, her suspicions and paranoia must have been soothed. When Dad fund out a about those destroyed clothes, Roma had watched him lecturing me. She must have seen the tears spilling from my eyes and he told me how disappointed he was in me, how I had wasted the hard earned money he had spent on me. He vowed never to give in to my taste for fashion again; from now on my clothes would be cheap, bought from the market stalls, not from the new boutiques. They would simply be bought for the purpose of covering up and keeping warm, not for the purpose of looking good. I knew that had I been in his position, I would have felt the same. It had been so stupid of me, it was entirely my fault, no one held a gun to my head and made me rip up those garments, but it was so easy to blame Roma at the time, I was only fifteen and still hadn’t learned that we have to take responsibility, up to a point, for our own actions. I hadn’t yet learned to cope with her lies and her performances and as I glanced at her face when she watched as Dad gave me the biggest bollocking of my life, my anger became even stronger. I had seen the smugness in her eyes, caught her tiny smile as she lifted her head in triumph but lowered it again as soon as my Dad turned to look at her. She could change so quickly it was unbelievable. She became the injured party again so I had to give in.
The Headmaster’s door opened and a younger boy walked out into the corridor. He looked sheepish and jerked his head towards the door as he adjusted his tie. “He’s in a foul mood today,” he said in a stage whisper.”
Shit! I thought. What the hell have I done now? What does the old git want to see me for? I waited a few seconds and tapped on the door with one knuckle.
“Come in!” The Head’s voice was surprisingly cheerful.
I walked in and stood opposite the desk. Our Headmaster, Mr Coleman, was sitting down. He shuffled a pile of papers in his hands and reached for a cardboard file where he placed the papers out of sight. He was a big man; his silver hair was thick and brushed back, cut short into his neck and he had the kind of robustness that would have suited a body builder rather than a teacher. He didn’t look right in a suit; even his tie seemed too small for that thick neck and wide shoulders. He removed the square rimmed spectacles he used for reading and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger. We made fun of him, just as we made fun of most of our teachers, but he commanded a certain respect, especially from the boys, probably due to his height and the athletic body he had acquired back in his days as a PE teacher. The older pupils used to say that he had taken the school football team to the top of the league and helped keep it there, which earned him some respect. There was talk that he attended ballroom dancing classes with his wife and I smiled to myself as I thought of him skipping across the dance floor wearing a black suit and shiny dancing pumps. There was a also a rumour that years ago he had been dishonourably discharged from the army for trying to murder another soldier with his bare hands. I think that may have been a few young minds working overtime and drifting into the realms of fantasy, but his stint in the army and his name, Coleman, had earned him the moniker ‘Colonel Mustard’.
“Ah, Juliana,” he said in a deep but pleasant voice. “I sent a note to your form teacher telling her I wanted to see you.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Hmmm, you’ve been quite well behaved lately, my dear. I see you’ve done quite well at the start of your final exams.”
I was surprised and relieved. I expected to be told off for too much talking or giggling in class or for going off into one of my invisible moods and not even answering the teachers when they spoke to me.
“I ..... I’ve done my best, Sir!”
He lifted one bushy eyebrow and looked me over carefully. I thought he must be quite old, well into his fifties, ancient! There was a framed photograph on his desk of two young children, it was quite an old one by the look of it and I presumed they must have been his.
“Yes, I remember, Julie. The last time I saw you in my office it was because you’d been writing poems about one of my staff.”
I lowered my head. “Er ..... yes.”
I tried hard not to smile. Actually he was wrong, that had been the time before last. The last time I’d had a bollocking from him was for placing a dirty dishcloth on top of the cake our cookery teacher had just baked. I strongly disliked Miss Pringle, the domestic science teacher, and the feeling was mutual. The rest of the class thought it was hilarious but when Miss Pringle turned around and saw the filthy cloth sitting on top of her beautifully risen sponge, she threatened to keep the whole class in after school every night for a week unless the culprit owned up. So, with true schoolgirl loyalty, I put up my hand and apologised.
It seemed old mustard had forgotten that but the poem must have stuck in his mind. I thought it was rather good, it made the rest of the class giggle anyway. It was a kind of limerick, but with more verses. It told of an imaginary love story between our maths teacher, Mr Murphy, and the deputy head, Miss Kench. The kids had loved it, even Sally Carter, Murphy’s little pet and top mathematician, had laughed at it. She had asked to borrow the poem to show to her brother, like the little fool that I was I had given it to her only to learn she had showed it to Murphy himself, undoubtedly telling him how disgusting she thought it was. So I had ended up in old Mustard’s office the next day. My punishment was to be kept in after school and to write ‘I must respect my teachers’ five hundred times. Still, I later learned that sweet little Sally Carter had a phobia of maggots and worms. Strange, but a few days later she found a handful of earthworms in her school bag. Funny how things come around eh? I got the blame and the bollocking, of course, but I denied it and no one could prove it was me.
“The reason I’ve asked to see you has nothing to do with your behaviour,” Mustard said, sensing my nervousness. “I like to have a chat with most of my pupils before they finally leave and go out to join the country’s workforce.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. It had gone through my mind that perhaps Roma had told the school about me ripping up my clothes, but then, that wasn’t like her; she wanted to keep the happenings in our house well hidden. I had worked hard for the last few months. I intended to make these teachers believe that I was more than just a girl with big tits and no brain and this was my last chance to do it. I certainly wasn’t the most well behaved girl in the school, I liked playing pranks, it made others laugh and almost made me feel liked for a short time. But I resented being sent to see psychologists and counsellors all the time. I told them what I knew Roma wanted me to and I was still labelled as ‘abnormal’, whatever that meant. I wasn’t going to stay on to take my GCE O levels, as they were called in those days. I’d had a letter about that, I should have felt quite privileged, not everyone got one of those letters. But I wasn’t interested in qualifications; I wanted to earn money as quickly as possible and as much as possible. I wanted to save a deposit for a room somewhere, there were plenty of the big houses on Waterloo Road that had been converted into bedsits and they were cheap too. Roma was always complaining about how expensive it was to keep me, she’d soon be after my wage packet and Dad wanted what she wanted, so the letter was returned unsigned. I would be leaving school at fifteen along with most of us.
Old Mustard smiled, a conceited half smile that never ceased to piss me off. “You’ll be leaving school in a few weeks. We’re already pleased with your exam results in History and Religious Instruction, no doubt you’ll do well in English and art tomorrow and even your weaker subjects like geography have had pleasing results. But after speaking to the Careers Advisor you saw a few weeks ago, I’m a little perplexed. Why do you say you’ll be looking for work in a factory?”
I shrugged. What the hell had it to do with him? I thought. “Nothing wrong with Factory work,” I replied. “Anyway, it pays better than a lot of other jobs, Sir.”
“Better than what other jobs, Julie?”
“Better than an office or a shop.”
“Hmmm, yes, you’ll find the pay might be better to begin with but there’s not much in the way of prospects in the kind of work you’re looking at. I think you could do better, Julie. I have to admit, I didn’t feel the same way about you when you first came here just over a year ago. You didn’t have an excellent report from your previous school, but that was before your family moved to this area, wasn’t it? I always did think you were an intelligent girl, not a clever girl, perhaps not university material, but you’re not factory fodder either, you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
“Er... I think so, Sir.”
“You’ve proved lately that you can work hard. You have a good vocabulary; you understand the things I’m talking about which is, I’m afraid, more than I can say for some. It seems you have a flair for English and art, you like music too, I believe.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You see, I’m afraid I find it a bit of a waste that you seem intent on finding work on the factory floor when I’m sure you could do so much better. Your school work has been above average lately and you seem to have settled down really well. Oh you’ve had your moments, there’s a rather naughty side to you, a bit of a rebel perhaps, but nothing you can’t control if you really want to. It always makes me feel very proud when a pupil does well at my school, especially one who comes from somewhere else and arrives with no real good reports. That has to say something about the way we teach here, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “Yes, I suppose it does.”
But old Mustard said that last line with such self-satisfaction that it irritated me. Why did it have to be all to do with the school and the bloody teachers? Couldn’t it just be down to me? It was my decision to stop giggling in class so much, my decision to actually listen to what I was told and to get down to some real work when it came to actually learning something. It had been me who actually wanted to do my homework instead of just lying in my bedroom playing records. Just as it had been my decision to stop binge eating and to lose some weight. Couldn’t someone give me a bit of the credit, just once? Still, Mustard had given me a few compliments, it seemed I was thought to be one of his successes and that was better than being one of his failures. The irritation faded and I began to feel rather chuffed about all this.
“Thank you,” I said, holding my head high for a moment. “But I really do need a job that pays well straight away.”
“Why’s that? Is it your parents? Do they insist that you start earning as soon as possible?”
I shook my head and felt my brand new chin length bobbed hair tickle the back of my neck. “It’s not them, Sir. It’s just that I really need to earn more than just a couple of pounds a week.”
“A nice fat wage packet seems fine at first, my dear, but in years to come you may well find yourself earning the same wage, rather than a much higher one. Sometimes we need to start low and then work ourselves upwards, the way you seem to have done here.”
“I know, but I really need the money now. There are things I need to do.”
“Really? Can you tell me about these things?”
“Erm ..... I just have things I need to do, Sir.”
I was tempted to tell him then, almost blurted out that I just wanted to leave home, to get away from those loonies, from Roma and Granddad and even my dad, though I knew I’d miss him like hell. I had even thought about asking Granny Clara if I could live with her, she had a two bed roomed council house now yet she lived in it alone and I’d been a regular visitor of hers for a while. Still, that wouldn’t have been fair on Dad or her, she would have been in the middle and I knew deep down that she’d say no. I had to find lodgings or a bed sit and that was going to cost me money. There were plenty of tiny bedsits in the old houses on Waterloo Road; I had even been to have a look. Some were fairly clean and well kept, others draughty and stunk of mouse droppings while most of them had a curtain to separate the living/sleeping area from the kitchen and in most cases, the bathrooms were shared with the other tenants. I’d really done my homework on them, most landlords wanted four weeks rent as a deposit and I would need to earn enough to afford to eat and put the odd shilling in the gas and electric meters as well as pay the rent. Most of them were nothing more than sparsely furnished dog holes with creaky floorboards and patches of damp. There was often peeling wallpaper and filthy pieces of net curtain hanging on old bent wires at the windows, but I was no stranger to those conditions after spending the first fourteen years of my life in an old terrace. I was planning my exit from home with military precision. I knew it wouldn’t be much fun but in a year’s time I could be earning a tenner a week at Cautaulds textile factory or at the place where they made the Eveready Batteries. If I saved enough I could probably leave home than, but if I told the Head then he might start asking a few too many questions. He might even decide to have a word with my parents and that would start Roma kicking off so I only told him half of it.
“I don’t think I’d like office work, Sir. My Dad’s worked in a factory for years and it’s not done him any harm. I’m not clever enough for office work and I’d be no good in a shop, I wouldn’t get on with the customers, people don’t like me, see.”
Mr Coleman laughed. “Oh, I think they do! I think you could work very well with the public, dear. You can be polite when you want to be and you’re quite articulate for your age.”
I felt a puzzled frown creeping over my face. “What do you mean, Sir?”
“I mean that you have a good vocabulary, you know how to talk to people and make yourself understood.”
“Perhaps I can, Sir, but honest, people don’t really like me much.”
“What rubbish!” Old Mustard seemed resolute. “You really can be quite a likeable girl when you put your mind to it. Perhaps you think others don’t like you because you spend too much time with the wrong people. Once you’re out of school and in a working environment I’m sure things will be different. Now, I believe you’re quite fond of animals, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I always have been.”
“Then what about working as a stable girl for a while, perhaps even a veterinary nurse?”
“Don’t you need O levels to be a veterinary nurse?”
“Perhaps, but there’s still a chance you could take them later. If you really feel you have to find a well paid job straight away, perhaps you could attend evening classes. Why don’t you enrol at the local collage? I can see you getting very bored standing at a machine all day, you know. Think about it, putting tops on bottles or stapling boxes together all day, I can’t see you sticking that. Boredom has always been part of your problem, my girl, I’ve always thought that. So why don’t you think about the things I’ve said? Think about your choice of career very carefully because in a few years time, it might be too late.”
“I will, Sir. I’ll think about it but I need to try for one of the factories at the moment.”
“Hmmm. Come and see me straight away if you change your mind, won’t you? When I write my final report for you and you have the results of tomorrow’s exams, perhaps you might feel a little differently. I’m sure you’re going to do well and it will be a pleasure to write down your final marks, I have to say you’ve surprised me, and a few of your teachers. You’ve worked really hard; it’s a shame for it all to go to waste.”
“I know what you mean, Sir, and thank you ever so much, but a factory job will suit me, for now anyway.”
Coleman shook his head grimly and sighed. “You’re not going to listen, are you? Well, we’ll see how long this factory job lasts, if you manage to get one. Just remember that if you start work on the factory floor, that doesn’t mean you have to stay there forever. While you’re still young there’ll always be chances, just don’t leave it too late, will you?”
“I won’t. Thank you, Sir.”
“And good luck with the rest of your exams. I shall enjoy writing a good report about you, at last!” He smiled as he waved a hand in front of his face to dismiss me. “Off you go then.”
I suddenly found myself actually liking this man. I couldn’t believe the compliments he had given me, for the first time I actually felt proud of myself. I must have still been smiling as I left his office and began walking along the corridor to my class.
“What’s up with her?” one of the girls asked, nudging her friend as they passed me. “She looks like the cat that’s swallowed the cream!”
“I dunno,” the other girl replied loudly. “She’s round the twist anyway, that one.”
I didn’t care. For the first time I no longer felt such a freak. It seemed my Head Teacher actually liked me. Old Colonel Mustard had no idea what he had done for me. I had no intention of going to collage or taking any exams, but the fact that he thought I was capable of doing it was enough. There was no way I was going to work in a office, running errands and making tea for a pittance each week, it would be years before I’d earn enough to pay rent on a bedsit that way. But that bloke had made my day, he actually told me I could be good working with the public, that I was likable and that I was ..... articulate????? I had only ever heard that word applied to big trucks, I wasn’t THAT clever, but it sounded good to me.
*******

I was still feeling good about myself on my way home. I had sat through a maths lesson that I didn’t understand and yawned through eighty minutes of geography, but still I left the school gates with a contented feeling. Those subjects didn’t matter, I was crap at them anyway and I had my best exams to take tomorrow, art and English, Mustard and the other teachers would have to write me a good report once they had those results to add to the others I’d already handed in. I didn’t need to do well in those subjects for the jobs I’d be going after but that didn’t matter, I had shown them what I could do if I tried. My class position would be written on my final report and I was pretty sure I’d be somewhere in the top three, me, up there with the so called clever kids and I’d never been any more than an average child. Dad would be pleased, so would Granny Clara but Roma would probably try to convince them I’d cheated. Still, I really didn’t care; I was well pleased with myself. It didn’t take much to please me sometimes, a smile from a boy, a kind word from a teacher and the frantic wagging of little Butch’s tail when he ran to greet me was often enough.
I didn’t go straight home, I chatted to a few girls who were willing to talk and ambled slowly out of the school gates. Roma would probably believe me if I said we had been asked to stay behind to catch up on some extra work. She knew it was exam time and I don’t think she was ever really sure how school actually worked as she had been taught privately herself and that had been such a long time ago. Dad was on early shift and he’d already be home, that meant she’d have him to herself for a little longer, she wouldn’t mind about that. I wouldn’t push it though, I wasn’t going to be too late getting back or she’d put on a show of tears for Dad’s benefit, insisting that she was so worried that I might have been murdered or something. Then I would have the blame for upsetting her again so although she had been in a reasonable mood lately, I wouldn’t push things. Still, I could get away with coming home an hour later than usual, surely she could cope with that.
There had been no more talk about her losing her sight, though she had acquired a pair of plastic blue rimmed spectacles she used just for reading. I often saw her admiring herself in the mirror while she was wearing them. There had been a lot of smiles from her, plenty of head stroking for me and soft baby words in my ear but I knew it wouldn’t last. I was making the most of it until the volcano erupted again.
I walked past the shops behind Maureen and Janet, two girls from my class who didn’t live far from me. I caught up with them and occasionally joined in with their conversation, stepping back occasionally so I didn’t give them the impression I was trying to push in. They were chatting about the local youth club and about the boys they fancied, these two had always been fairly friendly towards me in an evasive kind of way. The conversations we drifted into would rarely last long and I was surprised that they seemed so keen for my company this afternoon.
“Fancy a walk up to Devils Elbow with us?” Maureen Cavanaugh asked me, looking at me over her shoulder.
I stared at her for a moment without replying, giving her friend, Janet Smith, the chance to show her approval.
“Yeah, why not?” Janet said. “Come up there with us, Julie.”
“Okay,” I said eventually, trying hard to appear as if it didn’t really matter to me. “I can’t be too long though or I’ll have my mum moaning, she’ll have my tea ready.”
“So will mine,” Maureen laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Some of the lads might be up there so we may as well go, and it’s a smashin’ day.”
“Okay, thanks, I’ll come if you want me to.”
“We wouldn’t have asked you if we didn’t want you, you daft buggar.” Janet insisted. “Come on, you’ve been hanging out behind us most of the way since we came out of school so you may as well come. It’ll give us a bit of a break and there’ll be enough bloody revising to do to do later. It’s back to exams again tomorrow.”
I grinned and tried not to show my excitement. To be honest, my heart was hammering with delight at the thought of being asked to join in. I still felt like a bit of an outsider. I felt quite privileged to be allowed to spend some time with two girls as popular as Maureen and Janet. We had quite a walk ahead of us so we stopped at the shops and I bought a small bottle of Coke. Maureen and Janet went halves with one, sharing it along with a packet of crisps. I declined the offer of a crisp and lit a cigarette instead, offering my packet around. Janet took one, as I knew she would, but Maureen refused, putting up her hand and shaking her head.
“My parents are dead against it,” she said sternly. “They’d smell it on me as soon as I walked in and then I’d be for it.”
“Don’t think mine give a shit!” Janet mumbled as she drew on the fag I’d just given to her. “I don’t think parents bother so much when they’ve got six kids all at home, all shouting at each other most of the time. It’s different when you’re the only one, like you, Julie. It must be magic; I keep telling Maur here that she’s so lucky just having one brother and no other kids in the house. It’s like bloody Bedlam in our house, especially at weekends when me cousin comes round with her two kids.”
Here we go again, I thought. Another lecture on the wonders and privileges of being an only child.
“It can get a bit lonely,” I said, looking from one girl to another as I walked beside them. “Sometimes I think I’d like all the noise and stuff. When I was at my old school I had a mate who was one of eight kids, she didn’t like it much but I was always a bit jealous of her, you know.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Maureen said tactfully. “I don’t see much of my brother really, he’s older and got a girlfriend anyway. Yeah, it can be a bit boring at home with just your mum and dad for company, but them .....” she looked at Janet and smiled. “ ..... It’s okay cos we’ve got each other to be mates with, haven’t we, Jan?”
I suddenly thought of the friends that had meant something to me but had long disappeared. There had been little Carole, young Jimmy, Laney Price and Pammie and Paulette. I realised I hadn’t actually said goodbye to any of them, not even Pammie and she had been the last I’d seen. I wondered what had become of them all and if they ever thought about me. I envied Maureen and Janet and their friendship. They were a bit of an odd couple really, Maureen was tall and curvy with a flawless complexion and thick dark curls that framed her face. She was well spoken for around here, well dressed and well liked. The family lived in one of the private houses on the main road and I’d heard Maureen say they were always nagging her to do well at school. She had never hidden the fact that they were disappointed when she wasn’t given the chance to take her O levels, she just wasn’t considered clever enough. And here was me, daft Julie Whitehouse had actually been asked if she wanted to stay on and get some qualifications. Looking at Maureen and then at myself, I found it hard to take in. It made me realise just how lucky I really was, I had been given the chance to stay on at school but I was having none of it.
Maureen’s partner in crime, Janet, was a pretty, blue eyed blonde who was almost completely flat chested, yet owned a pair of thighs that were thicker than mine. Unlike Maureen her clothes were never the best quality. She had removed her tie and slung it over her shoulder, as I had mine. Maureen, always the tidy one, neatly rolled her tie into a ball and tucked it into her school bag.
We continued to walk and chat, swigging Coke and two of us puffing at our cigarettes, feeling very adult in spite of the school uniforms. Maureen munched on the last crisp in the packet before folding it into a neat square and dropping it into the waste bin that hung from a lamp post. The sun was hot, slowing our steps a little. We giggled at a few of our own jokes, two lads from another school skidded past on their cycles and one turned to whistle at us as we crossed the road by the cemetery. We sniggered to each other and made for the lane which took us up to Devils Elbow, or ‘the Elbow’ as we called it. The lane led us past the old black and white farmhouse, a building we believed dated from the sixteenth century and of course, we also believed the place had its very own ghost though no one had ever reported seeing it. We laughed as we copied the mooing sounds of the cows in the field and made comments about the size of their milk heavy udders. We turned off to walk through what we knew as Bluebell Wood. We linked arms as we walked through the trees and for a short while we became children again. The bluebell season was long gone but there were plenty of other wild flowers to colour the ground as the sun disappeared behind a leafy shade. Our council estate was the last bit of housing built here on the north side of Wolverhampton. The rest of the area remained unspoilt and beautiful with woodland and the ruins of an old manor house. The woods were surrounded by farmland and a winding brook lapped through the trees, it was somewhere to cool out feet when it became too hot and at the top of the Elbow was a weir, which we called a waterfall. This was a magical place for us, nowhere else within walking distance was so beautiful to youngsters brought up in the grime of the city. Lovers had carved their names in the bark of some of the older trees, the hedge topped bank rose higher as we walked and a man walking his dog frowned as we passed him, scowling at us as if he was sure we must be up to no good. We laughed at him and continued our climb to the Elbow, a huge natural dip just below the weir. We carried on with our silly girlie talk, discussing the colour of the latest eye shadow and comparing bra cup sizes. We talked about Top of the Pops on TV and about anything that might take our minds away from school and exams. After a few moments we began a more serious conversation about what we would do with the rest of our lives. Maureen decided she wanted to become an air hostess, travel to exotic lands, meet a millionaire and marry him. Janet had apparently decided she would marry anyone who’d have her as long as he had nice eyes and good teeth but she didn’t want to have any children. I didn’t say too much about my plans for the future, but I did explain that I intended to leave home and have a normal life.
“What the hell do you mean by that?” Maureen asked me, truly mystified.
I shrugged. “I just want to have my own place, they’ve got flats on the Waterloo Road and I’ve seen a couple of them.”
“Bloody ‘ell!” Janet’s eyebrows shot upwards. “They’re awful places, aren’t they?”
“They’re not too bad.”
“Wouldn’t you be lonely there?” Maureen asked.
“Not really. I’m used to being on my own anyway.”
It was Janet who spoke then. “I’m going to wait til I get married before I leave home,” she said. “I moan about our house but I’ll find me a bloke before I go, it’s easier that way.”
“I might not find a bloke who wants me.”
“Course you will.”
“Hey,” Maureen suddenly nudged me in the arm and jerked her head towards the little crowd of lads hanging around the bridge over the brook. “Looking at that lot I’m not sure I’d want any of them. That’s why I’m looking for a rich feller.”
I rolled my eyes and giggled. “I don’t think you’ll find one of them round here, Maur.”
But it wasn’t really the lads I was looking at, it was my surroundings. This place was special, the grassy banks were tall with foxgloves, the eerie call of a buzzard made me look up and the sound of our laughter was drowned out by the sound of singing water. I had lived around here for more than a year now yet had never come to this place before; it amazed me that I hadn’t found it, though I’d heard of its existence. This wasn’t a place I would have liked much at night but on a summer’s afternoon it was magical. I couldn’t believe I had such loveliness almost on our doorstep. The shimmering heat obscured the opaque waters of the brook as it played over shiny stones. Midges danced around my hair, the other girls flapped their hands above their heads in annoyance of them, but the little creatures didn’t bother me at all. Listening to the music of the running water, my thoughts turned to Roma banging away at her old piano at home. It had ended up down the tip eventually and Dad replaced it with a modern electric organ for her to play with. I thought of my records and my little transistor radio that I took to bed with me and listened to Radio Luxemburg as I lay between the sheets.
The little crowd of teenage boys chatted and leaned lazily against their bikes on the bridge, grinning and nudging each other as they saw us coming. Maureen and Janet smiled shyly and made their way closer to them. I stood back for a moment and looked around me. This seemed to be a truly miraculous place for me. Raised in a tiny terraced house where the only green was in the local park, I was transfixed for a moment by the uncontaminated beauty a thousand times removed from my life at home. Even in the new council house there was nothing that touched me like this. What made it seem even better was that here were a bunch of kids who appeared to be accepting me at last, accepting me as I was, allowing me to become one of them. For just a few moments I felt enchanted by the place, a place of youth and innocence, a place where Roma could not trespass with her anger and her malice. I knew then that I hadn’t yet made the transition from child to adult, this was a special time as I played at being a grown up. I practised flirting with the lads, something Roma had taught me to do, I simply copied her. But all the time I was afraid, afraid that if one of these lads touched me it would be like Granddad or Mick, it would disgust me, take away my dignity and any self worth I had left. Still, that was life, wasn’t it? Men, however young, wanted a shag, at least, that was all they would want from me. I knew how to treat these idiots who were following us around, watching us as we removed our shoes and dipped our feet in the cool water. I knew how to light a cigarette the way Roma did, how to blow the smoke upwards and toss my head, how to place my hand on my hip and emphasize my female shape, but I wasn’t Roma; I didn’t throw meaningless compliments at these young bucks whose balls had only just dropped. Instead I just watched them, smiled when someone smiled at me and laughed at their silly jokes. I played the game and waited, waited to see what they were going to make of me.
There was Tony Gregg, a blonde boy, tall for his age and with a deep voice too. David Carrol and David Palmer, they were in my class and were known generically as the Daves. A lad by the name of Danny Morgan was there too, he was constantly watching me. He was a heavily built boy with red hair and freckles, not my type at all but he did have a nice smile, and of course, Colin Edwards, the one I had my eye on for some reason, he had joined the crowd and I noticed Janet seemed to be fairly interested in him.
It was Danny who took the most notice of me, he had left school earlier in the year and although I’d seen him a few times, I hadn’t actually spoken to him before. He smiled a lot and actually made me laugh with a couple of his bad jokes, but he didn’t hold my interest. He asked me a few more questions than the others but he wasn’t conventionally attractive, still, I was grateful that he had noticed me.
The Daves talked about football most of the time, which bored us girls to the core. One of them made a remark about my boobs, which I was quite used to by now. He asked if my mother had rubbed them in horse shit to make them grow more quickly, the others laughed and so did I, it seemed the right thing to do at the time. Finally, after plucking up enough courage to move in on young Colin, I dragged him into a conversation about music which ended up as a rather serious discussion on the novel, Lord of the Flies. Colin was always reading, that gave him his geeky reputation but he actually impressed me. I’d never had such a long conversation with him and I have to admit I was quite enjoying it. He wasn’t the best looking lad I’d seen but he had thick dark hair and a cheeky grin.
I picked up my shoes and walked barefoot along the side of the brook, away from the others. To my surprise, Colin followed me until we were out of side of the rest of the little gang. We stopped behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree and the feelings I was beginning to have for him began to scare me, though I refused to show it. He was afraid too, I could tell. We both giggled and Colin began to stammer a little, he stood there, legs apart, picking the skin around his fingernails. Somehow we got onto the subject of kissing.
“I’ve never .... well, I’ve never kissed a girl before,” he confessed.
I smiled and looked away. “Does that matter, Colin?”
“Dunno, does it matter to you?”
I sighed and smoothed my hands down the sides of my pleated school skirt. “Well, to be honest, I’ve not kissed anyone either, not properly.”
Colin laughed. I watched him blush and the warmth in my cheeks told me I was doing the same. I couldn’t understand why this was so good, so special; perhaps it was his shyness that I liked. This was so different from Mick Clayton’s rough and confident antics all those years ago. I pushed that out of my mind and forced a smile again.
“Do you want to kiss someone?” Colin asked.
I shrugged and laughed. “I don’t mind.”
“So I can kiss you then?”
“Yes, if you want.”
Colin moved closer and placed a quick peck on my lips. I swallowed hard.
“Is that it?” I asked, my heart hammering away like crazy. I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
He began to smile. “Oh, sorry. Is this better?”
Colin stood straight in front of me and cupped my face with his hands. They were soft hands, nothing like my dad’s which were rough and hard in spite of their gentleness. He placed his open mouth on top of mine and parted my lips with his tongue. Pressing harder, those moist lips seemed to rotate against mine. So this was a snog, was it? Roma had always told me sex was a wonderful experience and that kissing like this was the start of it. I waited for any enjoyment, none came. As Colin’s wet tongue searched around inside my mouth for several seconds I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Was I really supposed to enjoy this? Had my dubious past turned me against things that were surely only natural? Or was it Colin? Was he just useless? After a few moments I’d had enough. I pulled away and he sensed my displeasure.
“You didn’t like it, did you?” he asked with a sigh.
I shrugged and lied. “Er ..... it wasn’t too bad.”
“Fancy trying again?”
“Er ..... no thanks Colin. I’d better go or I’ll have my mum on the warpath, she’ll be waiting for me on the doorstep if I’m not careful.”
I didn’t want to hurt him, but I knew I had. He looked a little bewildered and I felt guilty. I was disappointed, the first boy I’d ever fancied and what a letdown he had been, but I was also relieved, my first kiss may not have been exactly earth shattering but at least it hadn’t torn me apart with fear and revulsion as I thought it might. But if they all snogged like that then you could keep boys, no, it wasn’t me, he was just useless.
I made my way back to the others; they knew exactly what had been going on. As I walked away with the two girls I knew the boys would be firing a thousand questions at Colin.
“Well, did he kiss you?” Maureen asked once we were out of the lad’s earshot.
I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and couldn’t help letting out a little giggle.
“He wasn’t good then?” asked Janet.
“Ugh! No way.” I told both girls.
“It’s like my mum says,” Maureen added. “The ones you fancy are always a letdown in the end.”
“I don’t think I fancy him now,” I admitted coyly.
We all giggled.
Of course, I had to listen to the girl’s descriptions of their own first sexual experiences, which didn’t seem much different to mine. Perhaps this was normal then, I thought. I was sad to walk away from Devils Elbow, the dream was over, it was back to reality. At least we were all laughing when we reached the main road again, laughing at the expense of the male population. I waved goodbye to the girls and made my way home, it wasn’t too far now. I sighed as I thought how disappointing Colin’s kiss had been and also at the thought of leaving that enchanted place.
It was then that fate caught up with me. My life was to change again, forever this time. I wasn’t far from home when the slightly familiar feeling washed over me. It was the old feeling that always came when I was about to have one of my little seizures, one of my ‘little turns’ as I called them, but it was much stronger. A strange sense of déjà vous, a sensation like no other. It was as if I was about to be transported into another time frame, another dimension. My heart began to palpitate but the phenomenon wasn’t an unpleasant one. I didn’t want it now though, this wasn’t fair, it didn’t seem to be going away. No! Not now ..... please not now ..... Oh Shit!

[Emms]

Fifteen
I was tired and had a headache but didn’t seem to be suffering any other ill effects. As I lay on a trolley in A&E, or the Casualty Department as they called it in those days, listening to the noisy movements of the hospital, a feeling of utter sorrow seemed to roll over me. I knew exactly what had happened. I licked my dry lips and felt the soreness in one corner of my tongue where I had bitten it. There were three spots of blood on the collar of my school blouse and the throbbing pain behind my eyes was as familiar as if I had felt it only yesterday, I’d had another fit. After all this time with virtually no symptoms and no medication, the epilepsy had returned.
A young nurse, a pretty Irish girl with huge blue eyes and thick dark hair pulled into a pleat behind her head, popped her freckled face around the screen.
“Your parents are here, my love. They’re talking to the doctor right now so you’ll be seeing them in a minute.”
I managed to smile but I didn’t feel remotely relieved by that information. My true feelings must have been obvious because the nurse came into the cubicle, sat on the edge of the trolley and held my hand professionally, smiling down at me all the time.
“Fancy a cup of tea?” she asked gently. “Or a glass of water, perhaps?”
I turned my head and stared at the jug and glass on the little bedside table. The nurse, still smiling, filled the glass with water from the jug and held it to my lips. “Here you go, take a sip of this!”
I turned my lips away for a moment and lifted myself into a sitting position using my arms to push myself up. Taking the glass from her, I began to sip the lukewarm liquid. It made me shudder but I was thirsty so I took a couple of heavy gulps before handing the glass back. I nodded to the nurse quickly in a gesture of thanks and then lay down again.
This time she didn’t smile, she looked concerned. “Come on, give us a bit of chat, girl. How are you feeling?”
I shrugged silently and turned away from her.
“Ah come on, you’ve got a tongue in your head haven’t you?”
I sighed but had to look at her. There was no reason to be rude to the girl but I just didn’t feel like getting into a conversation at the time. “I’m okay, thanks.”
The nurse laughed gently. “Is that all?”
I nodded.
“Jesus! The English don’t talk much, do they?”
I did manage to smile then, a real smile but I knew it was a sad one. “My mom can talk enough,” I said. “I can almost hear her yapping away to the doctors right now.”
“She’ll be worried about you.”
“Yeah, and she’ll let everybody know about it. I bet they’ll want to keep me in here now.”
“Sure and how would I know? They tell you nothing while you’re training in this place. Do you remember what happened?”
“I’ve got an idea,” I told the nurse, nodding. “I used to have epileptic fits when I was a kid; I had one of them again, didn’t I?”
“Perhaps you did. I think that’s what the witnesses said.”
“What witnesses?”
“There were some people passing in a car, they said you collapsed and had a fit. That’s what it says in your file anyway, but don’t be telling the sister I’ve told you, she’s a bitch in a uniform, that one. She hates me.”
The nurse made me laugh and I immediately liked her. I realised she could only have been a year or two older than I was and it seemed she enjoyed having another young girl to chat to for a moment. Suddenly, she became professional again and touched my wrist with her fingers, feeling for my pulse and looking down at the fob watch on her apron.
“That seems fine to me,” she said briskly before letting go of my wrist. “Now let me take your blood pressure and your temperature and that’s me done with you for a bit.” She took a thermometer from its little holder on the wall, shook it, then waved it around my face before deciding to place it in my armpit. “I can carry on talking to you now; I haven’t quite done with our little chat. Don’t be looking so miserable, it’s not the end of the world, you know. They’ll get you sorted in here, it’s not such a bad place, the food could be better but if you can stand looking at sister’s face all day then you’ll get through it. Just tell me, have you been worrying about anything lately?”
I shook my head. “No, but I’m worried enough now.”
“Why?”
“If they don’t let me out of here tonight it’ll be too late for me to go to school tomorrow and I’ll miss my exams in the morning. I’ve worked really hard for them this time. I can’t miss them.”
“Are you doing your ‘0’ levels then?”
“No, it’s just my final exams, I’m not staying on at school so this is my last chance to show those teachers that I’m not thick, that I can do well for once. I’ve worked so hard but if I don’t take the last part of my exams tomorrow I won’t be placed in the final report, then I’ll just be thick Julie again who doesn’t bother about her school work.”
“Come away out of that, would you? You’re not thick! I can tell that from the way you’re talking to me, girl. I wouldn’t be worrying yourself about it, you know. They’ll let you take the exams again, won’t they?”
“No, you only get one chance with these kind of exams. I’ll just be the same as all the other kids who don’t bother or who they think are thick.
As she fumbled about with a fiddly contraption in a long box, the nurse rolled up my sleeve and wrapped a tight rubber band around my upper arm. Placing a stethoscope around her neck, she placed the ends in her ears and proceeded to take my blood pressure.
“I think I get you,” she said, looking sad for a moment. “They’re what they call internal exams; they can’t let you retake them in case you get hold of the answers, eh?”
“I think so.”
She pulled everything off me and placed it back in the box at breakneck speed. “Well, your blood pressure’s up a bit but not enough to write home about. I wouldn’t worry too much, you know. My old granddad used to say that you didn’t need a lot of schooling to get on in this life. Something will turn up for you, my little love, I’m sure of it. You’ll forget all about school once you’ve got a job and you’ve got a mammy and daddy whose worried sick waiting out there in that corridor. Don’t be getting yourself depressed, the doctors will have you sorted out in no time, it’ll be fine.”
The nurse scribbled something down on a chart and replaced it at the end of the trolley. Then she winked at me. Her words had reminded me of Granddad Whitehouse for a moment, my mind shot to the time he had argued with Granny Clara about schooling; he didn’t seem to think I needed it either. I smiled at the young nurse but I couldn’t shake off the feeling of doom and gloom. The epilepsy had returned, there would be lots of tests again, I knew that well enough and I also knew I wouldn’t get the kind of work I wanted now.
“I wanted a well paid job,” I said heavily. “I won’t get that if I have fits. I’ll be lucky to get any kind of job; if I’m an epileptic they wouldn’t even let me do your job, would they?”
The nurse’s jovial laugh made me smile. “That says it all, my love. You can’t EVEN do my job!”
“Oh sorry! I didn’t mean .....”
“I know, I know. I just thought that was funny, that’s all. Now, I can hear the doctors talking in that corridor, I’ll bet your parents are wanting to see you, they should cheer you up, you know. Believe me, things will seem better in a while, it’s not like it used to be, you know, not like it was years ago. There’s much more they can do for epilepsy now than they ever could. You’ll get yourself sorted out, trust me. There’ll always be someone who’ll give you a job.”
She literally skipped out of sight behind the curtain and I took a deep sigh of relief. She was a kind and happy girl with a loud laugh and such a pretty face, but I had the feeling she could be quite exhausting if she was around for too long. Happy people could have that effect on me.
It was the doctor who appeared first followed by a plump, stern faced sister who had the biggest arse I’d ever seen on a woman. She fitted the young nurse’s description of her perfectly. The doctor didn’t peep around the screen as others had done; he simply folded the whole thing to one side so that I could see the corridor, other screens and curtains and other cubicles, most of them filled with sick or injured people. A little boy was crying, an old man using a walking stick hobbled to a chair and two porters pushed a woman on a trolley down the corridor, her one leg was elevated and wrapped in a bloodstained makeshift bandage. The whole place smelled of disinfectant and pain. It seemed very different to the place where I had spent a week when I was seven years old, or perhaps I was just seeing things differently now.
The doctor was tall, Asian and had a friendly demeanour. He stood beside my trolley and the sister stepped back. Roma entered the cubicle like something out of a costume drama. She smiled down at me and placed her bottom on the edge of the trolley. She was dressed well but I thought her over made up face gave her the look of a tart. Her eye liner may have been toned down a little but her bright red lips, cheeks and nails made up for that. She was wearing a pair of the highest stilettos I’d seen outside of a magazine and her flowery patterned dress was far too short for a woman her age. She was well into her 40s now and beginning to look it. Her hair was still a tad too red and the amount of cleavage she had on show made me cringe.
“Oh sweetheart,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “What on earth happened?”
She leaned forward and placed a damp kiss on my forehead. I looked past her and noticed my dad was standing there. His eyes met mine and we both smiled. He seemed quietly pleased that I was alive and well as I was quietly pleased to see him. They were such an odd couple these two. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, the smile never leaving his lips.
“Hello, love,” he said. “You’ve had one of your turns again, haven’t you?”
The doctor was kind. He prodded and poked around, shining a light in my eyes, telling me to follow his finger and asking me the questions I had been asked so many times in the past. What had happened just prior to the seizure? What happened just after it? How much could I remember? Had I wet myself? It went on and on. Roma answered some of the questions for me; she always did though her replies were not always the same as the ones I had given. Just as I thought, the doctor said he wanted me to stay in for a couple of days so they could do some tests. I begged and pleaded with him, told him about the exams and pleaded with Dad and Roma, but it was no use. I felt hot and uncomfortable in the small space and could feel myself becoming more and more frustrated, but I knew I was beaten.
“Please, please let me go home and go to school tomorrow,” I begged tearfully. “Please, Dad, listen to me! I feel fine now, I’m okay, really I am.”
Dad moved closer and handed me a tissue he’d taken from a box by the tiny sink in the cubicle. “It’s best we do what they want, love. It’s been a long time since you had one of those fits and we don’t want you having another, do we?”
“But I managed okay before, didn’t I? Why does the school even have to know about this. Please, Dad, let me take those exams and don’t say anything to the teachers about it, please!”
“Calm down, love. We’ve got to tell the school about this. You’ve got to have some tests done.”
I felt the tears falling from my eyes. “Please, Dad, it might never happen again. I have to take those exams and I need to get a decent job, please don’t mess this up for me.”
Roma looked straight at the doctor who had folded his arms and was fingering his chin with one hand.
“She mustn’t get so upset,” she whined, a well practiced look of concern on her face. “It’ll make her worse; she’s always been like this. Isn’t there something you can give her to calm her down?”
He shook his head and turned his attention to me. “Now look, Juliana,” he said quite sternly. “You are not only upsetting yourself but also putting your parents in a very difficult position. We will have you on the ward just for tonight and keep you under observation. You can go home tomorrow.”
“Early tomorrow?”
“I shall want to see you again before you leave and I don’t do my rounds on the wards til about 11 o’clock, you will probably be able to go home then. You’ll have to come back for an EEG, of course, but you’ve had one before, you know what they are, don’t you? We can’t allow you home tonight, we have to cover ourselves, you know.”
”Yes, the hospital must be careful, sweetie,” Roma put in, her tone soft. Your dad and I would never forgive ourselves if anything happened to you. It’s just too dangerous for you to come home tonight and you certainly won’t be going to school tomorrow, not even if you were allowed home early enough. It wouldn’t be safe.”
“But Mum .....”
“Never mind all that. Calm down and behave yourself darling, no more tantrums. I can’t take much more of your behaviour, the doctor doesn’t know half of what I have to put up with from you. So stop showing off, do as you’re told and act your age. You know I haven’t been well lately and I’m sure you know it doesn’t help when you behave like a spoilt little girl. We’ll make things all right for you, darling, we always do, don’t we? So listen to what the doctor is saying and be a good girl, please. It’s no use throwing silly tantrums just because you can’t have your own way, you know I’m right, don’t you, love?”
She pushed a few strands of hair off my forehead with one hand. I rolled over on one side and wiped my eyes with the tissue. There was no use in arguing, I knew that. Roma would simply play the role of the worried mother and I would be the spoilt child. She would want to keep the doctors on-side but wouldn’t let them get too close. That was her way. She could tell them as many stories about me as she lied and they would always believe her, she had a way about her that made them believe her. She had created what I had started to call her ‘Roma persona’, a demeanour of sweetness and light, friendly to everyone but not too submissive. No one was allowed to creep past that imaginary and invade her personal space. Only my dad could come anywhere near close to her and her men friends seemed to have disappeared. She had no friends, she decided most people were beneath her and therefore, considered them unworthy and treated them with contempt. I was one of those people, I wasn’t worthy. But when she wanted something, Roma could justify any little drama she liked. I wasn’t sure what she wanted just then, but it certainly wasn’t to comfort me.
Dad took his car keys from his trouser pocket and jangled them. “Let’s get you some things from home them, love. If we’re quick we’ll be back before visiting time’s over.”
I watched Roma and Dad exchange glances and the doctor and sister left us alone.
“I’d like to know what on earth she was doing when she had that fit,” Roma asked fiercely.
I dried my eyes again and sniffed loudly. “I was coming home from Devils Elbow, Mum, that’s all.”
“From where? What kind of a place is that?”
“It’s only the weir at the back of the woods.”
“Well I don’t like the sound of it. You don’t go there again, my girl.”
“There’s not much wrong with that place,” Dad began to explain. “I’ve been there years ago, all the kids play up there at some time.”
“I don’t care! I don’t want our little girl going there again and I want to know who she’s with after school.”
“I was only with some girls from my class. We weren’t doing any harm.”
“Who were they and what exactly were you doing?”
I was about to reply but I saw Dad look at the ceiling and I heard him sigh. “She’s told you, Rome. She was just out with some mates.”
“Well I want to meet all my daughter’s friends. I have the right to know who they are and to decide if they’re good for her or not.”
“I s’pose so, love.”
“Oh, taking HER side are you?”
“No, love, just that .....”
“Just that what? As if I don’t have enough to worry about without you going against me as well.”
“I’m not going against you. Just can’t see what harm the girl can have been doing, that’s all. Come on; let’s get her a few things from home, shall we?”
I lay there and listened to my parents talking about me as if I wasn’t there. They often did that, it only proved to me that I was still nothing. I supposed I understood why Roma wanted to meet my friends, but I didn’t want most of them to meet her. I didn’t want this loony woman showing me up in front of my companions the way she had when I was younger. I watched Dad walk away along the corridor and Roma suddenly pulled the screen across the opening of the cubicle again.
“I hope you’re not playing games with me, my girl,” she said in a low voice.
I turned away from her, burying my face into the pillow. “What the hell is it now, Mum? What have I done now?”
Roma spoke firmly, making it clear where I stood. “This ‘fit’ business! I just hope you’re not playing games with me. What the matter? Do you think your dad’s been paying me too much attention or something? Do you feel like putting some excitement into your life? Is that it, eh? And what’s this about your exams? Do you think you can get round your father by getting a few good marks at school? It’ll take a damn sight more than that, my girl. I can tell you. Are you trying to get him away from me? Is that the thing? You think pretending to have a fit and doing well in class can make your dad think more of you than he does of me? Is that it?”
I was amazed at how erratic Roma’s temperament could be. One moment she was gentle, loving almost, the next her tone was cold, harsh and demanding. I knew it was all an act. Even the not so nice side of this woman’s nature was unreal. Everything Roma did was an act of some sort; sadly, most people didn’t pick up on that until it was too late.
She placed her lips closer to my ear. “Well, what have you got to say for yourself, lady? If you’re playing games again the doctors will find out, you just watch.”
I’d had enough! I’d been filled with self disgust and hatred for my own body. I hated its weaknesses, the fact that the epilepsy had reared its ugly head in a big way, messing around with my exams and my plans, affecting any friendships that may have been developing. This woman who was supposed to be my mother didn’t even believe I’d had a seizure by the sound of it, yet I knew she would make a big thing about me being ill again. I looked up at her and thought I saw a smile on her painted lips. What the fuck did she want from me now? What was I doing even listening to this bitch? I hated her, for a moment I wished with all my heart that she would die. I hated her with all the vengeance I was capable of and the anger rose from the pit of my stomach to my throat. The little rebel had risen again after a long rest.
“Why don’t you just fuck off, Mother?” I shouted, clenching my fists and lifting my face into hers. “I’m not the one who plays games! I’m not the liar! It’s you! You’re the one who can’t tell the truth and who always wants to hurt me, so why don’t you just piss off and leave me alone?”
I should have known what the consequences would be. That little outburst was a stupid mistake but it was long overdue. I hadn’t touched her, not laid one finger on her yet Roma flung herself backwards as though thrown by some invisible force and her backbone crunched against the little ceramic hand basin. I should have known. I sprang into a sitting position and watched in horror as Dad rushed back into the cubicle as he heard Roma’s painful cries. I’d done it again, played right into her hands.
“What the hell’s happened?” Dad said breathlessly, his eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and anger.
Roma writhed on the tiled floor sobbing desperately. Dad knelt beside her and took her in his arms.
“It ..... it was Julie,” she managed to say. “She flew at me, it ..... it’s her temper, she ..... she attacked me. My back, oh Al, my back! Help me!”
I watched Dad’s eyes as he glanced from her to me than back again. It was as if they were conspiring against me, though I knew he had nothing to do with it.
I lay back on the trolley and was aware of a nurse rushing towards me; another ran to Roma and Dad. I began to wish I really had attacked Roma, that she had felt my fists pummelling her skin the way I had felt hers many times before. I could have given her something to cry for, why the hell I hadn’t I didn’t know. I knew I’d be blamed for it so I may as well have done it. There was so much pent up anger waiting to erupt from somewhere deep inside me, so much which longed to someday be released. I knew Dad would stick up for her, this woman who had lied and manipulated us both for years. I began to sob violently, I could hear Roma crying and moaning about me, telling everyone how I had attacked her and that it hadn’t been the first time. The doctor began to speak, a nurse stuck a needle in my arm and Roma continued her bleating.
“She ..... she flew at me, doctor. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ve done. My back, oh my back. It’s her temper, she can’t help it, please, doctor, she doesn’t even know she does it, please don’t punish her, she can’t help it and we love her so much.”
I closed my eyes and could hear myself crying quietly. Roma was taken away somewhere to be examined, but I knew she would be fine, she always was. The only one who seemed to care was the young Irish nurse; she sat on the edge of the trolley again and stroked my cheek with one finger.
“Don’t be crying so much,” she whispered. “It’ll be all right.”
“No it won’t!” I told her. “Nothing will ever change.”
I thought I heard Roma call out then in the next cubicle, of course, she would put on a good show while the doctors examined her back. Her moans and groans were just a reminder of her selfishness and her determination to turn my father against me. This woman wasn’t my mother, neither was Eileen Flynn, she had simply given birth to me, a simple function of the human body. But I had no feelings for Eileen, all my feelings were for Roma at that moment and they were feelings of pure loathing. I wasn’t proud of them; they only amplified my own loneliness. The injection I had been given began to do its job and I fell into a drug induced sleep.

Sixteen
I suppose there were worse looking girls. I didn’t look too bad in a dim light. Even though I was still deeply troubled I scrubbed up pretty well.
The consultant had warned me there might be side effects from the new medication I was taking for the epilepsy. Apparently, I might suffer double vision or loss of appetite, but I hadn’t noticed anything. I certainly had the same love for food but forced myself to stick to a strict diet. The cigarettes helped with that. I still had a few small attacks, but the major seizures didn’t happen that often. They averaged about one every three or four months and had done for a year now. Nothing at night, just during the day, more was the pity. The smaller seizures were far more frequent but also more disguisable. They played havoc with my memory and I did actually lose awareness for a few moments when I had one, but I could always make out I was having a ‘blonde moment’ brunettes were allowed to have those too. There were those who didn’t even know I had the condition, especially my new bosses, I’d found myself the job I wanted, a boring but well paid factory job.
I watched my reflection in the mirror as I practiced another way to look sexy in a pair of flares and a white cotton tee shirt. It wasn’t the easiest of tasks for me. My hair had really grown. I wore it long and straight with a centre parting most of the time, it fell each side of my face like a pair of soft brown curtains. Even though my heart was heavy as Roma became harder and harder to live with, I could still pull a bloke now and again.
I had even found myself a steady boyfriend. I knew my new size annoyed Roma, she had decided to diet with me and ate even less than I did. It wasn’t so much that I was large these days, I was a peculiar shape. I was the classic apple shape, or a little barrel, as Dad called me. I had no shoulders and flat hips, yet my belly and my boobs seemed to be fighting for supremacy. Still, a nice baggy smock top could hide a multitude of sins. Roma was living on crisp bread and salad and was shrinking at a remarkable speed. I hated to admit it but her new shape suited her, she was beginning to look good, still tarty and over made up, but she was looking good. Every now and again I emerged from moody teenager mode and threw her a few compliments. I can’t say I felt all that comfortable complimenting the woman, but there was method in my madness. It was amazing how she could be calmed by a few choice words. There were times when she was actually nice to me, shared a joke with me or bought me a pop record or a cheap skirt from the local market. She preferred her compliments to come from men, but if I was the only one around to give her any it seemed that would suffice, for a time.
Once I decided I looked presentable, I came downstairs and Dad was sitting in the lounge. I’d given my hair one last brush, put on a bit of makeup and some hippy style beads and that was it, I was done, ready for a cheap night out. I grabbed my coat and bag from the hall and caught sight of Granddad through the open kitchen door. He was swigging milk straight from the bottle. A habit of his that I hated.
“See you later,” I called as I slipped my arms into my blue denim jacket. I was only going to the youth club up the road, they had a kind of disco on there every Sunday night that had no DJ, no booze and was all over by 10 o’clock. But for those of us who hadn’t yet reached the age when we could visit the local pubs and couldn’t afford the dancehalls, the youth club was good enough. It wasn’t much of a place, just an old scout hut come community centre that doubled up as a lady’s flower arranging class during the day and the Sixty Plus Society on Saturday nights. But on Sunday evening it belonged to us, to the ever increasing population of teenagers in the area.
“Don’t be late,” I heard Roma call. “You’ve got work in the morning.”
“Yeah, yeah!”
“I mean it, love! I want you in my half past ten or else. No hanging around until an ungodly hour with those local youngsters.”
I closed the front door behind me, lit a cigarette and started the ten minute walk to this place of reasonable enjoyment. I guessed I was lucky to be allowed to go there, I certainly wouldn’t have been had Grandma still been alive. I wasn’t crazy about the club but it was a chance to get away from the loonies for a while, there would be music, a bottle of Pepsi and a few familiar faces to talk to. And of course, there would be boys. In spite of my past experiences, I quite liked male attention. Perhaps I’d learned that from Roma. It was as though I felt I was no one unless a boy wanted me. Most females seemed to think like that in those days, it was the way we were brought up. We would leave school, find a job, work for less pay than our male counterparts and for no works pension and then marry one of them, hopefully providing him with a tribe of children. That would qualify us for a council house and that was where most of us would end up. Perfectly normal for a working class girl like me and ‘normal’ was what I strived to become.
None of us thickoes who had left school at the age of fifteen and with no qualifications expected much from life. There was the chance we might meet and marry a man who earned enough to save for a deposit for his own house, but that wasn’t very likely, not on our council estate. My final school report hadn’t been brilliant, as I expected. I was left ‘unplaced’ after missing half of my final exams. The sudden return of the epilepsy meant that my dreams of getting good marks just once had been shattered. But it wasn’t the end of the world, I was working. I was earning money, even though Roma insisted I handed over a decent sum of money to her every Friday.
The club room was dimly lit and music was playing. There was no alcohol, of course, but the cigarette smoke hung around like a grey cloud. We brought our own music, I’d taken my Pink Floyd album once but it wasn’t really the kind of stuff that was wanted. They liked something we could dance to so I left it to the others to provide the entertainment.
Ted Oliver, a retired social worker who was in charge of the whole set up along with his pretty wife, Marge, had brought his portable record player as usual and I walked in to the sound of The Walker Brothers and The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore. It was a ballad, a slow, melodramatic number that calmed me down immediately. The usual crowd were there. I smiled at a couple of girls I knew, pretty girls who saw me as no threat. They knew they were safe, they could have their pick of the lads, I hadn’t come to scrump the apples.
Maureen and Janet chatted together as they sat on hard chairs around a long trestle table, their boyfriends, a lad called Bob Taylor and my old crush, Colin Edwards, sat with them slurping small bottles of soft fizzy drinks. There were a few older guys hanging about, especially around the pool table. One or two of them were eyeing up the better looking females, their eyes straying to one girl’s breasts for a moment, but they winked and waved when they saw me. I didn’t turn heads, but after a while, I was noticed, noticed enough to be spoken to before the boys eyes returned to the more favourable sights. One of these older boys was tall and particularly good looking, in an old fashioned kind of way. A much younger girl with long black hair and fat legs was grinning cheekily at him. I walked straight past them, the smell of cheap aftershave wafted into my nostrils and I saw Danny Morgan. He stood in the coffee area, smiling and resting one arm on the back of an empty chair.
“I wondered where you’d got to,” he said, sliding a few coins across the table to the girls who made the coffee and ordering one for me. When I reached his side grinned and placed a kiss on my cheek. “I thought perhaps your mum wouldn’t let you out.”
“Sorry, Dan. I just couldn’t decide what to wear, that’s all, so I settled for the old jeans and tee shirt.”
“I can see that.”
“What’s up? Don’t you approve of me?”
Danny shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that, I’ve seen you looking better but you’ll do.”
He did his duty and danced with me, not forgetting to admire my new bead necklace and matching earrings. I’d bought them in Woolworths the last time I went to town. I didn’t spend that much money on clothes and accessories but I splashed out occasionally. Danny didn’t dance well, he was clumsy and heavily built, but I wasn’t the world’s best on the dance floor either so it didn’t really matter.
We’d been seeing each other for some months, it was no secret. He hadn’t changed much from the time I’d first spoken to him on Devils Elbow. His red hair was already thin for a lad who wasn’t yet eighteen years of age. He wore it brushed back of his freckled face and it touched his collar, where it curled rather appealingly. There was nothing too special about him, but he had a nice smile and twinkling blue eyes. He was a confident young man and still made me laugh. He wore a black open jacket over a white tieless shirt and a pair of blue jeans, the cut of the jeans and length of the jacket seemed to disguise the fact that he wasn’t as slim as perhaps he could have been. He knew all about my epilepsy but that certainly hadn’t put him off. He also knew that I was adopted and that I didn’t exactly get on with my mother. He had met Roma a few times now; therefore, he had heard all her exaggerated stories about me, stories of an uncontrollable temper, seriously deranged behaviour, all the illnesses I was supposed to have had and the lies I was supposed to have constantly told. She said I was such a worry to her and that I wasn’t quite ‘right’ in the head. I was used to the things she said about me and usually didn’t even bother to deny any of it. Danny knew to take most things Roma said with a pinch of salt and I think he had sussed that I wasn’t quite as bad as she painted me. So although I couldn’t say I was exactly crazy about him, Danny was MY bloke and that was enough.
Roma seemed to like him, but she would, he was male. She encouraged me to bring any male friends home, especially when Dad was on late shift. She scared most of them off, laughing at their jokes too loudly, stroking their cheeks with her fingers and talking to them about subjects their own mother’s wouldn’t even have thought to bring up. Colin Edward’s mother had forbidden him to visit our house anymore, so I’d heard. She’d supposedly said something about my mother wearing too much make up and had commented on the length of her skirts. I must have been in a bitchy mood the day I told Roma why he had stopped coming. I actually enjoyed telling her. Her behaviour was true to form, she had a fit of hysterics in front of Dad, sobbing and shouting that she only wore make up for him, no one else. This woman had no right to criticise, of course, so Dad hugged her and made it better, as always. I said nothing about the times I’d seen her dancing around the kitchen with these lads, rubbing her body against theirs whenever she had the chance. I didn’t dare tell, I knew she’d start telling her stories and set me up for something if I had done. Danny knew all about it, he had seen her behaviour, knew what she was like. She would swing from showing ridiculous inappropriate feelings of childlike temper to pathetic parodies of motherly affection. Not just towards me, but also to Danny and to little Butch, the family’s Cairn Terrier I had begun to love as much as I had loved old Bonzo when I was a child. He was an ugly dog, cute but ugly, especially just after he’d had his wheaten coloured hair cropped short. He yapped incessantly, as terriers do, and he was afraid of out cat.
“I reckon she’s getting tired of Butch,” I told Danny, raising my voice over the sound of the music. He led me outside and we stopped by the door, looking out onto the untidy mess at the back of the clubhouse. The coolness of the evening made my face tingle. “She’s been hinting to my dad that she wants this Yorkshire terrier”, I went on. “She says she’s always wanted one but it’s only cos the woman over the road’s got one and she’d been taking it for a walk. So my mum’s been going on about that most of the time, at least it cuts down all the moaning she does about me.”
“D’ya think your dad’ll give in and buy her this Yorkshire Terrier thing?” Danny asked, grinning cheekily.
“He usually lets her have her own way buy I doubt it this time. He reckons one dog’s enough and you know how he hates spending money. Those kind of dogs are expensive and I remember him moaning about the cost when we got little Butch.”
“Yeah,” Danny nodded slowly and leaned his large frame against the door, pushing a hand into the tight back pocket of his jeans. “Perhaps she’ll ask YOU to buy her one now you’ve got a decent wage coming in.”
“She doesn’t know how much I earn since I started at the factory. I have to give her board money and I give her a hell of a lot, but she doesn’t have my wage packet off me the way she used to.”
Danny smiled, a pleasant smile. “How the fuck did you get round that one?”
“Dad was on side for once. He told me she didn’t know how much he earned either, just said I should offer her an extra couple of quid a week and keep the rest.”
“Well, knowing your mum, she must be happy with what she’s getting off you or she’d say something. You’ve got to hand it to her; she’s a dab hand at getting what she wants.”
“Huh, tell me about it!”
“Does she know you’ve got some savings?”
“Does she hell!”
He laughed, looking down he rolled his boot backwards and forwards over a loose piece of broken brick on the grass. “What d’ya reckon she’d do if she knew you’d got money hidden away? Think she’d take off with it?”
“What the hell do you think? I dunno which would be the worst, her finding it or Granddad getting his grubby hands on the stuff. He’d just throw it away on a horse, but he never goes in my room. She does, I know she mouches around but it’s well hidden away.”
“You should still watch her though. How much have you got now?”
“Not sure, about ten quid, I think.”
Danny didn’t look too impressed. As an apprentice engineer his wages weren’t good but they were still better than mine. “Not exactly enough for a deposit on a flat yet, is it?”
“Give me time. I might tell Dad about it. He’s a great believer in saving and I might open a bank account, Mum can’t get her hands on it then.”
“True. Yeah, your old man’s a saver all right. He’s a tight git! He must be worth a bob or two, you know.”
“Probably, but if he is he’d never tell her or me.”
Danny looked puzzled. “I don’t get it. I’ll never understand why your old man lives in a council house. He’s not got a bad job, it’s bloody good money at his place for unskilled workers so I’m sure he could have bought his own house if he’d wanted.”
I shrugged and leaned towards Danny, placing my head on his shoulder and looking up at the fading light. “Do you really think he’s got money? I mean, Mom’s never worked, he always had to keep my grandparents and still keeps granddad, he was always moaning about never knowing what they did with their pension.”
I felt Danny shrug. He placed one arm protectively around me and it felt good.
“Ah, your old man never spends anything if he can help it so he’s got to have a stash put away somewhere. I guess it’ll end up in your bank account when he croaks.”
“I doubt it. He got himself a new car not so long back and then there was the caravan he bought in Wales for Roma.”
“Sure, but it’s all cheap second hand rubbish! He never buys new stuff, dos he?”
“He’s like his mother,” I said affectionately. “He’s my old granny Clara all over again. She’d walk a mile to get a penny off a pound of spuds.”
“Well, your mum can usually work on him and get her own way.”
“Not with money.”
“I dunno. I’ll bet she’ll get that Yorkie terrier she wants. I’ve got to hand it to her, the old bird knows a thing or two about getting her own way.”
I giggled but deep inside I felt angry. Yes, Roma always did get what she wanted. Danny held my hand and we walked around for a while. Then he led me to a space behind a dilapidated wall and kissed me passionately. I didn’t dislike his kisses. He could do a better job than Colin Edwards had but it was still not the way I thought it should be. As he kneaded my breasts and felt around in my groin he made me feel confused. Part of me wanted to make him stop, to push him away and tell him he was dirty, yet another part of me seemed grateful that a young man actually wanted me. I mean, wasn’t that what all men wanted? Wasn’t that what we were supposed to do?
My heart was beating so fast I was sure he could hear it. His tongue searched around inside my mouth before he lifted his head. I opened my eyes and looked into his; he never closed them when he kissed me. I saw what I wanted to see, as most young girls do. I saw the sneer on his lips as a cheeky grin, the lust in his eyes as playful and mischievous. I wanted him, but not to feel his body inside me, not to look at his face and admire it forever. I wanted him because I needed a boyfriend, it made me feel I had achieved some of the normality I craved. He pressed his lips against mine again, I cringed when he lifted my tee shirt, but I didn’t try to stop him. He pushed his fingers inside my bra and fumbled around for a few minutes, fondling the soft bulging flesh there. He leaned deeper into me and his groin pressed against my thigh. I could feel how hard he was. He wanted me, someone actually wanted and needed me, or so I believed. Roma had always told me that a woman was nothing if a man didn’t love her, so I believed this man loved me. I told myself that he actually cared, that he might one day take me away from the home I hated. I knew Dad cared, in his own way, but he was so ineffectual where Roma was concerned that he may as well not have been around most of the time.
Danny continued to undress me as I went into auto pilot. I responded, as I knew I should, but I could hardly hear his crude compliments. It was as though this was all happening to someone else, not to me. There was a slight warm feeling in my head, but something told me it should be stronger than this. My thoughts began to drift. They drifted to my first job in a drawing office. I started there as a wide eyed fifteen year old who knew nothing about people, nothing about the grown up world. It was a disaster. I brought home £4/11s and a penny each week, Roma took the lot and gave me a pound pocket money. I thought of her greedy eyes as she took my wages each week then, it was only when I went pleading to Dad that he actually stood up for me and told her it wouldn’t hurt to let me have a bit more. Where money was concerned, Dad actually tried to take a stand.
I felt Danny biting my neck, his lips pecking my cheeks and chin before pressing against my mouth again. I acted as I thought I should, though I gained no pleasure from it. I reached down and caressed the bulge in his trousers; he reacted by sighing loudly and running his hands up and down my back until he was pressing so hard that it hurt. The more we kissed and petted, the more my mind wondered until I became almost totally detached from what was going on. I closed my eyes and began to remember, to remember my life since leaving school.
Just as on my first day at school, starting work meant I was mixing with real people and I seemed to have very little idea how to interact with them. My first job didn’t last long, no one there seemed to like me much and the bosses said my work wasn’t up to standard. So much for trying to work in an office. I had taken old Colonel Mustard’s advice and found work where I would have to think a little, but even in my second office job, working as office junior for a solicitor, I was little more than the tea maker and the runner of errands. A few months later, after bluffing my way through an interview and pretending I had no medical conditions, I was taken on at the local textile factory. I started in what they called the knitting department and was known as a threader. My job consisted of pulling and stretching nylon fibres through a comb and setting them in the machines ready for ‘knitting’ yards and yards of fabric. I worked mainly with men, older men who rarely talked to me but who were preferable to the bitchiness I found in my own sex. There were just a few women in this department and I didn’t like many of them at all. The job was boring and I worked shifts which played havoc with my social life, but the pay was good. I now had what I called my ‘rainy day tin’ hidden away in my room. Only Danny knew about it and he found it difficult at first to understand why it had to be kept a secret from my family, until he got to know Roma, that is. Then he worked out why.
I lost my virginity to Danny up on Devils Elbow a few months earlier. At least, he thought that was when I lost it, he knew nothing about what Mick Clayton had done to me and Granddad’s antics didn’t really count, I thought, as there was no penetration. Still, I had pushed most of that stuff so far from my thoughts that I barely knew it had happened at all. As far as I was concerned, Danny was my first one. I gave myself to him quite willingly by the side of Waterhead brook, the splashing water singing in my ears, that same enchanted place where many lovers had given themselves to each other. Danny had been pleased when he saw I was smiling once it was over. His young male ego probably told him I was smiling because I’d enjoyed it. In truth, my smile was because I had been dreading the occasion, even though I had no real idea why. I was smiling simply because it was over; I had done what I knew most people did sooner or later; I had passed another milestone in my life. It was a smile of relief, not one of pleasure. And as Danny kissed me and fondled my body at the back of that club house, I waited, as I always did, for some of those wonderful feelings Roma had spoken about, the feelings I had read about and heard about from the other girls. Perhaps it was Danny’s fault, I thought, maybe he wasn’t the right one or it could have just been me. Whatever, I knew something was missing.
Danny wasn’t stupid, he always used a condom. He could be gentle at times, caring even, but not once had he ever uttered the word ‘love’, neither of us had. We were just a couple of kids practicing on each other. This was not to be a long term relationship but no one could have made me believe that at the time. I knew Danny’s large physique and rugged good looks made him attractive to older women, I even sussed that Roma had the hots for him but I couldn’t imagine that he found her sexy too. I honestly believed that he simply put up with her rolling around on the floor with him just to keep in her good books. When she flashed her lacy black knickers as her skirt rode up above her thighs during their play fights, I believed him when he took the piss out of her later. I had no idea that he had an erection like a cop’s truncheon when they rolled around on the floor in the hall. I believed he was thinking only of me when he lay there pumping away between my legs. Still, I wasn’t usually thinking of him so what gave me the right to think he was any different? But I wasn’t to learn til much later that both our minds were detached from what we were doing. Unlike the prettier girls who teased Danny and often made him chase them, I suppose I was quite pliable. I was used to playing the docile doll, I’d been Roma’s little toy for years and now I guess I was Danny’s toy too. Now and again my temper would get the better of me, but most of the time I was Danny’s toy, ready to be put back in the box when he had finished his games. I knew this wasn’t right. This was not a normal relationship and I didn’t have a normal family, but it was some time before I realised that Danny had committed the ultimate betrayal, the time would come when he would shag my mother. Still, it never made either of them happy. I didn’t realise it then but those two deserved each other.
Moments later we returned from behind the clubhouse. The deed was done once more, it was over again and Danny was pleased with himself, as he always was. I hadn’t enjoyed any of it but even at the age of fifteen, I knew instinctively how to fake it. Strange that women have this talent, sad though that we feel the need to employ it.

[Emms]

That's more or less the end of my childhood. I did write other stuff that happened, about my adult life with my mother and how she ended up having an affair with the boyfriend I called Danny. In the end he turned out to be as bad as her. As this is a forum about child abuse, I'd like to finish here.

There was a mess after that, a few suicide attempts, the self harming, leaving home, moving around and all kinds of things before I married and had my children. Roma still set me up, lied about me, manipulated me and my father esp after Danny finally left her. If you read the story you'll know about little Butch, the dog. Roma wanted that Yorkshire terrier so badly, she didn't want Butch anymore but Dad said no, too expensive and he didn't want more than one dog. So she killed Butch while I was out and when I got home she was wailing and bleating to my father, telling him I'd kicked it down the stairs and broken it's neck. Even Danny chose to believe her, for a time. But this was stuff happening to a grown woman now, I didn't handle it well but I survived it. My childhood was gone, what there was of it, I had to strart a new journey and it was difficult enough. Then, when all the abuse came back to me in my 30s, stuff I'd hidden in my own subconscious, I had to start the healing process. It took a long time, but somehow, I got there. Scarred, imperfect and never as I should have been, but I survived all the same. Thank you to anyone who took the time to read all that.