Marjorie (a backstory)

Mother

My mum always hated me.

It was like a competition with her, who was prettiest, smartest, funniest?

My stepdad started it all, to be honest.

When Marjorie was 13:

'Marjorie, go get changed, your stepdad is coming over.' My mother said harshly, not looking at me.

'Why should I? Can't he keep his hands to himself?' I asked, annoyed. I was only wearing denim shorts and a t-shirt. It was a very hot day after all.

I felt the hand across my face at once.

'You bitchy young lady' she spat, throwing me a dirty look.

I ran upstairs, only allowing myself to sob after I retreat to my room. I look at my face, and see the blood starting to pour from the cut in my cheekbone.

I gently clean it and put a plaster on it, I hope it doesn't scar.

I change into baggy joggers and run down the stairs, deciding to not even look in mum or stepdad's direction. God how I miss my real father. My mum only married into the Van-Goulds for money anyway.

'Even in jogging bottoms, you're still a fat cow' my mother hissed in my ear.

My eyes brimmed with tears. I knew I was fat, but hearing my own mother say it hurt me. I ran up to her room and hoisted my jumper up.

'Fat ugly gut' I groaned, slapping it. Truthfully, there was nothing wrong with me. I was very much the perfect weight. But I guess, as a wise woman once said, sometimes people are products of their environment.

I decided it then and there. I was going on a strict diet until I was 'skinny' enough to fit my mother's standards. I hadn't realised it yet, but my mother's standards were really just a competition.