My So Called Mum: Child abuse, Love & My Great Britain

by Joseph Kane

  “Go on Joseph!”

  People cheered me on during one of our laps around the long building. After a week, I caught him on my bike over a mile away from the hostel. We bumped into each on the street by accident. Before he had time to think, I jumped off my bike and punched him in the face a few times. Not known for fighting, my hatred for cowards was beginning to grow. I tried being a coward, and it’s a shitty thing to do with no honour. Out of nowhere, morals, principles and values suddenly mattered. That was hard to digest given my environment.

  When the dust settled weeks later, Linda approached me out on the front wall with a smile.

  “How are you doing sweetheart?”

  “Good thanks. I need to talk to you, Joseph.”

  “Of course.”

  “Marc has asked me to move to Manchester with him for a fresh start.”

  “If you want to get away from these two, you can come and live with me at my mums. I don’t care what she thinks.”

  “I appreciate that, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “You should go for it. Maybe it will turn out to be a good thing.”

  Steven was ruining her relationship with Marc and her son. A fresh start could improve their life. Jumping off the wall, I wrapped my arms around her black and white checkered coat and gave her a big squeeze. Ste and Marc kept peeping through the window, jealous how close we were. The following few days, they took off on their new adventure. Hostels were no place for families.

  Brian from downstairs had been attacked by some idiot that went to my school. His face was black and blue, barely able to open his eyes. You don’t even have to do anything wrong to be attacked, it just happens. Violence was fun for some people. Having been on a waiting list for a flat, my time in the fun house was coming to an end, to make way for more screwed up people. Up on the top floor, I was chilling in a woman’s flat one night with a crazy bitch, that coincidently shared my mum's name. She’s OK to be around, as long as no one gets on her bad side. Much older than me, she lived with a young daughter. That night with her friend and sister coming around, we all had a laugh. Her sister was stunning, just a bit younger than me. She had everything to live for. What I didn’t know was that they had a bad childhood. When Angie’s sister went to the toilet, she started whispering to us on the sofa.

  “Watch her, keep your eye on her in that bathroom.”

  “What do you mean.”

  “she self-harms.”

  “we have to hide any knives from her.”

  A minute later she came out of the bathroom. The night went well after a few drinks. Being everyone’s friend, I was up and down like a yo-yo. After an hour, her sister went to the bathroom again. On our own vibe, we had all been distracted to how long she had been in the bathroom.

  “Where she gone now?”

  “I don’t know. The bathroom I think.”

  With Angie running to the door, nothing could prepare us for what happened next. The second that bathroom door opened, something from a horror movie was inside. Rushing to the bathroom, it looked like a slaughterhouse. There was blood everywhere. Her sister didn’t just do a few scratches like me, she sliced as deep as possible with the sharpest knife. Slumped on the floor, this beautiful young girl was bleeding to death.

  “Joseph, take the knife quick.”

  Going faint from my own blood, I put the kitchen knife in a sink full of water. Apparently, she got the blade from the kitchen the second she arrived. The shiny metal at the bottom of the water reflected my red face through the blood. Wrenching my guts up in the sink, I was no good to anyone. Angie’s friend called an ambulance, while she tried to stem the bleeding. That was the most horrifying thing I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen some pretty fucked up shit. Blood was everywhere. Thank god the paramedics came to take her away. She somehow survived that night. I don’t know what came of them after that. When I leave that place, I have no interest to keep in touch with anyone.

  My intercom bleeped in my flat.

  “Do you want to come down Joseph, I’ve got a flat for you.”

  Walking downstairs anxiously, she laid it down to me. After my last flat, I knew I wasn’t ready. Overstaying my welcome, I had to leave. We arrived at a three-storey block of flats, exactly the same as the ones I had stayed in when my mum kicked me out in the snow. The ground floor flat was the one we viewed. It was next door to a smack-head woman that had just left the hostel before me. She had no legs from injecting heroin. You would expect her to stop using drugs, not carry on. It was a shithole. My door was made out of wood and glass. Anyone could kick it in. With the prospect of living next to heroin users, I didn’t have a choice. Turning it down went against me. Not having any furniture, Jane found a house full of stuff. A family had split up leaving absolutely everything. Leaving the baby toys, I took the bed, sofa, fridge and other useful items. My flat had no carpet, single glazed windows and dodgy doors. Having no cooker, I lived off takeaways in a freezing cold flat. To me, it was worse than death. To top things off, there were some bad lads across from me that I knew. One lad was cool, the rest were pure bad.

  Once I moved out to somewhere I didn’t want to be, I returned to my hostel for any letters. On my way back, I bumped into Antony who tormented everyone with music.

  “Have you heard what happened?”

  “no, what?”

  “Do know Linda that moved out?”

  “Course I know Linda.”

  “She got murdered in Manchester. Her boyfriend murdered her in some woods.”

  “. . . . . . .”

  My legs melted like wax. I had to sit on the curb behind a takeaway from shock. I couldn’t hear a word of what Antony said after that. He walked away. What had I done? I sent my best friend to her own death. Walking into my hostel, the staff confirmed it. Returning home, I turned on the TV for the six o’clock news. Linda’s sweet face appeared on the screen.

  “We bring sad news tonight, a nineteen-year-old mother was murdered in Manchester, close to woods. The police encourage anyone to come forward for any information. Tributes have been paid out to the young mum, who leaves behind a two-year-old son.”

  After listening to what happened, I cringed in tears screaming. The pain inside was unbearable. Marc denied it was him. Two weeks later he came on the news. He was caught by a single spec of blood on their son's shoes, forcing him to admit it. Paranoid that she was going to leave him, he battered her in the woods in front of their son. When she was on the floor, he smashed her head in with a rock. For no reason other than pure evil, he rammed a tree branch down her throat before engraving his initials into a tree. All I could picture was her beautiful hair in the mud. Linda came to me before anyone else, in faith to guide her and I let her down. For all the stupid shit I did, my friend was gone forever and its all my fault. Its something I will always feel responsible for. Nineteen was too young. I was sick with anguish. Marc was found guilty, getting a life sentence. Fifteen years was not long enough for killing Linda. His bizarre face came on the news with a really long beard. His piercing eyes were wide open. I wanted to kill him. Thoughts came over me about committing a serious crime, to get on a category A wing, just to get at him. It made no difference. She was gone forever, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t face the funeral, so I stayed in Preston. The pain was too raw, and with no way to get to Liverpool, I missed it. A part of me couldn’t admit it, leaving me indenial. My heart wept for her poor son that was now with Linda’s family. Marc was initially from Burnley, which said it all. I hated Burnley, and I hated Marc. Nothing could give me answers or heal the pain after losing her. Her warm body in my arms will be forever etched in time. It will take a long time before I can say goodbye. I loved her so much from the short amount of time we had. She can rest with her newborn baby in heaven. I knew she was an angel the first time I laid eyes on her.

  Not long after, Antony hung himself. He owed drug dealers money. After beating him up already, with mental health problems from all the speed he
was taking, I imagine he felt like there was no way out of his situation. My thoughts manifested sat in my lonely flat all the time. My life felt like an empty shell, waiting for something to crawl in and walk away. Trying to separate my chav life, to enter into mainstream normality was almost impossible. I hated how the lifestyle stripped any innocence. I wanted to be that kid again that sat on the wall all day, outside my mums in the sun. So much had changed. I couldn’t go back. I’d come too far to turn back; the only way now was forward. I’ve had the pleasure of my loving grandparents, the joy of falling in love to the point of my soul detaching, and the chance to travel the world before meeting an angel. There had to be a way forward. I just don’t think I deserved it.

  Hanging around with the losers on my front, they were different to the certain lads I knocked about with. Hoping to get away from criminals, I was right back in with a circle of idiots. Like cowards, they took advantage of poor situations, always trying to fight with someone weaker. One of them was on my level, the rest of the four were evil. Trying to quit smoking weed, I refused one of them from coming in my flat. He disrespected me the week before by kicking over a mop bucket on purpose, leaving me to clean up all the water. I even got arrested for one of them for possession of weed. He’d only just been released from the police station for another incident, so I did him a favour. Some good it did. My crew from back home were nothing like those scavengers. That night I got into bed in my freezing flat. There was no central heating. The building was ready to be knocked down. Climbing into three layers of bedding, seconds later I heard a loud bang. Someone was kicking my door in. Getting dressed was my first priority. Stood terrified in my dark bedroom, the noise fell silent. Just about to jump out my window, thoughts went through my head. “I’m not a pussy.” Whatever is out there, I’ll face it like I always. My grandad swam across a river to get away from bullies as a teenager; that’s not happening to me. The next minute, the flat door upstairs was being kicked in. After the silence came, I walked out to head to the next landing above me. Looking at the smashed door, a man behind the glass was waving a knife.

  “When I get out, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

  “It wasn’t me, I’m from the flat downstairs.”

  Not really listening to me, I walked down the stairs. Just as I did, the vultures arrived. It was the same group of idiots I’d been hanging around with. Pissed up, they came looking for trouble. The seven of them stood next to me, not saying much. Two of them had respect for me. The rest had no respect for anyone. I tried to blend in choosing what I said. In certain circumstances, a person has to say certain things if they don’t want to be targeted. It was a skill I developed over the years. Being ninety-nine percent effective, it fell on deaf ears that night. One of them was the cousin of the two brothers that attacked the Muslim children. His presence concerned me. Not really knowing who I was, he punched me in the side of my face. It was the softest punch I’d ever felt. I planned to fall down to my knees as a sign of submission. That night I got it completely wrong. The moment I went down, they kicked me like a football. They kicked so hard that I ended up in the opposite corner. I faced the wall and covered my head with my hands, waiting for their legs to tire. My back took some horrendous blows from eight legs, one after the other. Surely my slender frame couldn’t withstand such a beating. The first few kicks went with ease; my ribs held firm as I curled up tighter. After ten kicks I started seeing white flashes. I could feel my life slipping away. They weren’t even going for my head. if they didn’t stop in the next ten kicks, I’m done for. I opened my eyes and braced for my death. Even with my eyes open, the flashes got brighter. Every flash, I started to see Linda. The dirty concrete in front of me was the last thing I was about to see before dying. Not feeling the pain anymore, they carried on with the flashes turning into a permanent white light. Not responding to any more kicks, Linda was stood before me in an empty white room. She was smiling but didn’t speak. Her vision lasted, even without kicks. An empty silence was all I could hear. The place I was in had no emotion or physical feelings. Is this it? Am I dead? Is Linda here to greet me? No more kicks… No more shouting… No more flashes… Just an endless white…

  Thank you for taking the time to read my story. We all have a story to tell whether it’s good or bad. Writing this book was painful. However, the more I went over it, the more I came to terms with what happened. Some content was too evil to add, so I decided to leave it out. This book covers my life from the age of 4 to 17. At some point, I will write the second chapter of my life that will cover my age from 17 to 30.

  Wanting to show off my beautiful friend, here is a link to the news story about Linda Neale. RIP Princess. You will never be forgotten x x x x x x http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/manchester/3205336.stm

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  GOD BLESS