A Fractured Fairytale

Chapter 14-Distance

Dad did return home. Eventually. However it wasn’t a pretty sight when we rushed to the door. The distorted figure outside, fumbling for his keys was slumped over as if his spine had snapped in two and as he burst through the door you could see that he wasn’t completely here, he had tuned out of reality. Maybe that was best for him, it was a better life than if he was tuned into reality. He says now that he doesn’t remember that night, the first night he left his children home alone, however it is still clear in my mind. I remember the slur of his words, the significant smell of alcohol clinging onto his breath as he spoke and worst of all his bloodshot eyes, filled with evil. The clock read 10:30pm when we were delivered into our beds and I think that that was the first time me and Belle had both stayed up past 8.00pm and so I was too tired to query my father about where he had disappeared to. Did he come across the nurse or did he go straight to the pub to drown his sorrows in alcohol? I had never been more terrified in my life, but I was also driven crazy with tiredness so once I knew that Belle was tucked up in bed, safe and sound, I dropped off to sleep myself. I would sleep now and face the world tomorrow.

It was the first time dad had left me and Belle alone in the house and it certainly wasn’t the last. Ever since that day dad had seemed distant to me, as if he wasn’t really my father anymore. I couldn’t use a ruler to measure how far apart we had grown, because no measurement would stretch far enough.

As the years passed by it almost seemed normal for dad to leave the house at his own accord and return hours later, a new level of drunk every time he walked through that door.

Belle’s first birthday came around, and second and third and fourth and dad forgot every single one. He forgot Belle’s first day at school. He forgot parents evening. The list was endless. This is the thing I hate him most for. His actions were unforgiveable: not celebrating his own daughter’s birthdays. He didn’t celebrate mine either, however I didn’t mind as much because I always found something to do or somewhere to go. I met Phoebe on most of my birthdays, but I vowed myself not to tell her about dad as I knew she would tell her mum. I could handle it without the help of Julia, I wasn’t young anymore, I was eleven years old and I was capable of dealing with my own problems. It was hard keeping quiet around Phoebe since she was my best friend and I was hers, she shared all of her secrets with me in trade for some of mine. I felt guilty when I made up silly little secrets to keep her entertained, however I had to do it for mine and Belle’s sake. I couldn’t tell anyone that my father was irresponsible and uncapable of looking after his own children otherwise they would come and take us away. When I was eleven years old I learnt who ‘they’ were. Careworkers. Careworkers who would split me and Belle up and put us in separate carehomes away from our home and father.

Julia turned out to be a mother who let Phoebe leave the house and meet up with her friends whenever she wanted and so Julia didn’t see much of me anymore. I was glad that she didn’t become suspicious.

Alfie was growing up to be a handsome young boy with dark hair and the biggest green eyes you could imagine. Phoebe was still the old Phoebe: chatty and very skinny and fragile, still unlike her mother and more like a china doll which would break if you dropped her. Her hair was still cut in exactly the same way and framed her skinny face, coming to a halt at her thin shoulders. Me and Phoebe would always speak about how one day I would marry Alfie, as he was only two years younger and catching up with me in height, and then me and Phoebe would be step sisters and live in Oakfield park where the fireflies lit up the rooms of our palace.