Czytaj książkę: «Blood Ties: Part 1 of 3: Family is not always a place of safety»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

My Girl

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

My Girl

My darling daughter, don’t you grieve.

I have not really gone,

It’s hard right now, but please believe,

I’ve been here all along.

I’ve watched with pride, how much you’ve grown,

I’ve shared your smiles and laughter,

I’ve felt your pain when you’ve been alone,

Praying for your happy ever after.

I thought I had more time with you,

Hoped we’d never be apart,

You make me proud, you really do,

I love you, my sweetheart.

Chapter 1

Bradford, August 1965

Kathleen was used to being invisible. In fact, she liked it that way, because when people didn’t see you, they couldn’t hurt you. It never lasted, though; it didn’t matter that she was curled up tightly on the couch, saying nothing; she knew it would only be a matter of time before her stepmother noticed her anyway.

Irene was screaming at Kathleen’s dad when it happened. ‘And what are you frigging staring at, you nosy little get?’ she yelled at Kathleen, her fat bosom heaving as she puffed herself up and pointed. ‘I bet you’re bleeding loving this, aren’t you? Him!’ She jabbed a finger towards her husband. ‘Picking on my poor Darren again!’

Kathleen hung her head, letting her hair provide a safety curtain, wondering how anyone could ‘love’ such a scene. Irene was now jabbing her finger into Kathleen’s dad’s side, and that was definitely a bad sign – it meant her stepmum was after a fight. The question wasn’t really a question, and she knew better than to try to answer anyway. She was just another target at which Irene could vent her anger. She drew in her breath – another reflex – and silently prayed that her dad would step in and take the attention back away from her.

John’s tone always grew quieter the more Irene’s increased in volume. Sometimes Kathleen thought this might be a good way to calm things down. At other times, she just wished he’d shout back louder. ‘Can’t you see what he’s doing, love?’ her father now said quietly. ‘It seems that everyone and his horse knows what’s going on but you. The lad’s got gambling fever, Irene!’ he added, with just a slight edge of exasperation. ‘He can’t possibly lose his wages every frigging Friday, can he? Every frigging week? Love, come on.’

Kathleen’s eyes widened in disbelief. Was he spoiling for a fight as much as she was? Yes, she was happy her dad had deflected Irene’s attention back to him again, but accusing her stepbrother of having gambling fever was going to rile Irene even more. She wished she could slip away, hole up in her bedroom – well, if bloody Monica wasn’t in there, anyway – but her way was blocked and, besides, she knew all too well that if she moved, she’d just become the target of Irene’s fury once again. She needed precious little encouragement to yell at her at the best of times.

Kathleen watched her stepmother puff herself up even further, like a balloon that was in danger of being blown up too much. ‘Gambling fever? Gambling fever!’ she screamed, predictably, her bust now almost bursting through her blouse. It was made of red satin, an even brighter shade than her hair, and was much too small for her; almost everything she liked to wear was. She lunged at her husband now, both fists hammering at his chest, and Kathleen was struck by what a ridiculous sight she looked, because her dad was a full ten inches taller. ‘You miserable twat!’ she yelled. ‘My poor boy gets robbed on his way home from work again – again! And do you have any sympathy? No, you do not! Be a different story if it was little miss prig over there, wouldn’t it? But, no – all you can do is call him a frigging liar! How dare you! You better shut your trap, John Adamson, or I swear, I’ll shut it for you. So help me, I will!’

Kathleen tried hard to see the humour. To hang on to the ridiculous image of her stepmother as a balloon that, once upon a time – how long ago was that? – would have at least made the shouting more bearable. But she’d lost the knack. Now it was all she could do to hold back the tears. All she wanted to do now was to simply open her mouth and scream. She was sick of it. Sick to death of it. Sick of the wretched, repetitive drudge of it. Sick of every day seeming to hold the stomach-churning potential for upset and violence and bile. Sick of living above a pub, wishing she could go back to being in school again. Wishing she could go anywhere – anywhere to escape this horrible place. She was sick of her entire life seeming now to revolve around it; the monotonous grind of working all hours in a job she could not detest more.

Most of all, though, Kathleen was sick of the family she’d inherited when her father, having taken over as landlord at the Dog and Duck had attracted – and married – this cow of a woman. That had been a day to remember – the day she’d always remember, as being the one where her old life had come to an end. The day she’d been gifted not just a wicked stepmother worthy of any gruesome fairy tale, but an ugly stepsister (ugly on the inside even if she wasn’t on the outside) and a stepbrother who, though he could occasionally be kind to her, was – as was so often the way with Darren lately – the root cause of her current misery.