An Unextraordinary Girl

Chapter 5- Daddy's Little Girl

Chapter 5- Daddy’s Little Girl

I didn’t even think to ask for their numbers, or even their parent’s. I remember their addresses because there was no address I knew for me to remember. Just memories in their houses, messing around and jumping on the pillows we laid out so we could jump over the lava. I was just little kid. I didn’t feel the need to know their address, I just believed that we would meet again.

But just believing isn’t always enough. In fact, it got to a stage where I truly believed that Peppa and Aiden were just faded memories and no more. I would never have the chance to recover them but instead just look back and regret that I didn’t do enough to have another chance of seeing them again one day. That’s all they are now. Faded memories.

Despite breaking his daughter’s heart by tearing her apart from her best friend, my dad was pretty pleased with himself. He truly believed that this was the beginning of a great future. That this move was more than just a move to the city but a move forward, a move towards a happier life.

You see, my dad wasn’t brought up in the wealthiest family, in fact, they were very nearly as prosperous as the hobo on the street. But my dad loved education, he loved learning and intellect. He finished school and college (I think) and even went to university. Though it wasn’t a very well-known or grand snobby type uni the rich bastards can afford, it was the achievement he was most proud of. I’m not sure what his degree was in but all I know is that it was enough to get him working behind the counter at a fast food restaurant. It must have been something to do with him moving from Dublin to London. I guess it just meant he was belittled by the stereotypes many hold. He would always get abused for his nationality. “Paddy” or “Lep”. The generation of today at its finest. How forward we have moved in terms of humanity (that’s sarcasm by the way). My dad usually could take it at times but sometimes he just found it difficult to control.

When I say my dad got into a lot of fights I mean my dad got into a lot of tights. But what made it worst is when he stared to drink.

“Started to drink”. Why did I say that? It’s not like he hadn’t drank before. What I should say is when he started to become an abusive, violent, drunk and inconsiderate alcoholic knob-head (excuse my British slang. You’ll get used to it).

The day we moved is a day I remember clearly. My dad stood in the narrow hallway in our new flat in Victoria. He was holding two boxes in his arms and said “Look at this place! It’s big ain’t it?” It was tiny. “Clean”. Filthy. “And the neighbourhoods nice”.  |

“Love, the guy downstairs wouldn’t stop staring at me boobs” my mum said. Shannon and I laughed but my dad shook off the comment. “This is brilliant. Much better than our old house”

“’Ave ya gone blind dad?” my sister asked. It was a fair question. “Ya’ can’t be seeing what we are!”

“Hey now. Your dads really happy with our new home and you should be too” my mum said.

I tried, but honestly I thought nothing was worth leaving Aiden.

We lived in that house for years, seven I think. We got used to the small space and the noisy neighbours. But it wasn’t what was outside the house that was the problem; it was what would happen inside.

If you asked me to say what I think of my dad, honestly, I would answer with a question. What’s the question? “At what time in my life?” It’s as if he lived many lives or that I had many different dads. I know it must sound pretty daft but, honestly, it felt that way.

At the point where we moved to the new house-sorry- flat, my dad was beaming with energy, hope and aspiration. He was determined to give us everything he didn’t get when he was our age. It was, however, something that he could not achieve.

I remember the morning after our move, I woke up to pleasant smell. My sister, being the greedy pig she’s always been, was already up and investigating the sent. “Wait for me, fatty” I said to my sister, who was not fat. I followed her and then the smell. I felt like I was the cartoons that float as they follow the faint line that represents the odour. When we reached the origin of the smell, we discovered a very vibrant Irish man, singing and moving his hips as he poked at the pan and added some sort of mix to the pan. “Mmm” Shannon and I let out in unison. “You lazy bums out of bed then?” my dad said, keeping his eye on the fry up. “Yes” we reply. “Well,” he said “I’m making some hash browns, eggs, beans, bangers, pancakes and fresh orange juice.”

“Mmmm!” we let out again. “So what will you guys be having?” he asked. “Dad!” we giggled. He smiled and said “Give me your heads.” We looked at each other confused, but nevertheless walked over to him with our heads bowed down. He grabbed two eggs, held each one over our heads and said “Think you guys need some shampoo” and smacked them down at our heads making us shriek but laugh simultaneously. He maintained as much as the egg as he could and dropped it into the pan.

My mother stood at the door. “What is that lovely smell?” she wondered. “Are you making us breakfast?”

“Surprised?”

My mum walked over to him putting her arms around his waist. “As always” she said. He turned his head and they kissed each other. “Ewww!” Shannon and I exclaimed. They stopped and smiled “Trust me girls, you’re going to love locking lips with your man when your older” my mum said, absolutely correctly (but we’ll get to that later). “Yeah, I wanna’ see the man who thinks he’s worthy enough to even be their man” my dad insisted.

My dad was always protective of me and my sister whenever it came to us mixing with boys. He even felt a bit worried about Aiden and me though my mum assured that he had nothing to threat about.

The breakfast was delicious, and I know that for sure. My dad was an excellent cook, maybe even better than my mum. He would do this breakfast thing occasionally in the beginning. He woke up early for work anyway and we had school. The things he would do for us were things that stayed with me till this day. I remember on weekends he would always take us to Queen Mother’s Sport Centre to swim. We would sing endless numbers from Disney.

My dad was just so wrapped up in traditions; the traditional breakfasts, outings, spoiling us. It was hard not to love that man.

Well, sometimes.

My mum and dad were so in love and you could tell that all the time. It seemed almost impossible to assume that they would ever separate, but, as they say, nothings impossible.

I came back with Shannon one day after school, she was rambling on about how her friend accused her of spelling a word wrong when in fact she was right. We knocked on the door only to find it was unlocked. We walked in, confused, and then went to the living room…where my dad was holding my mother around the neck.

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