A little love goes a long way

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Growing up, Sophie was just like the other children. She had two parents, a younger brother and a few pets. She laughed and played tag with her close friends at the park, like any five years old would do. Helping out with the dishes, having bubble fights with her parents, her infant brother helplessly imitating her every move, idolising his big, brave sister. That would never really change. Going on family walks with their family dog Ludo, a smaller than average Great Dane. Making macaroni art - you name it, she was normal, and she was most excited about her soon-to-be baby brother.

A month before her sixth birthday, that was the date Sophie's Mother was due to give birth, yet sadly another child did not grace the Wallace family, at least, not alive.

'Joseph Sam Wallace was born, yet he never truly lived. 9th May - 9th May. You will rest with the angels', that's what it read on his gravestone. After the birth, her Mother never truly was the same. Shutting out her family, neglecting her duties as a Mother, as a caretaker, as a wife, and when she did appear, it was if she wasn't even there, you probably couldn't tell the difference. A glossy look in her eye, pillow cradled in her arms and a whimper in her voice as she cooed to said pillow. After a few months of repeating these actions, she came back, yet, she detested Sophie - hated the sole fact that she lived and Joseph didn't, yet she favoured Sophie's four-year-old brother Jake, Sophie didn't mind. He held a striking resemblance to Joseph - her Mother thought, and she made sure to voice it often.

It was clear that the Wallace family household had changed.

Drastically.

Neighbours heard cries of anguish at night, replacing the peals of laughter they previously might have heard, the children hardly smiled when they left the house, if ever. Neighbours started questioning Sophie as she walked to the nursery, her hand gripped tightly by her Father's own hand. Asking if she and Jake needed a safer adult, offering her Father a break for a few days if they needed it, they would look after the children, yet they just kept their heads down and picked up their paces, she tried as hard as she could to match her father's stride with her short legs.

No more piggybacks.

Their father hardly noticed, lost in his own world, surrounding himself with sport and making sure he was diving head-first into work as often as he could, resulting in his tiredness, and willingness to side with his wife no matter the argument or point, losing all traces of his former, lovably sarcastic and witty self, heck, even his philosophical nature disappeared, just a shell who grunted yes when necessary or shook no. Parroting his wife's words.

Park visits became less frequent, Sophie's friends first questioned why she no longer played tag with them after school, feeling as though she disliked them. It hurt her, but she recited the words her mother imprinted on her. 'Jake's unwell, I need to help Mommy look after him' or 'Grandpa came to visit for the week, so I can't play' and every other week in between, 'my toys are everywhere, I need to tidy my room.' Soon enough, they stopped asking her, as a matter of fact, they stopped talking to her in general.

No more party invites, or play dates, no more snack times together or nap times. They wouldn't draw her pictures any more, nor would they chose her for a group project, leaving her to partner with the teacher or Kyle, he didn't have any friends, except the nits in his hair. He was nice, but her Mum told her off for spending time with him, giving her an extra beating for contracting his head-lice. No more Kyle. No more friends.

Well, she had Jake, so one friend, and Akazame, though she left in April, so Sophie hoped they were still friends. But Jake constantly admired Sophie, if she could climb two steps at a time, so could he. If she could get dressed in a minute flat, so could he. If their Mother told her to recite the five times tables, Jake would learn the words off by heart. He could do it, if it would impress his brave big sister, who took the hits even when he was the one who messed up, she would take it with a pained smile, telling him it was okay, and counting out loud how long it took for him to race up the stairs, it was just a game, she'd be up soon, she said. He always fell for it.

Soon Sophie's toys started to go missing. She first assumed Jake, but when asked, he truthfully told her he only took Mr Snuggles, and that was only when Mommy had a few drinks. She asked her Father, he ignored her, and she hesitated before asking her Mother, that was when Sophie learned that it would have been safer if she kept her questions to herself, no matter what. Obey the rules, don't talk back or complain, don't ask questions or grumble when talked to.

Clearly, the Wallace family were all unhealthy, horrible creatures, created from the pits of hell, right?

Wrong.

There were two saints, Grandpa Brian and Nana Rose, in Sophie's young mind, they were angels. Scrap that, no matter how old Sophie got, they were angels.

Nana Rose had the warmest smile on puckered lips as if she'd just made an inside joke and was holding herself back from laughter that was threatening to spill, warm hazel eyes and bushy greying hair in a 40's pinup style, her signature pearl slides keeping each strand in place. Hugs from Nana Rose were those of legend. Calming, safe, hope-filled, with the lingering smell of talcum powder and soap. Wrinkled fingers pinched Sophie's cheeks lovingly and played nimbly with Jake's growing hair. Hard to believe she was the Mum of Sophie's Mother.

Grandpa Brian was Sophie's salvation, her rock in a hard place, not to mention her idol and inspiration as she grew, not that there was favouritism, just preference. He was a stout man with a balding head, one calming blue eye, and the other white and often staring blankly into space, resting safely behind his thick-rimmed glasses. When he smiled, it was mostly gum, and the remaining teeth made a whistling noise when he spoke with his gravelly voice. His fingers always had the residue of paint, or charcoal, or whatever art material he was using, a sketchbook in his pocket for any random bursts of inspiration. Wherever he went, the strong acrylic smell went with him, mixed with good old-fashioned typewriter ink, a nostalgic smell.

Let it be known that Grandpa Brian was significantly shorter than Nana Rose, five foot three and six foot one, and it was always the most heartwarming sight seeing him grab her attention just to give her a peck on the cheek (it involved a lot of sarcastic comments from Rose about how short he was, but loving banter was all it was.)

Whenever Grandpa Brian and Nana Rose came to visit, the house would be spotless before they arrived, and a pigsty by the time they left, Rose's dementia kicked in at the oddest of times, resulting in some humorous scenarios. But when they visited truly, it was always the best time. There was laughter - maybe not from Mother of Father - and not just polite laughter, but true laughter; sidesplitting, hunched over cackling or just wheezing with tears, and better yet,

No. Beatings.

They were safe, but only for the duration of the visit, once they left, Mother's mood would spike and drop drastically for a while, the smallest thing could set her off, or she would zone out all day and forget to feed Sophie or Jake, resulting in a failed attempt at pasta that resulted in Sophie being burned by scalding hot water and Jake rushing to the little medicine cabinet in the corner, doing his best attempt at a bandage bow to make Sophie smile, even offering to sign it. They had to be close, they were all they really had.

Over the years, the abuse progressively worsened, maybe not physically at first, but mentally. Degrading her first thing in the morning, then purposely complimenting Jake right in front of her, to remind her of her place. Swapping her room with the attic. You would assume an attic is a wonderful place, if it was decorated, of course, if there was flooring, sure, if she could move without the fear of being yelled at for making too much noise, it would be amazing, but sometimes she would fall from her bed onto the floor, eight year old growing pains, made significantly worse by the lack of nutrients in her diet. It only got worse.