I was proper domestic today. Pauline went to the Church Hall and helped with an afternoon party for five hours. I re-grouted the patio and then cooked lamb shanks in rosemary sauce, I also wrote the first three chapters of a story that is burning my brain, so here they are. I know it will all need to be rewritten, but I'd like any feedback, if you feel up to it.
There
are tears, and tears
Some people used to call me precocious. They were wrong.
That word implies intelligence and knowledge. The only thing I had in spades
was fear. It was a deep rooted fear that governed every day of my first few
years. It made me old before my time.
The source of my fear was my father, but if I was scared, my mother was terrified.
Apparently it all started a couple of months before I was
born. I’ve had to piece all of this together over quite a few years so some of
the facts may be a bit awry. From what I can gather my Mom and father had a
pleasant courtship, a happy wedding and a modestly joyous first year.
Then I started to become an influence. As I took shape
within my mother’s womb, not everything went right and so my mother abstained
from sex for a while. Father didn’t like that too much and, when, after I was
born, he was told he would have to wait another couple of months, he hit the
roof.
Mother never talked about this, I got most of what I know
from my grandmother, but not until she felt I was old enough to handle it.
My father started going out at night and the time came
when he didn’t come home until the next morning. He stank of perfume and stale
beer and mother questioned him. He went berserk. I’m told that his backhand
could send Mom flying across the room. The first time it happened he stood over
her and yelled, and yelled, and yelled.
Didn’t she realise that this was her fault? If she was a
proper wife, he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere for gratification. A man has
needs and it’s the duty of his wife to fulfil them. Fail in that duty and the
fault is hers.
Now, of course, I didn’t hear any of this. I was a few
months old only, but I have learned since that sometimes abusive partners can
be very manipulative. They can argue and harangue and be very convincing in
where the blame lies. The strength of my father’s backhand only added weight to
his arguments and mother learned to be very wary of his temper.
For the next year or so it, apparently, was not so
violent, but the first day came when he hit me. It seems I was being loud! I
was even louder when his punch sent me to the hospital.
Of course, he was in the vanguard in the rush to A&E
and was very convincing in his explanation about how I had 'fallen' and so badly
damaged myself. I became very wary of him, but it didn’t stop a few more
beatings over the next few years, to the point that I couldn’t be in the same
room as him.
Mom had no choice, and she had a far harder time than I
did. The beatings became more regular and occasionally severe. She ran out of
excuses for black eyes and started to keep herself away from everyone, my
grandparents included.
It all changed when I was seven. It was getting close to
Christmas and I was to be in a nativity play at school. Mom was making a
costume for me when father came in and demanded his dinner. Mom said she would
be finished in a couple of minutes and would do it straight away. He went
ballistic. He tore across the room and started to hammer at Mom, mercilessly. I
was sure he was going to kill her and I ran next door to Charlie.
Charlie was an elderly man, retired and keeping himself
to himself, especially after getting the sharp end of my father’s tongue one
day. When I pounded on his door and screamed that father was killing Mom, he
dialled 999 and then came round. That was when I first saw that my father was
actually a coward. He shouted at Charlie, who tried to get between Mom and my
father, and then the police were there and father was taken away.
Mom spent two days in hospital after that. I spent two
days with Gran and Granddad, and father spent two months in prison.
My mother, at that point, was a shadow of a person. Gran
said enough was enough and divorce proceedings were set in motion. I was eight
when the decree nisi absolute came through, and we had a party.
After the split, Mom had had the telephone removed,
because father often rang, late at night. We were having the party at Gran’s.
It wasn’t a grand affair but it was intended to mark a new direction for Mom
and me, one that was free from terror and pain.
Granddad had made their phone a private number after
father had been ejected from home. He did that because for the first few days
he also received verbal abuse from father, but now he didn’t know their number,
so when the phone rang that fateful Friday, Gran answered it without thought.
Father must have put on a posh voice because Gran called
Mom and said she thought it was the solicitor. When Mom answered the call you
would have thought she had been struck by lightning. She was truly, truly
terrified.
“It’s him!” I remember the look of abject fear. “He knows
we’re here and he’s coming. He says he’s going to kill me.”
Chapter two
In a very clear state of shock, Mom bundled me out of the
house and into her little Polo. She set off from Gran’s for the mile journey
back home, where the plan was to barricade the doors and call the police if he
came anywhere near. There was a restraining order on him, but apparently he
didn’t think that really counted for much.
We live in Kenilworth Drive. To get there from Gran’s you
go down the Birmingham Road, turn into Ivanhoe Road and then left into
Kenilworth Drive. Anyone who knows Lichfield knows that Ivanhoe Road is a bit
tight for two way traffic, but 100 yards into the road you have to go under the
railway bridge, and unless you both keep way over to the left it’s one way
traffic only.
Mom’s head certainly wasn’t on her driving when she
turned off the Birmingham Road, and she clearly didn’t see that green pickup
truck that was already coming under the bridge. Mom was too far over to the
right and suddenly there was impasse. Both cars came to a halt and the man
driving the pickup clearly expected Mom to pull back.
Mom obviously didn’t contemplate that. In fact, she sat
gripping the steering wheel and started to shake.
The man got out of the pickup. There was somebody behind
him, so he couldn’t back up. He came over to us and spoke through the window.
“Lady, you’re way too far over. You’ll have to back up and let us through.”
Mom looked straight ahead and said “Please don’t shout at
me.” That was the last thing she said for two days.
The man said “I’m not shouting at you, I’m stating the
obvious.”
Then Mom’s head went down. She slumped. She was in
another world.
I told the man, very forcefully “Don’t you shout at my
Mom, you great big bully!”
He looked at me and I’d never seen so much kindness on a
face.
He went back to his pickup and spoke to the driver behind
him, who backed up as far as he could. The man then backed his pickup and
parked it well over to the left. Then he came back to us.
He opened the car door and said to Mom, “Come on love.
Let’s get you out of this.”
He started to pull her out and I screamed at him. “Take
your hands off my Mother. Don’t you dare hurt her.”
Then he opened the door by the side of me and gently
eased Mother in beside me. I clung to her. The man got in the front and started
to drive.
“Where do you live, I’ll take you home.”
I told him and he drove the few hundred yards to the
front of our bungalow.
He parked the car, got out and came to help Mom out. I
followed and he told me to open the front door. I looked at Mom because she had
the key, but she was in a different world. She seemed stunned and oblivious. I
opened her handbag, took the keys and opened the front door. The man gently led
Mom into the house.
Our bungalow is small and cramped for space. You enter
into a hall way in the centre of the house. To the left is the main bedroom. To
the right is the kitchen and a small utility room. Through into the lounge that
takes up three quarters of the rear, over to the right there is the small
second bedroom and the bathroom/toilet.
Not very luxurious, but I had mastered the art of hiding
from father in that small second bedroom so the rest of the house had meant
very little to me.
Inside the lounge there was a small television over by
the main rear window with a settee along the back wall. There was also a table
with four chairs, a sideboard, and very little else.
The man pulled a chair from the table and sat Mom in it.
Then he took another chair and set it off to one side, but facing the first,
like a lovers’ seat. He eased Mom into the chair and then sat facing her, his
hands on her shoulders as if he was afraid she would fall over if he let go.
“My name’s Ben.” He offered. I just glared at him.
“And you are called?”
“Jackie.” I don’t know why I told him. He had turned my
Mother into a zombie.
“And this lady?”
I glared. I’d perfected a glare that I thought could turn
my enemies into stone. It didn’t work on Ben so I said “Mrs Webb.”
He smiled. He was showing a patience that I couldn’t
subscribe to. “Her Christian name would help.”
“Mary.” I growled.
He smiled, put his finger to his lips to command silence,
and drew Mother to him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her head to
his shoulder, and then just held her. For an hour.
All this time I never moved myself. I didn’t realise that
my fists were clenched.
Suddenly there was a terrible hammering at the door. I
thought it was going to break down, but we hadn’t locked in and it burst open
and my father came in, incandescent with rage.
He pointed at Mother and screamed “You are dead!”
Mother jerked back from her reverie, looked quickly at me
(I was fast getting out of the way), and every bit of colour went from her
face.
I did my own screaming. I yelled at him and said “Don’t
you dare touch her! I’m calling the police.” But of course, we didn’t have a
phone and I would have to get past him to get next door to Charlie.
He pointed at me. If his arm had been a lance he would
have stabbed me with it. “You do not talk to your daddy like that! You will
have to be taught a lesson.”
I was eight years of age. I had seven years of memories
of misery and hurt, of terror and torment. I let him have it. “You are not my
daddy! A daddy is someone who would love me and cuddle me and comfort me. You
are my father and I can’t change that but you will never, ever be my daddy.”
I saw the fury and the hatred in his face and I was very,
very scared.
Ben let go of my Mother and stood to face my father.
“You are clearly not welcome here. You had better go.” It
was so matter of fact. Just a statement. No threat, no raised voice, just “Go.”
My father was close to slobbering. “And you’re going to
make me?”
And Ben said “Yes.”
Ben left Mother, went to my father, grabbed his flailing
arms, tensed, and lifted him, straight armed, right off the floor. Then he
flung him, like a pillow or a cushion, with no effort and totally uncaring.
Father flew back and crashed into the wall. Before he could do anything in
reprisal, Ben grabbed him and dragged him outside.
“Is that your car?” he demanded. I followed. I was
mesmerised. I wanted to crow with joy. This terrible, terrible bully was
getting his comeuppance. Ben dragged my father to the car, opened the front
door and pushed him in. Then he did something I could not believe. Still can’t
believe.
Ben walked to the front of the car (the heavy end), bent
his knees, grasped the bumper – and lifted the front end of the car clean off
the ground. Then he slammed it back down so that the car screeched in protest
and rocked. Ben opened the door again, put his hand on my father’s shoulder,
squeezed and said “You are not welcome here. Do not come back again, ever!
Because I will be here waiting for you and I will not be so gentle next time!”
My father was out of our street and out of our lives, and
we never saw him again.
We didn’t know, at that moment, that he was gone for
good. I was very frightened that he would come back, but I can tell you that he
actually left Lichfield within a few weeks, left his mind within a few months,
lost his liberty and........
I don’t know if he is alive or dead, and I don’t care.
Chapter three
Ben took me back in to the house, put the kettle on, made
me a drink, and then sat with Mother the same way as before. I couldn’t speak.
I just sat there watching the two of them, for two long hours, until Mother was
asleep.
When she was clearly totally relaxed and breathing that
deep sleep pattern, Ben crooked his finger at me and I went over, being careful
to stay out of arms reach.
“Your Mother needs to go to bed. Go and pull the
bedclothes back, there’s a good girl.”
I went to the bedroom and pulled the covers back. Ben
followed, carrying Mommy like a baby. He laid her in the bed, fully clothed,
gently took her shoes off, drew the covers back over her, closed the curtains
and ushered me out.
“Let’s get you fed.” He said as he followed me across to
the kitchen. I didn’t want to eat anything, my insides were too churned up, but
he insisted. There was no real food so he gave me a bowl of porridge. I was
eating it, warily, when he walked to the front door.
“Where are you going?” I sounded very panicky.
“I’m going to get my truck. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in
five minutes.”
“But my father...”
“Will never bother you again. I’ll see to that.” And he
was gone.
I really thought he was leaving, but five minutes later
he was parked next to Mom on the drive and he came in and locked the front
door.
I finished my meal. It wasn’t very late but I was
drained. I started to shake and he told me to go to bed. I asked what he was
going to do and he said he would sleep on the settee. Not to worry. He would
still be there in the morning, and he was.
That's it so far. Should I carry on?
Here's the rest of it.
Chapter four
When
I woke the next morning, Ben was still there. I went straight to Mommy and she
was still fast asleep, exactly as we had left her. I don’t think she’d even got
out of bed to have a pee. I spoke to her but she didn’t stir.
In
the kitchen, Ben made me some more porridge and then said that this wasn’t good
enough. He was going out and would be an hour or so. I thought that would be
the last we saw of him.
I
went and sat by Mom. I held her hand but she didn’t move. I don’t know how long
I was there, it might have been a couple of hours. Then I heard the front door.
I
froze. I thought it was my father.
Ben
stuck his head round the door and beckoned me out. He had bags of food, a
suitcase and a folding camp bed. He told me he lived with his sister whilst he
was saving to buy a house and that moving in with us would not be a problem. I
didn’t question it.
Over
the next two years I learned a lot about Ben. He was a landscape gardener. For
eight months of the year he earned a very good living and during the winter
months he just did garden maintenance. That gave him the flexibility that was
necessary during those early days with us, when he barely left us alone.
Mother
slept for the whole of that Saturday. I had to keep checking to make sure she
was alive. Ben cleared out the utility room, put up the bed and brought in a
suitcase. He lived out of that suitcase for the next two years.
It
turned out he was quite a useful cook. He fed me well that day, and the next.
Mom came out of the bedroom on the Sunday, seeming very disoriented, but didn’t
question that Ben was there. He cooked for us, cleaned the house, but said very
little. That was the pattern for the next few weeks.
It
seems strange, looking back, that we never questioned that Ben was living with
us. He was the rock we needed. He was our safety.
One
day, in the summer, he was watching Charlie next door. Charlie would take his
chair out into the garden and just sit there, for hours. Ben climbed over the
low fence that separated our gardens and squatted down beside Charlie. I’d
noticed that about Ben. He was two feet taller than me but always brought his
head down to my level when he talked to me. He never talked down to anyone.
He
sat on the grass looking in the same direction as Charlie. After a while he
said, quietly, “What are we looking at?” Charlie didn’t turn his head, just
murmured “Field mice, in the corner.”
Charlie
had a wildlife-friendly garden. He had a stack of compost in the one corner and
a big pile of twigs and such close by. He encouraged the mice, hedgehogs,
squirrels, and every kind of bird. He spent hours in that garden, just sitting
there and watching a different kind of life go by.
We
didn’t know that at first but once we understood, Charlie ceased to be an
eccentric and became ‘that lovely man next door.’ Ben made that happen.
Those
first two years were such a blessing to Mom and me. The fear took quite a while
to fade, I still jumped at my own shadow, but once it was clear that my father
truly was gone, we started to have a proper life.
Mom
was still quite withdrawn, but I found a freedom I had never known. I could
have friends at school and even invite them home! I could have books and watch
films. All things that I had never had in the first eight years of my life. I
didn’t quite realise what we’d never had until we started to have them. That
was thanks to Ben.
It
was the summer of my tenth year when life changed yet again. It started out
quite an innocuous kind of day. It was a Saturday and the sun was shining. Mom
had stopped looking scared a year ago but she still didn’t seem quite real. Ben
just chugged along, working hard during the day and helping me with my homework
and such in the evening.
Mom
ran a bath and climbed into it. Ben went outside and started to clean his
pickup. I tidied up the kitchen and then went out to watch Ben.
He
had a hosepipe to wash the truck down and then started to buff it up with a
duster. It was only a work vehicle but he was a tidy person. I don’t know what
made me do it, but it changed everything, yet again.
I
just kept looking at the hosepipe, and at Ben, and without thinking about it
much I picked the hosepipe up, pointed it at Ben, and let him have it. I soaked
him, top to toe.
He
just looked at me. Then he came for me. I squealed and he reached down, grabbed
my ankles and hoisted me upside down. I screamed but he just carried me, very
easily, into the house. He marched into the bathroom where my Mother was up to
her boobs in the bath. Ben said nothing, he just held me upside down over the
bath – and dropped me!
I
went head first into the water. Mom pulled her legs out of the way and just
looked in amazement. I surfaced, righted myself and bawled at Ben. “Are you a
mad man? Daddy, don’t you ever do that again!”
The
world stopped.
The
realisation of what I had just said sank in. Mom had an amazed look on her
face. Ben cried. Silently, but tears just streamed down his face. He turned and
left the bathroom.
That
was when I realised what had been missing in our life for the past two years.
Tears.
I
looked at Mom, she looked at me, then she did something I had never known her
do.
She
laughed.
She
laughed until the tears ran down her face too. I laughed as well and then I
started to cry. I had never been so happy.
Mom
pulled herself together. “Out, young lady. Enough people have seen my boobs
today.”
I
got out of the bath, stripped off my soaking clothes and wrapped a bath towel
around me. I went out and over to my room to get fresh clothes. Ben was staring
out of the window. He said nothing.
I
pulled some clothes on and went back into the lounge. Mom came out of the
bathroom with a dressing gown on. She looked at Ben and said “I think we need
to make some changes.”
Ben
looked at her quizzically and Mom said “Jackie will be going to King Eddy’s
from the autumn. She needs to take her education seriously. I think we need to
turn the utility room into a study. You can’t sleep there anymore.”
Ben
looked devastated, but simply nodded and went straight to his room. There was
only his suitcase and the bed. He pulled the case out and collapsed the bed.
“That
will have to go as well.” said Mom.
Ben
just nodded and pulled the bed out. The room was now bare. He turned to say
something but Mom got in first.
“Get
rid of that bed and put your case in my room. There’s room in there for the
both of us.”
The
realisation of what she had said sank in. None of us spoke, but the tears
started again. I cried, Ben cried and Mom cried.
Ben
took the suitcase into the bedroom, Mom followed him in – and closed the door.
I
didn’t see them again for two hours.
Chapter Five
The
next six years were wonderful. Mom was happy. I had never known her happy. Ben
was solid. He was always there to help me understand my schoolwork. He was
always there for a cuddle, or a laugh. I took my school life seriously and Ben
helped me find the joy of learning. We both learned.
Mom
and I both forgot to be scared. We both learned to laugh and I didn’t see
another tear in our house until the letter came to say that I had been accepted
into Oxford.
Yes,
Oxford!
I
was going to do history and English Literature. The subjects that Ben had
awoken in me.
The
tears that day were of joy. They didn’t stream, they glistened in the eyes of
all of us. Mom and Ben were so proud. Their daughter was going to Oxford!
Yes,
there was no question by now. Ben truly was my daddy.
They
took me down to Oxford when it was time. They hugged me goodbye and said this
was an experience that would live with me the rest of my life. I was to enjoy
it to the full, but never forget I was there to work.
I
had been at Oxford just two days when I met Justin. I didn’t tell him straight
away, but I knew this was the man I was going to marry.
Justin
was great, He was funny and he was serious. He was caring and he became loving.
I gave myself to him on his twentieth birthday. I couldn’t think what else to
give him.
Mom
and Dad knew I had a boyfriend at uni but they’d never met him. I took him home
for the first time in the summer of 2010. My parents were still living in the
little bungalow, but it wasn’t the house of my childhood. It was a home,
lovingly cared for.
I
was a bit wary when I led Justin through the front door. Mom just stared at him
with total amazement on her face. Ben took his hand and made him feel welcome
and at home. Justin came from a well to do family and they had a very smart
home, but you’d have to go a long way to find a house with as much love in as
our home.
Ben
took Justin off for a get to know you chat. Mom tugged me into the kitchen and
said “Your boyfriend is a clone of your Dad.”
I
hadn’t noticed it. Really I hadn’t, till Mom said that. But it was true. They
looked like father and son. I told Mom, “Well, if he’s half as good as the chap
you’ve got, I’ve done OK,”
That
was palpably true. Those two were two thirds of the most important people in my
life.
We
didn’t let on that we were sleeping together, but Ben knew straight away, and
Mom was only a step behind. They could see the bond that existed between Justin
and me. So could his parents when we finally met. It was no surprise to anyone
that we were going to marry.
We
waited until we had both graduated. We knew we had to be sensible and formulate
a solid path for our future. Justin was offered a research job in Leamington
and I cast my net and found a post in Warwick, so we moved to Henley in Arden
just after we got married.
Yes,
we got married, on June 14th 2014. We married in Lichfield and the
church was full with the friends we had never had for the first ten years of my
life. I stood next to my man at the altar and tears of happiness flowed yet
again. Dad stood to make his speech at the reception and tears of happiness
flowed yet more.
I
thought we were all cried out.
We
were heading back to Lichfield from Henley almost two years later, March the 12th
2016. I sat quietly in the car as Justin drove us north. I thought about the
tears. The first years of my life when tears meant pain and terror. The next
sixteen years when the only tears were of joy.
I’d
seen Mom cry from pain and heartache. I’d seen her weep with joy. I’d only ever
seen tears from Ben when he was happy or proud. I realised that it was usually
me that had brought those tears to his eyes.
I
was going to do it again, when we got to Lichfield and I could tell my parents
that I was pregnant.
