House on the Hill.

Chapter 15 My mothers tears

Chapter 15

My Mother's tears
I don't know when the abuse started and it's not a subject that I asked her about very often. However, I'm pretty sure my dad hit her while she was pregnant with me, so it must have been in the earlier days when she first met him.
My father often had violent attacks of rage when he was drunk and angry or he had a bad day at the bookies. He was a monster and whoever stood in his way would suffer the consequences. Living in fear wasn't normal but it was the norm in our family.
My mother would always say to me, "What happens in the family stays in the family."
For the first seven years of my life, I watched my father beat up my mum. I have a vague recollection of a time when I tried to get between them, jumped in front of my mum and faced my father with every ounce of courage my tiny little body could hold, screaming at him, "Leave my Mummy alone!" I was just four years old at the time. The beatings were always behind closed doors so there were never any witnesses. To the outside world, he was a charming and educated man but he was inhuman, a sadistic and callous monster who got kicks and who would often laugh after my mother and I were beaten.
My mother often lightened our bruises with makeup, concealing them under shades of peach and beige. Whenever we had visitors she tried to hide the truth of what was going on in the house. Seared into my memory were the forceful, blunt sounds of bare knuckles colliding with my mother's face and torso. I remember the sight of ruptured blood vessels in her eyes. I recall my mother's piercing screams. I remember rounding the corner to the room where she was being assaulted. She was on the floor, lying on her back, with her hands extended upward trying to guard against the onslaught of punches from my dad standing over her. I often felt confused, betrayed, and frightened. The violence was frequent and was very violent. I did try to stop him before he would unleash another blow. And sometimes I managed to jump on his back trying to stop his blows against my mother's face but he was always too physically strong for me He was a giant towards me and was possessed.
One memory that would stand out for me long before my dad tried to strangle my mother in the hall way. I was just 8 years old and I didn't go to school on this day as I was ill. I was on my own upstairs in bed reading a comic. My father just came over and dragged me out of bed and started hitting me for no apparent reason. The Yelp of my cries alerted my mother who ran up the stairs and as always came to my rescue. A petite woman—barely over five foot five tall and maybe 130 lbs soaking wet—yet she was fearless. She yelled in his face to tell him that if he wanted to hit someone, he could hit her instead.
I sat on the floor crying as he dragged her across the landing and into their bedroom. The door closed behind them with what seemed to me, a thud of finality. This wasn't the first time he had beaten her but it wouldn't be the last. I heard her screaming, crying, desperate to escape, and I heard his almost whispered and sadistic tone as he tortured her. I felt powerless. The noise and chaos continued as the yells turned into sobs and her mutated attempts to let her go. I punched on the bedroom door and screamed for them to stop. With a burst of anger, I opened the door and told him to leave her alone. She broke free from him and started crawling towards me I remember her blue eyes meeting mine, her face streaked with tears, dirt and bruising. In contrast to hers, his dark, dead eyes met mine and he quietly said, "Close the door."
My father's larger-than-life form came up behind her, grabbed her ankle, and dragged her back in to the bedroom. I fell to the ground, feeling powerless (a feeling that lasted most of my life) and wept. I wanted to protect my mother and yet so desperately still wanted my father's approval and love, something I was never to gain. My mum's screams grew louder. I could hear pleas begging my dad to stop. It eventually did stop and my dad opened the door and laughed as he walked passed without saying a word. He went down stairs put on his coat and I heard the door shut behind him. My mother had blood on her face, on her scalp, bruises were already forming over her body, and yet, my father offered up a small scratch on his arms—defensive wounds of a small woman fighting to survive. She told me to ring for an ambulance and it wouldn't be long before the ambulance turned up at the house. She was sobbing as she looked in the mirror at her badly bruised and swollen face. She tried to talk but seemed to just mumble her words her left cheek seemed a bit distorted her mouth was crooked. I knew then she was badly hurt. She was cleaning herself up when I heard a loud bang on the door.
My mum spoke her famous words, "What happens in the family stays in the family. If they ask what happened, I fell down stairs. You listening Ian?" I opened the door and I could see the ambulance. My mum slowly came down the stairs holding the banister rail to stop her falling. The ambulance driver helped her into the ambulance and he asked my mum what happened.
She replied, "I fell down stairs."
He just looked at my mum shaking his head as if to say
that he didn't believe her. We arrived at Townleys hospital which was on Minerva Road, a short ride from my house. My mum was taken straight into a cubical. I wasn't allowed in and was told to wait in the waiting room. I was crying and frightened. I was worried about my mum and I knew she would lie to the doctors about what happened. It would be a good hour before the doctor came over to me and stroked my hair and said to me your mum will be ok.
"She has had an X-ray and she has a minor fracture on her jaw. She won't be needing any surgery. She will be allowed home but must take medication for her pain."
I sobbed on the doctor's arm. He then took me to see my mum who was lying on a bed. Her face was badly swollen her eyes blood shot and her left eye was starting to blacken and swell. She held my hand and told me not to worry and not to cry as she will be fine. We went home in the ambulance. Our next-door neighbour was looking through the window. Mum just waved and tried to smile with her disjointed smile. My dad kept away till the early hours; typical of his cowardice and arrogance. It would be nearly two months before my mum's face would eventually heal and she would carry on being a mother to us all such was her strength and loving ways.