Authors: D. G Torrens
I was in the year above Jake
,
but we always met up at break
times, and after school I
wait
ed
for Jake outside the school gates so we could walk home togeth
er. We had a dog called Sooty.
I cannot remember how or w
hen we took her into our home,
but I always remember how she met us at the school gates every day. S
ooty loved us and was so loyal;
we took her everywhere with us. As we went through the gates
, Sooty jumped
all over us
,
wagging her ta
il.
Jake and I would smother her with kisses as we were just as pleased to see her.
On our arrival home from school one day
,
we walked into the house and w
ere
greeted by our mother who stood in the
hallway, crying. T
here was a
neighbour
consoling her. When she saw me, she came at me like a crazed
woman,
giving me the biggest almighty slap
on the face. S
he started using her fists and was punching me hard in the face, holding a letter in her hand
,
waving it at me
,
screaming
,
“
T
his is
all your fault, you stupid bitch!
”
I had no idea what she was talking about and no idea what I had done
,
but apparently I had done something
. No matter what went wrong in M
oth
er’s life, she always blamed me.
T
here w
ere
times when she would scream at
me, “I wish you were never born,
I never really wanted you at all, and you’re just like your father.” I started to realize that I was a permanent reminder
of
Christopher,
my father, and
she was taking her hate for him out on me.
Mother had something new to blame
me for with Uncle Steven’s departure;
she laid into me with both fists as I curled up into a ball. The
neighbour
, along with Jake, used all their strength to pull her off me. I ran upstairs and hid in my room with my head
buried
in my pillow
,
sobbing my heart out. She never apologized for that or explained how in the world it was m
y fault. What we did discover was
that the letter from Uncle Steven
revealed he
was to break off the engagement
,
as his son had passed away and he just could not go through with the wedding, for reasons I do not know to this day. As the days passed by
,
our mother became more and more volatile and more depend
e
nt o
n the drink.
S
he never picked us up from school, she never walked us to school, and she was never up before midday unless there was a visit from the Social Worker
. T
hen she would make the usual effort to hide the truth about how we were really living. She had reverted back to her old awful self.
At almost
nine
years old, I felt totally responsible for Jake
,
Jenny
,
and Susie. I did as much as someon
e my age could do to amuse them
and keep them out of our mother’s way, but there was always a
reason for her to slap me or
strike me with the dog
chain if it was at hand;
the dog chain was my least
favour
ite as this hurt the most.
School was a safe place, a friendly place, the only place where we could be our true selves. I never walked home from school witho
ut Jake, not ever.
W
e used to tease each other on the walk home and prol
onged it as much as possible because
there was nothing to hurry hom
e for. Sometimes we would play Knock and R
un all the way home, sometimes being chased by the annoyed
occupants! We loved that game;
all the kids on the estate pla
yed Knock and R
un. One day when we arrived home there was no answer
,
so
we walked around to the back gate and climbed over, letting ourselves in through the unlocked back door and walked into the house
. We found
our mother passed out on the sofa surrounded by empty bottles.
My immediate thought was that M
other was dead. Both Jake and I filled with fear, not knowing what to do at first. I gently touched her face
,
hoping this would rouse her, and after a few attempts she opened her eyes.
“Amelia
,
what time is it
?
” she asked.
“Four o’clock, Mom,
”
I replied nervously.
“Don’t lie to me
, you bitch. W
hy are you not at school?” Then she reached up and grabbed my hair
,
pu
lling me close to her face.
“Don’t lie to me I said
.” T
hen she slapped me hard across the face.
“Mom, we have been to school. I promise it’s nearly tea time.
Jenny is due to be dropped off
anytime
soon.”
Mother sat up from the sofa, her hair stuck to the side of her face, yelling at me to get out and
to
take Jake with me.
Jake and I
ran
upstairs to change out of our school uniform
s, and then
went outside to wait for Jenny’s special school van to drop her off. The side of my face was bright red and stinging. I wiped the tears
from my face and looked at Jake. H
e just smiled at me and said
,
“
D
on’t let her get to you
,
Amelia
,
she’s not worth it
.”
In front of our house was a fantastic steep hill,
and houses dotted each side of the hill
. We took our old
handmade
skateboards to the top and lay down flat with our arms stretched out like a bird,
and
then w
e would race down to the bottom.
A
ll the kids used to line up and take turns flying down this hill on their skateboards; it was great fun and ke
pt us busy for hours upon hours.
B
ut this day we had to keep a watchful eye out for Jenny to return home. She was almost
three
years old and attended a special nursery school for the physically disabled. As the van approached
,
I
ran toward it to collect Jenny.
T
he driver asked where my mother was
.
I told him she was unwell and
lying down
.
I said goodbye and
carried Jenny into the house
.
M
other was in t
he kitchen cursing to herself. S
he told us all to go and watch television quietly
while she was preparing dinner;
there was no sign of the bottles on the floor or the overflowing ashtray that greeted us when we came home from school earlier. We all sat down for our dinner
in relative silence. T
he table
,
which was simply
laid out with knives and forks, looked sparse and uninviting.
There was a large plate in the middle of t
he table full of buttered bread
and salt and pepper pots on either side.
We ate in silence and were then ordered to bed soon after. Mother had made it abundantly clear that if she hear
d one sound from any of us
she would not be held responsible for her actions.
This was how life continued for a while.
W
hen weekends arrived
,
Jake and I spen
t all our time outside.
W
e would take our battered
second hand
bikes on adventures for miles armed with a puncture kit and jam sandwiches
,
which we had made for ourselves that morning. We would cycle to our
favour
ite pl
ace—
the old ruin with the sumptuous orcha
rd! Oh how I loved this place;
it was so magical and full of life. One day we walked around th
e old ruin looking for a way in.
T
he windows were
all
boarded up with corrugated iron,
but
we were so curious to see inside
because
we had dreamt up all kinds of theories as to who
once lived there, what had happened to them, and
why it was left to ruin. As we came to the large window at the bottom right
of the building, we saw a way in;
it looked like someone had tried before us.
How dare they
,
I thought,
this was our place, Jake and Amelia’s.
We pulled back the bent iron sheet just eno
ugh so we could squeeze through. I climbed in first,
and then Jake followed.
It was very dark and dank inside.
We stuck close by one another as we set about on our adventure inside the old ruin. We were awestruck at the she
er enormity of the place.
As we made our way toward
the stairs
,
I turned around to look at Jake.
“I’m ok
ay
, carry on
,
” he said confidently.
The stairs were very unsafe, parts of which were missing. T
here was no banister
and lots of missing steps, so
we very carefully climbed the stairs mindful not to fall into the empty holes that were once steps. As we reached the top there was a rustling sound com
ing from a room on the far left.
Our
he
arts stopped for just a second.
W
e were frozen to the spot,
and
then all of a sudden and without warning, a very scruffy
,
dirty man with scraggly hair appeared in front of us. We jum
ped out of our skins screaming and
ran all the way downstairs and back outside into the orchard.
From that day forth
,
we never
attempted to go inside the ruin;
however
, we did
make
many more visits to the orchard.
T
he old man who was living in
the ruin was homeless, nameless, and
he never bothered us and we never bothered him again.
Things became so bad at home following my mother’s drunken
spree. I
t was as if she had forgotten that she had any children at all. Scenes like this became the norm with the days that followed. One Sunday w
e were all sitting down to dinner
an
d Mother was in a very bad mood.
We all
sat
there
very quietly not daring to speak. Mother
came into the room and sat down.
I was sitting opposite her, not feeling very hungry and so not wanting my dinner. Mother went ballistic and called me an ungrateful bitch, then without warning she stood up, reached across the table
,
and gave me the most almighty slap around the face, knocking my dinner
all over me in the process.
I
t was so une
xpected it took me by
complete surpri
se and almost knocked me off my
chair.
I
then shouted
,
“I hate you
!” and she hit me again.
So I ran out
the back door through the garden and leaped over the fence.
I ran down the hill toward
the main road and sat on the grass bank crying. Before I knew what was happening
,
my mother came r
unning around the corner toward
me
,
calling
me all the names under the sun.
S
he
grabbed me by my hair and dragged me all the way up the hill back home, all the while
shouting and screaming.
E
veryone was looking out of their windows, children st
opped playing and pointed at us;
it was humiliating to say the least.