The sound of the crumbling gravel, as Mum’s coffin car pulled up outside the church doors. I still remember the sound and feeling, as I glanced up to see her in a box for the first time; not her twinkling green eyes staring into mine.
Mum died of cancer; she had it for about a year before, she fought it off slowly day by day. They said there was only one small growth left, all almost gone, and that everything would be okay. But that growth wouldn’t go, it kept getting stronger and stronger and then finally beat her in the fight. I didn’t tell my little brothers the details; they were only 5 and 7 so they wouldn’t understand. When they kept asking ‘Is Mummy okay?’ I would just say “Mums a bit poorly, but don’t worry she’s fine.” But when they asked me will she be okay near the end, and I knew she wouldn’t, it was the hardest lie I have ever had to tell.
That day was the start of a new life for me. Dad went A-WOL after the funeral, started drinking and not coming in until 3 or 4 in the morning. After that day I was the new Mum. When I would come home from school I would cook and clean and I do all the jobs Mum used to do. I would try to find any extra odd jobs for people cleaning cars, walking dogs; you know that sort of thing to get money. But my main job as Mum, was to be that comforting voice to my little brothers, the one that rocks them to sleep and tells them everything is going to be okay. I was the strong one; I didn’t have anyone to comfort me. We need the money, because Dad spent all his job earnings on drink. Sometimes there would be the extra £10 a month, but otherwise we were on a constant struggle.
School isn’t my best point. I had to be the big girl at home, but in school I’m really shy. I’m nothing special, average in lessons and not really pretty, just normal black hair and emerald green eyes, so luckily I don’t stand out. I don’t have any confidence or time inside and outside of school for friends, so in school I’m alone quite a bit. It would be nice to have someone to talk to and trust. I keep Dad being an alcoholic a secret; I’m scared people will judge me.
Every day was the same hard struggle, until one day mine and my brothers life’s changed drastically for the better.
I was woken up at 6:30am on a cold misty winter morning, bythe deafening beep of my alarm clock. I got my brothers up ready and dressed, over the background noise of Dad’s snoring. He got up at 8, and stumbled into work 15 minutes later. He doesn’t have much of a job, he’s a bin-man; the pay isn’t much, about £408 a week. It seems a lot saying it, but with bills and food there isn’t much left for us. We sat down and ate breakfast, Weetabix and honey, then left for school. We walk. I dropped them off at their primary school and then walked onto my school; Stanford High Elementary. I had a normal day, and then the drama started. I picked my brothers up from and we walked home. When we got home Dad wasn’t there like he usually is when we get home at around about 4:30pm. I was worried, has he hurt himself, why isn’t he home?
He stumbled in at 7:30pm after a long and worrying wait. He was drunk, very drunk. I couldn’t really understand a word he was saying. I asked him were he had been, even though I could already tell. He said he was at a friend’s.‘You’ve been drinking haven’t you’ I say, he swears not. Then we have big argument. When he got in hewas in a rage he didn’t care or really know what he was doing. Then something I thought would never happen, even when he’s drunk. He hit me around the head and then stormed out, I lay on the cold stone floor I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I felt kind of woozy and dizzy, my brothers were stood over me crying. I remember them saying to me ‘please don’t leave us with him, wake up please wake up!’
I was okay, my head was quite sore but I was fine. After that I knew had to do something, just in case he did again and hurt my brothers. I got up and phoned social services. They came in half an hour or so, and I explained everything to them. Then camea very important question, it was a hard one to make, but the right thing to do for all of us. They asked me, ‘Do we want to go into care?’ I said ‘yes’. 10 minutes later we got in the car and drove. My brothers weren’t that upset, he wasn’t ever a warm loving Dad. I looked back and felt sorry for him, about the experience he was about to endure; a court trial for abuse. But then I remembered what I went through. Then I stopped remembering the past and, and remembered that hopefully we will get adopted or a foster family soon, and be loved, were I can become a child again, and finally I can start looking forward to the future.
