I go in the lounge. I will go to school soon for my presentation. But I have to wait for my mum and dad to finish their dinner. So I stand in there and wait. Then I can clear the table things away and go out. My dad comes in. He hasn’t finished. I know he is mad at me. He says my name like it is a shout, but it isn’t loud. “What is wrong with the food in this house?” he asks me. I tell him nothing. I am just not hungry anymore. He starts to shout at me. “Me and your mother spend a lot of time and money to feed you ungrateful kids in this house,” he says. He shouts his words at me.
“You better get into that kitchen and eat what your mother has made for you,” he says. “If you want to make it to next week.”
I don’t say anything to him. I go in the kitchen like he tells me to do. I stand there in the middle of the kitchen. There is no food. Maybe it is invisible. I don’t say it, though. But I wait for my dad. My mum has finished her dinner. She comes in the kitchen. I ask my mum if there is some dinner for me. She looks at me. She has big eyes. She does that when she is angry. Maybe she thinks I want her to cook for me.
“It’s in the freezer. If you want it you can get off your lazy backside and get it yourself, I am not your servant,” she says to me.
My dad comes in the kitchen too. I tell him, “See? There isn’t any dinner. My mum didn’t make me any as usual.”
My mum stares at me even more. “What exactly are you trying to say, you little shit?” she asks me. I tell her nothing. “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” she says. “It sounds as though you are implying I am a bad mother.”
I don’t say anything about it. There isn’t a point. She just gets mad whatever I say. Then it gets into a big fight. My dad gets mad at me. He shouts lots of bad things at me. He says he does everything for the family and all I do is give them crap and make it bad. I make them argue. I always cause rifts in the family. “What exactly is your problem?” he shouts it in my face. I don’t answer him either. I try not to look at him, but he grabs my face and makes me.
I don’t know why I do it. He makes me mad inside. I wish I could hit him. I want to smash his face in. I want to punch him lots of times. I shout too. I shout loud and call him names. I shout at him that I hate him. I tell him he loves my brother more. He is a bad dad. I hate him. I want to say lots of things so it makes him cry. I want him to cry and be sorry. I tell him I wish he wasn’t my dad.
I hate them all. They are shit parents. I hate them so much. I say it lots of times so I can feel the H and the T. I want to make it all scratch inside so I can feel the letters. I get my hands in my hair and I pull it a lot to make all the words go away from my head so I don’t say them.
“You think we are shit parents?” my dad asks me.
I nod. I am crying too. My nose is running. I hate them. “You don’t come to anything. You don’t care. You don’t think I do anything good,” I tell him. “You always say my brother does good things, but you never say I do. It’s always him, him, him.” I stop all the words before I say more bad things.
“What have you done that is so special?” he asks me. I tell him why I got the award. I tell him about the maths and that I got ninety-nine percent. My mum starts to shout. “You are just jealous,” she says. “That’s why you act this way. We would come, but you don’t tell us about it.”
“Are you coming tonight?” I ask her. I know she will say no; they always say no. She says they can’t. It is too short notice. I tell her she wouldn’t have come anyway. “You could come by yourself if you really wanted to come,” I say to her.
She tells me I don’t know what I am talking about, but I do. I tell her to shut up when she makes excuses. I tell her they never do anything for me. They never say they are happy at things I do at school. I swear at her.
I swear at them both and tell them I am going. “You can both fuck off,” I say and then I walk into the dining room.
My dad chases after me. He catches me at the dining room door before I get in the lounge. “What did you say?” I scream at him to let me go. I scream it over and over. My mum shouts at me from the kitchen. My dad yells at me too about being so bad. We all shout at the same time. I can’t hear what they are saying.
He drags me back into the dining room. I shout at him. I know what he is going to do. My mum goes back in the kitchen. My dad slams me onto the coffee table. I swear at him to get off me. He is bigger than me. He holds me down. He gets my pants open. He opens his too. He has sex with me very hard. It makes me want to be sick it hurts too bad. I stop the shouting. My dad presses my head down. He doesn’t say any words, but he makes growl-like sounds at me because he is mad. Then my dad gets off me. He pulls his pants up and goes away. I don’t shout anymore.
Fifty Six
I try to move but my hands are shaking. My body is shaking all over. It makes my head feel fuzzy. I scrunch my eyes up to try to make it all go away. I try to move, but it hurts too bad and makes me hold my breath. I try to breathe, but it makes me want to be sick. I have to move very slowly. I can’t be sick on the table. If I am then my mum will get mad because she has to clean it all up. Then she starts to break things and cry, because she is busy and has to do all the house work all the damn time. I try to reach down for my pants, but even that makes me cry. I try to keep the crying quiet so I don’t make my mum and dad come in and shout at me for it.
I can’t pull my pants all the way up. It hurts too much. I pull them up so they cover me up, but I don’t fasten them. I feel bad all over. I made him do it. I always do. I don’t know why I can’t keep my stupid mouth shut and then it wouldn’t happen. But I make him mad. I am so stupid. I have to go to the bathroom to wash it all away. I feel all the bad parts all inside. It’s all over me and I want to make it go away. I wish I could scratch my skin off.
I don’t ask to go for a shower. I just go to the bathroom. But no one says anything anyway. I lock the door. I don’t want to see my mum or dad. I know I am bad. I turn the shower on and take my clothes off, but that hurts too. I stare at my pants for a long time. There is blood in them. I try not to cry about it and try to make everything stop shaking, but I feel cold inside and it makes me shiver. My head feels so bad it wants to explode. I don’t like it when there is blood. It makes me worry that when I am at school, it comes through my pants and they see it and call me a girl.
I get in the shower. I don’t turn it down. It is hot. I get my dad’s nail brush and rub it all over my skin until it hurts and is red and bleeding. I brush it down my arms until they are all scratched. I haven’t shut the shower door. I can see the stupid face in the mirror. I want him to cry for what he did. He deserves that too.
I get out of the shower and my arms and legs have many scratches on them. Good. They should have. They look like I scratched them with sandpaper. I hate the boy in the mirror. No wonder everyone does bad things to him. He is so bad and ugly. I hate him so much. He just does everything wrong and makes my dad mad at me. I wish he would die. “Do you hear me?” I say to him. “I want you to die.” I get my nails and dig them into both sides of his neck and pull down so red lines appear. I do it again until I can see the blood starting. His eyes fill with tears and I laugh at him. I hate him so much. I wish he was never born. My mum is right. He is bad and evil.
He is hungry. His stomach rumbles because he didn’t eat. But I laugh at him. He can starve. He deserves that too. “You aren’t good enough to eat,” I tell him. I can’t get my words out hard enough so he knows how much I hate him. I wish I could reach in and punch him in the face over and over.
I don’t look at him anymore. I don’t want to see his stupid, ugly face. I get dressed. I have to do it slowly because everything hurts. It’s his fault it hurts so bad. I wish my dad would kill him. I go to my room when I am dressed and don’t look at him again. I go to my room and don’t look at my mum or dad either. I don’t want to see them. I sit on my bedroom floor and put my arms around my legs. I try to hug myself tight, but it hurts inside. I make myself rock. I count when I rock.
One, two, three, then I stop so it doesn’t get to four. It makes me cry when I rock because it hurts, but I don’t care. It should hurt. I do it for a long time and don’t go to school for the presentation. I don’t deserve that either. I ruin everything.
When it is late, my dad comes up the stairs. It’s my brother’s bedtime. I am still on my floor, but I am lying down. He knocks on the door lightly. Maybe he thinks I am asleep. I don’t tell him to come in but he does. He turns my light on. I don’t move. I don’t look at him. I don’t want to say anything. I don’t want him to see me.
“You didn’t go to school,” he says to me. I move my head away so he can’t see my stupid face. He comes into my room and stands near me. “What was the award for?” he asks. I don’t tell him. I don’t want to talk. The words stay in my mouth but I don’t open it to let them out. “It was this evening, right?”
He says my name because I don’t say anything to him. “I can go on Monday,” I say to him. Mr. Royal will get it for me. I tell my dad it doesn’t matter. I am not bothered. I can pick it up late.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come,” my dad says. “We didn’t have anyone to look after your brother and you know your mother, she wouldn’t be able to go alone. You just have to learn to do things without us. It isn’t fair if I came and then your mother stayed with him. Think about how she would feel if I did that.”
I don’t have anything to say. I tell him I know and that it’s okay. He stands there for a minute and looks at me. But I don’t look at him. Then he says goodnight and goes out of my room and closes the door behind him.
I stay in my room all weekend, except when I have to get a shower and make dinner when I am allowed. I read my library books. I don’t want to see anyone. I am just bad. Everyone probably wishes I would go away so I do. It doesn’t matter. I am nothing.
When I go to school on Monday morning, I feel sad inside. I don’t know what I will say to Mr. Royal about the award. I was supposed to help him too. He wanted me to get there early so I could set up the chairs and things like that. I don’t know why he wanted my help. He should have asked someone better than me. I will tell him I am sorry.
I sit at my table in my form room. I don’t talk to anyone when they come in and sit down too. Mr. Royal comes in after. He looks at me, but he doesn’t smile. I look down at the table. I know he is mad at me. I didn’t mean to make him mad.
He reads the register out and then tells us all the important things and then he says we can go to our classes. He doesn’t talk to me. I walk past him slowly, maybe he will say hello, but he doesn’t. I walk out last. When I get to the door, he says my name. I go to him. But I don’t stand very close. I don’t want him to hit me. I know I have been bad and I know he is mad at me. He sits at his desk and puts his glasses on. Then he takes a deep breath and looks at me. “What happened to you on Friday evening?” he asks me. “You didn’t come back.”
I don’t look at him. I look at my feet. I know I am bad. I don’t know what to say about it. I am sorry but I don’t tell him I am sorry. I look at him. “I hung around with my friends instead,” I say to him. “I didn’t want to come back to school.”
“You didn’t think to call the office and let me know?”
I look back at my feet again. I say I am sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t think about it. I want him to let me go to my class so I don’t look at him. Maybe he will know I am lying, then he will know I am really bad because I made my dad mad again. I am sorry. I spoil everything. I don’t cry about it, though. Babies cry. Stupid, fat babies like my brother. I feel bad inside that Mr. Royal isn’t happy with me. I don’t say anything else, though. I just wait. He sighs and tells me to go. He doesn’t say anything else, either.
At lunchtime, I go to my form room and sit at my table like I always do. I don’t want to be with Lewis today. I smoked my cigarette before he came and then went to my form room. Mr Royal is there. He sits at his desk. I get scared he will tell me to get lost, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything. Not even hello. He doesn’t talk to me like he does normally at lunchtime.
I get my books out and open them. I don’t look up at Mr. Royal. I keep my head down so he doesn’t see me. I try to keep the crying away but the tears keep getting out and then they fall onto my book. I wipe them off from where they run down the side of my nose. I try not to sniff so he can’t hear me. I promise Mr. Royal in my head that I won’t ever be bad like that again.
I feel the words in my mouth. They want to come out and tell him why I didn’t come to school. I want to tell him my dad had sex with me because I was too bad. Maybe he will say it’s okay. I write it on some paper.
To Mr. Royal, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to not come. I wasn’t really with my friends. I made my dad mad and then he had to do things to make me stop. He always has to do them because I can’t behave. My dad has sex with me. He does it all the time. I don’t like it. It makes me feel bad. I try to wash it away. But it takes too long. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I am so bad. I didn’t mean it.
I scribble all over it. I don’t want him to know. I just want to tell him. But he will know I am disgusting.
I get off my stool and then I stand next to him. I say his name but he doesn’t answer me at first. He tells me one minute. I stand next to him and wait. If I just say it maybe he can keep me at school and then my dad doesn’t have sex with me again. Maybe then he knows my mum and dad don’t love me. Maybe he likes me and he can look after me instead. I feel my eyes fill up. Then I can’t see properly. I bite my lip so it doesn’t shake. I am scared inside. I don’t want him to know I am dirty. I don’t want him to know that part.
He turns around and looks at me. He is still mad. I tell him I am sorry. I don’t say anything. I go away to the ditch for a cigarette. I don’t tell him about what my dad does. He is mad at me. He will think I am just bad.
Fifty Seven
I try to be good for Mr. Royal. I don’t do anything bad at all. When me and Lewis have been to the ditch to smoke our cigarettes, I go to my form room and read or do my homework. Mr. Royal is always there too. We talk sometimes now. But not like before. I made it all bad now. I am sorry that I made it bad. I didn’t mean to. I try my best to make it better so he likes me again. I wish I could tell him I am sorry.
I do well in all my classes. I try my best to get good marks. When I get my merits, Mr. Royal doesn’t joke about them anymore. Maybe I made him mad at me forever. Maybe he knows why I didn’t come and he thinks I am disgusting because I made my dad do things.
When it is Friday and Mr. Royal has done the register and everyone has gone away to their class, he asks me to wait. He wants to talk to me about something. It makes me scared. I don’t like when people say they want to talk to me. Usually it means I have done something bad. “There’s a sailing trip,” he says to me. I know about it. But I wasn’t allowed to go. My dad wouldn’t pay all that money. It’s for a week. I wish I could go. “There is a spare place. It is paid for, you just have to pay £5. Do you want to go?”
£5? That isn’t a lot of money. I have that from my paper round and things. Maybe my mum and dad will let me go. They don’t have to pay for it. I will pay myself. I tell Mr. Royal that I want to go, but I have to ask my mum and dad. He writes me a note about it and says they can call him about it. I tell him thank you.
When school is finished, I am very excited. I can’t stop thinking about the sailing trip. I hope they will say yes. I promise God I will believe in him if he just lets them say yes to this. I don’t mean to be mad at him all the time. I’m sorry. “Please let me go on the trip,” I ask him and I promise I won’t ever ask for things again.
My Nan is coming today. I will ask when she is there. My mum and dad don’t say no when she is there. I will tell them I have the money. They don’t have to pay for anything. I can go all by myself. I think about it when I do my paper round. I say it to myself while I ride my bike so I can practise what I say to my mum and dad. I am excited. Maybe they will say yes. I have
n’t ever been on a long school trip before. Just little ones that last a day. I don’t tell my mum about those, though. I can sign her name. Writing is like drawing. So I practise her signature and write it on letters. I pay for those too.
When I have finished my paper round, I take my bike around the back and put it in the garage. My Nan is there. I am happy about it. She is in the kitchen. My dad is there too. I run upstairs to get the letter from Mr. Royal and then I get my £5 too and a pen so my mum can sign it and I can put it in an envelope. I run downstairs to my mum, dad and Nan. I stand and wait until they have finished talking.
“What do you want?” my dad asks me. I give him the letter. I say it is only five pounds and I tell him that I have the money. I saved it. I ask him. Please, please can I go? My Nan looks at the letter too.
“It looks like fun,” she says to me. I nod my head and tell her I get to learn how to sail a boat.
My dad looks sad about it. He sighs big. “My brother died in that river sailing,” he says. I ask my dad please. I won’t die. I can swim. I have my teachers there too.
My Nan says it is supervised and I should be okay. He doesn’t have to worry. She tells my mum and dad they should let me go. My mum looks mad at her. She doesn’t like it when my Nan tells her what to do.
My dad says it is okay. Then he signs it and I take it away before he gets mad and rips it up. I put the money with it in the envelope and then I hide it upstairs until Monday. I can’t wait. The trip is next week.
The week takes so long to go away. Lewis and Chris aren’t coming sailing. They didn’t want to. Peter is going, though. He talks to me about it. He is excited. But he doesn’t go with me. He has a new best friend called Lee. I don’t talk to Lee very much, but it is okay. Peter says I can sit with them on the bus if I want to. But I tell him no. I want to read my book instead.
Goodbye Teddy Page 25