Success Story

4.

The end of 2009. After struggling through a year of Verity (admittedly, I did get into trouble for hitting her), Camilla (I might have hit her too) and my Dad (I wanted to hit him), I was ready as hell to leave and head back to London. Thankfully, we did.

Irritatingly, we had to stay with my grandparents for a while before Dad found a place for us to live, but I didn't care. I'd be back in my home city, never having to return to Leeds ever again. I'd never have to see Verity Adams ever again. Or either of the Dukes.

One thing that did change was that Ralph and Dad started talking again. They did become mates quite fast, mostly because Ralph found something on Dad's computer that he then entered into a competition that Dad won, and I guess Dad was grateful for that.

Oh, I don't really know what it was about. I was five, I didn't really care.

Dad may have grown closer to Ralph, but he drifted further apart from me again. He never read to me again, leaving me to read for myself. I was all out of kiddie books and had to read stuff that I found lying around that Dad had left somewhere. And there's only so many times you can re-read The Gruffalo without losing your mind.

Although I didn't understand all of the words in Dad's books, I definitely understood the bad ones. Before long, I knew that I knew too many swear words for my age when the rest of my age group were still giggling about the word "poo". Dad was quite surprised when I dropped the S-bomb after dropping a fork in the kitchen. He gave me a sideways glance, but didn't question me.

He stopped questioning me after he was called in when I hit Verity Adams. Still, even though I had to sit in the headmistress' office with Dad (who was put in a foul mood by this), it was worth that instant satisfaction of the look on her face.

I was sat on the train back with nothing to do. All my books and notepads and things that you entertained kids with in 2009 were packed into my suitcase on the overhead rail. Bored, I pulled Dad's book out of his rucksack he'd left open whilst he was napping and opened it. I hadn't read it yet, but that didn't matter.

It was fascinating, about murder. I sat completely enthralled about this serial killer for about half an hour, until I heard a chilling voice beside me.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dad glared at me. I slowly lowered the book, which he snatched out of my hand. "You shouldn't be reading this! You're five!" He glanced down at the page I'd just been reading and flinched at the gory detail of a woman's murder. He slammed the book shut and put it back in his bag (this time zipping it up).

Shame, it was an exciting book. Now I was bored. Again.

Dad shifted uneasily. He wanted to go back to sleep, but felt he couldn't. I mean, his kid could start reading that highly inappropriate literature again.

When the train pulled into Waterloo, I almost jumped off the train with excitement. I had seriously missed this city. Dad came after me, but a lot slower, carrying two suitcases and a small bag. He gave me the evils as he dragged my suitcase.

I didn't care though. I was too busy running towards my unloving grandparents, who were forced into very awkward hugs. I didn't care about that either though.

When Dad finally made it over to us, we all got in one of those black cabs and went back to Camden. I'd seriously missed this place.

Dad had tried to make small talk with his parents, because he didn't want to get into the deep stuff with me around. Either that or he was still disturbed in my interest in murder literature.

I couldn't help that feel that this was the start of a new chapter. The beginning of year one wasn't, but the beginning of year two would surely be very different. I was finally back in London. I'd waited three years.