A Cockney's Journey

by Eddie Allen

  “Come on, then. Tell me about your job,” he muttered while he dragged me towards the living room, clasping the bottle and glass in one hand. He pushed me on to the sofa and slumped into the chair. I looked around the room and noticed the table lamp was smashed on the floor. There were broken china pieces around the hearth and the fire was still smouldering from the lack of coal. They must have had another fight. Keep your mouth shut, Eddie boy, and say nothing, I told myself. I sat there motionless, but the expression on my face must have given me away.

  “Get paid, did you?” he said, with a nasty smirk. He struggled to pull himself up out of the chair.

  “Well? Answer me, boy!” he shouted.

  “Yeah, I did. It was hard work and a very long day.”

  “How much did you get?” he growled.

  If I lied, he would search me, the thought of him touching me made me cringe. I didn’t want to antagonise him or give him an excuse to hurt me.

  “Seven pounds,” I whispered.

  He was now standing over me swaying; his wild, staring eyes reflected the hatred that he felt towards me.

  “Show me,” he said, waving his arms aggressively.

  I tried to stand up but he was in the way so I slid along the sofa, stood up and put my hand in my jeans pocket. He grabbed my wrist.

  “I’ll do that!” he screamed, yanking my hand out and stuffing his own into my pocket. I felt him grab the envelope. By this point, he was swaying all over the place and suddenly he lost his balance. He fell backwards and my pocket was separated from my jeans as he landed on the coffee table with an almighty crash. The weight of his body snapped the legs in half. He looked up screaming at me.

  “You fucking bastard! How dare you push me!”

  He struggled to get to his feet and slipped over on the debris. Still clutching my envelope, he hit the floor again but this time he released my wages from his grip. I acted quickly; I lunged forward and grabbed my money, with two choices on my mind. Do I go up the stairs and out the front door, or through the kitchen? I opted for the stairs; my heart was pounding as I reached them.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill you when I get hold of you,” he screamed at the top of his voice.

  I legged it up the stairs, but as I reached the top, I felt something smash against the back of my head. The force sent me sprawling into the passage. I jumped up and ran towards the front door. My head was spinning like mad; my head and neck was ringing wet. I was shaking; if he caught me, I was finished. I put my hand on the latch, shaking uncontrollably. He reached the top of the stairs, laughing like a mad man. I had seconds to get out. I turned the latch but nothing happened. Oh my God! It’s locked! I turned round to face him. He stood there, breathing heavily, swaying from side to side. In his right hand was a broken table leg. I froze in terror, anticipating what was coming next. He staggered towards me.

  “Can’t escape now,” he said with an evil grin. I backed up against the door, trembling from head to toe. I couldn’t think straight. He raised his arm and smashed the table leg down on my shoulder. The pain shot up my neck and down my arm. He was getting ready for a second blow when there was a loud knock on the front door. I turned and pressed my face against the door, I was just about to scream for help when he grabbed my throat.

  “Quiet!” he whispered in a menacing tone. He dragged me away from the door. I could hear faint voices on the other side of the door. There were three loud rapid knocks. He squeezed my throat so tight that I couldn’t breathe properly. Then it happened; the letterbox opened and a shaft of light lit the passage up.

  “I know you’re in there. I can see you,” a voice blasted through the letterbox. “Now open up, it’s the police!”

  He released my throat and dropped the table leg. I struggled to get air and started to take deep breaths.

  “Get to your bedroom, now!” he whispered, “or I’ll make you suffer all night, do you understand me boy?”

  I crept up to my bedroom and leant over the banisters to listen. After a few moments, I heard the front door unlock.

  “We have received a complaint of a loud disturbance,” the police officer confirmed.

  “There must be some mistake, officer. I’m just repairing the table down stairs.”

  “Anybody else at home?” the officer asked.

  “No, just me, they’re all out for the evening.”

  “Well, keep the noise down, OK?”

  “Sorry, officer, it won’t happen again.”

  Is that it? Bloody useless the old Bill.

  I walked down to the bathroom and flicked the light on; my hands were covered in blood. I peered in the mirror but I couldn’t see anything. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed there was blood running down the back of my head onto my neck. My ears pricked to attention at the sound of him descending the stairs noisily. Still shaking, I washed my hands and started to dab the flannel on my head and neck. I rinsed out the flannel in the washbasin and the blood splashed everywhere. After a while, the bleeding stopped. I cleaned up the mess and walked out of the bathroom. I stood on the landing, listening, but not a sound came from downstairs. I wondered where my mum was. She might have gone to her sister’s in Camberwell. She’s got a big house. If I can get out, I’m going there, I thought. I crept downstairs and still no sound. I walked up to the front door, quietly turning the latch. It was bloody locked. I turned round, slowly moving towards the top of the stairs. I peered down into the darkness. I heard snoring coming from the direction of the living room. He’s asleep, I thought. I stepped on the tread and there was a loud crunching noise. I froze, standing on the broken whisky bottle. I waited in silence, but nothing, so I moved slowly down the stairs, his snoring getting increasingly loud. I moved past the living room and into the kitchen. I put my hand on the back door handle. I was shaking; beads of sweat were running down my face. I turned the handle and pulled. The door opened a bit, but sprung back shut with a loud clattering noise.

  “What the bloody hell’s going on?” he screamed angrily.

  I quickly slid under the kitchen table, shaking uncontrollably. I held my breath and pulled my knees up into my chest, curling up like a ball. He staggered through the kitchen cursing and he stood there in the dark. The only sound I could hear was his heavy breathing. The stink of whisky filled the kitchen air. After a brief spell, he left the kitchen and stood at the foot of the stairs.

  “You in your bedroom?” he shouted. When he didn’t get a reply, he screamed, “Answer me, boy, or else, you little bastard.” I rolled out from under the table, panic-stricken. I stood in front of the back door in silence, listening with my hand on the handle, as he screamed out.

  “Where the fuck are you, booooooy?”

  I pulled the door but it sprang back again. It took a few seconds for it to sink in that the bloody top bolt was on. I threw the bolt back and ran out the door. I ran so fast down the street I nearly fell over. The blood was pumping round my body so quick my head started bleeding again. When I was a safe distance from the house, I stopped running. I felt cold and exhausted. I stood at the bus stop waiting for the number twelve to Camberwell, deep in thought…

  ***

  “Keep still, young man!” the dentist cried. The nurse held me down as the dentist grabbed hold of my molar; the whole of his hand was practically in my mouth. He pulled and twisted my tooth with what I can only describe as pliers. The pain was unbelievable; as he pulled, I went with him. To and fro, we went.

  “Listen, sonny, Do you want this tooth out or what?” the dentist said impatiently. I couldn’t answer him as my gob was stuffed with wedges and swabs, plus he had his hand down my neck!

  “He isn’t completely numb,” the nurse mentioned.

  He pulled again but harder this time.

  “Got it!” he said, ecstatically. He held aloft the pliers, looking at the tooth. Well, half of it anyway. “Blast!” he said. “It’s broken off.” He looked into my mouth and pulled the wedges out. “Hospital for you, son, they’ll have to cut thi
s one out. I’ll give you a letter for the dental department at King’s College Hospital.”

  I sat up and rinsed my mouth out, still in agony. I left the surgery and sat down in the waiting room. After a few minutes, the receptionist came over and handed me a letter for the hospital.

  “You must be accompanied by an adult, otherwise they won’t attend to you.” she informed me kindly.

  The following day, I arrived at King’s with my mother. I was pumped up, feeling dopey and groggy with my mother’s own painkillers. We made our way down the corridor towards the dental department. She handed in my letter to the receptionist and we were told to take a seat and wait for our name to be called. We sat there for two hours in total silence. My face was swollen; the whole right side of my jaw was throbbing uncontrollably. Then it happened; my name was called. We both stood up and entered this small room that the receptionist pointed at. There were plastic covered foam benches all around the walls with a door at the end. We sat down and immediately the door opened. Standing in front of me was a guy dressed in a white robe and wearing a mask. Behind him were two female nurses.

  “Come this way, son. Mum can wait here for you,” he said in a low muffled voice.

  I walked into the room and immediately saw the dentist chair. There was a black cylinder and mask by the side. My pulse rate quickened and I felt scared.

  “OK, son, hop onto the chair, there’s a good fellow.”

  Both the nurses helped me on the chair, putting a bib around my neck.

  “Comfortable, are we?” asked the short blonde nurse.

  I just nodded my head in shock.

  “Open your mouth, please,” said the tall dark-haired nurse.

  My eyes were following every movement in front of me. She propped open my mouth with rubber wedges and she then proceeded to cover my face with this hideous-smelling rubber mask.

  “Right, when I tell you to, take a deep breath and then count to ten, OK?”

  I nodded, acknowledging her command. She turned the valve on the cylinder, prompting me to breath in. One, two, three. I was gone in the black abyss of sleep.

  I awoke flat out on the benches in the small room; my mouth was stuffed with blood-soaked swabs. I felt light-headed and extremely nauseous. My head was pounding and my pulse rate was unbelievable. I could feel it throbbing in every part of my body. I tried to stand up but my legs were like jelly. I fell and slumped back on the bench, totally out of it. The room was spinning round like I was on a fairground ride. My brain wasn’t functioning; it was completely numb. All my senses were gone. My mother dragged me out of the room and into the corridor, swaying to the exit. Once outside, the fresh air hit me like a sledgehammer. I dropped to my knees as they buckled under me. A passer-by helped my mum pick me up and they dragged me to the bus stop, plonking me down on a bench. We both sat there waiting. I slowly started to come around.

  “Here’s our bus. Come on, get up boy,” she shouted.

  I stood up swaying like a drunk; I put my hand on the centre pole, pulling myself onto the platform.

  “You’re not getting on my bus in that state, sonny Jim,” the bus conductor said, shaking his head in disgust. “I’ve got my passengers to think about. Sorry.”

  We both got off the bus; my mother was still cursing as she hailed a black cab. I was bundled into the back and promptly dozed off again. Once I got home, I slept for a further eight hours.

  ***

  My train of thought was broken by the sound of the bus pulling up. I looked up and saw that it was the number twelve to Camberwell. I fished in my pockets and retrieved two pence. As I jumped on the bus I heard a voice behind me call my name. I looked over my shoulder. It was Brian’s mum, Auntie Joyce. She was waving me over to where she was standing. I jumped off the bus and ran over to her.

  “You all right, Eddie?” she asked.

  “Not really, Joyce.”

  “Mrs. Young told me the police called earlier at your house, some sort of disturbance. She reckoned it sounded like someone was being murdered.”

  Mrs. Young was our next-door neighbour, and the local daily news.

  “Where’s your mother, Eddie? She’s not at home. I’ve just knocked. The house is in total darkness.”

  “He’s in the house asleep. Drunk again!” I said. “I haven’t a clue where my mum is. I was getting a bus to Camberwell to see if she’s at her sister’s.”

  She opened her handbag and handed me a scrap of paper.

  “This is our new phone number. If you can’t find your mum, ring me. You can stay at ours till you do.”

  “OK, Joyce, thanks a lot.” I returned to the bus stop to wait. I could see the headlights of another oncoming bus. Thank goodness, a number twelve. It screeched to a halt. I hopped onto the platform and sat down inside.

  The bus sped past St Giles’ Church. I had fond memories of the times I sang in the church choir on Sundays. My nan introduced me to the congregation when I was twelve, really nice people, very friendly. My kind of people, without a doubt! But, like everything in my life, the good times never lasted and were promptly followed by the bad; most of the time through no fault of my own.

  “Next stop Camberwell Green, folks,” the conductor reminded those who wanted to get off.

  I got up and jumped off the bus, slowly walking up Camberwell Grove towards my mum’s sister’s house. I turned right into George Square, looking for number thirty. These Victorian houses were massive and the artworks on the front entrances were breathtaking. Black and gold ornate railings with stone stairs and pillars leading up to front doors, which were covered by a concrete ornate balcony. The stonemasons and plasterers in those days were pure class. I stood in front of a large green front door and banged the black lion-shaped iron knocker. The sound echoed around the square. The door opened slowly and an elegantly dressed lady stood there peering at me.

  “Can I help you, young man?” she asked in a low posh tone. She looked down at me and screwed her face up. “Are you Margaret’s son, Edward?”

  “Eddie, actually,” I stated. “I’m looking for my mum. Is she here?” I asked

  “Absolutely not, why should she be?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter, Sorry for bothering you.” I turned round and started to walk down the steps,

  “Stop!” she shouted. “Your head is covered in blood. Come here, boy.”

  She pulled me into the hallway, surveying the damage to my head,

  “How did this happen?” she demanded. “Let’s have a closer look at your head in the kitchen.”

  I stood under the kitchen light as she swabbed my head and neck with warm salt water.

  “Well, are you going to tell me what is going on, Edward? And why would you assume your mother was here?”

  “My mum wasn’t at home so I thought she came to visit you. I tripped getting off the bus. That’s how I hurt my head.” She looked at me as if she knew I was lying.

  “Did your mum and dad have another fight, Edward? And will you please tell me the truth?”

  Reluctantly, I told her the truth. “Yeah, but this time I think she’s walked out, taking my brothers and sisters with her. She left me to face him when I got home from work, which I’m not happy about.”

  “Your head, did he do that to you?” she asked angrily.

  “Yeah, he threw an empty whisky bottle at me.”

  “My God, how long has this been going on?”

  “About four years, since I was eleven.”

  “What about before that, Edward?” she asked, as if she already knew.

  “Yeah, very nasty, He’s hated me ever since I was born. The serious violence only started when I was eleven, as I said.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’ve got to find out where they are, I can’t go back to the house, he will kill me.”

  “Have you any ideas about where to look for them?” she asked in a concerned voice.

  “No not really, the only other place is Nanny‘s but she’s in
Margate. I really can’t see her going there, I mean Mum never stood up for Nan in front of him. He hates Nanny as much as me. He won’t even let her in the house.”

  “So I’ve heard! Listen, Edward, I spoke to my mother earlier. She hasn’t heard from your mum in four weeks, so she hasn’t gone there. Why don’t you stay here tonight? Things might look different tomorrow. The spare room is already made up.”

  I must admit I was absolutely cream-crackered and the thought of a good night’s kip swayed my decision.

  “I would love to, Auntie,” I said. “If that’s OK?”

  “Good! Up you go. It’s the first door on the right,” she said, pointing towards the stairs.

  I climbed the stairs to the landing and opened the door to my right. I flicked the light switch on, then entered the room. Blimey, a double bed. I quickly undressed to my boxers and put the lamp on, then switched the main light off. I slid between lovely clean, crisp sheets. The smell of lavender engulfed my senses. Immediately my head touched the pillow, my eyelids became like lead weights. All the horrors of the evening disappeared as I fell deeply into my dark world…

  ***

  I wondered how far I had walked. It seemed like hours or even days. I didn’t even know where I was or where I was going. All around me was a vast barren wasteland. I could just about make out on the horizon a large cluster of mountains. I was hungry, thirsty and very hot, but still I kept walking in the same direction; towards the mountains. Why? What’s there? I asked myself. I just knew I had to make it at all costs. Just then, a rabbit ran past me.

  “You’re never going to make it,” it shouted, as it vanished in its own dust. I heard flapping noises in the distance getting louder by the second. I looked up at the sky. Coming towards me was this black mass. As it got closer, I realised it was thousands of bats. As they passed overhead, it went dark for a moment and then they were heading in the same direction as the rabbit. I heard laughing behind me. I turned around in the direction of the sound that had startled me.

  “Who you looking at, fella?” the chirpy voice asked.