I lost track of time, I wasn’t dressed for the cold, at some point, I went back to my flat and changed into these clothes. I don’t know why. They were the last decent clothes I had, the ones that I had been wearing the day I returned to find the empty house. I didn’t have enough in my pocket to buy another bottle, but I didn’t want to stop drinking, there was a half empty bottle on the floor near the bed from the night before I picked that up and headed out again.
I don’t remember ending up here, I had the bottle and a packet of cigarettes in my pocket, my phone was in there too, but I had turned it off, I have no idea how I even got over the barrier I was that drunk. I wasn’t as careful as you, I didn’t stop to check for traffic or make sure no one was watching, I didn’t even plan it. I simply set off from my bedsit then found myself sitting where you are, drinking from a bottle and smoking a cigarette. No great masterplan, it just suddenly made sense.
But enough it’s your turn now. Steve?”
He sat looking expectantly, the tone of his final word suggested he expected the other man to go back on his word, but he wanted to tell his story just as much as he had wanted to hear the one the man has just told. Their problems were so different, their lives had nothing in common except this one place and the reason they were here.
“Steve, or Steven, was my birth name. It was the one my biological parents chose for me; I was named after my father. My first memories were of hunger and pain. My mum tried her best, but she was too weak to protect me, I don’t remember all everything, and I will be honest, I am not sure which of my memories are my own and which are there because of what I read in my files.
If you want to hear it, I’ll tell you my story, from age six or seven I know what I am telling you are my own recollections, but before that as I say I don’t know, not that it matters everything in the files happened, maybe reading it triggered memories I had suppressed, but I warn you now it's not a nice story, and there is no happy ending.”
“Fine, you tell me what you need to tell me, as for no happy ending well, of course not mate, that’s why we are sat here on a freezing night drinking over a river. I know, however hard it is for me to hear what you say, that saying it will be so much harder for you, but sometimes you just need to say it, even if only to a random stranger willing to listen.”
“I remember always being hungry, but I must never cry or complain. I know it said in the files that there were locks on all the cupboards, and my dad took the key to work so that my mum and I could not eat anything other than what he left out for us. It must have been my mum that told them because it even now I don’t remember the locks, I do remember there were days where I ate, and she didn’t. He must have been in the habit of leaving out whatever she was supposed to prepare for dinner, she always had to have his dinner ready for when he came in or there would be trouble.
I remember we would all sit at the table and she would serve dinner, we were not allowed to eat anything until he said so. If he didn’t like what she had cooked he would throw everything in the bin, and then, I would have to sit and not move a muscle while he beat her.”
“What happened if you moved?”
“It would infuriate him more; he would beat her worse. Occasionally he would hit me but looking back it seemed he got more of a perverse please in making me witness his actions. There were so many things in those early years where he made me do things that I didn’t want to do.
I remember I had chores to do, right from my earliest memories, the files confirmed it. There was one time he told me to empty the ashtray, it was a big glass one and it was piled up with cigarette butts. I was struggling to balance it and to open the lid on the bin. I dropped it, it landed on my foot and made me cry out, luckily it didn’t break, but the butts and ash were all over the kitchen floor, my mum didn’t stop to think, and she ran to me to check my foot was okay. My punishment was to watch my mum have to pick up what she could with her bare hands then he ordered her to lick the floor clean.
I begged him, I begged and pleaded that it was my fault, that I should be punished not her, he grabbed me by the throat and lifted me up in the air. He told me that if I wanted to be a real man then I needed to learn how to keep a woman in her place if I didn’t then he would start treating me like one. He asked me if I wanted to be treated like a woman, and God forgive me, I shook my head. I was too scared to help my mum, too scared to defy him.”
“You were a child what the hell could you have done? You did nothing wrong that is not how a man should treat an animal let alone a woman.”
“That was just the beginning! When he was out at work the next day, my mum held me in her arms and she started crying. She told me I had to do whatever he told me to do, that it didn’t matter what I had to do, that she knew I loved her, and she would never forget it. She said I had to remember, that nothing he could do to her, or make me do to her, would ever hurt her as much as seeing me hurt. She made me promise, and I promised, I had no idea what I was promising.”
“Nothing he made you do was your fault, nothing! She was an adult, she could have taken you out of there got you both safe, none of this was your fault, you were not to blame for any of it.”
“Wasn’t I? Maybe not at first but you have no idea… The first thing happened that same day, he came home, and we sat at the table, he started to eat, and I sat waiting. Then he told me to eat.
I didn’t know what to do, it was like it was a test, he never allowed me or my mum to eat before he finished, but now, he was telling me to eat while he still had food on his plate. I made a mistake and looked at my mum for guidance, she was looking down at her plate the way we were supposed to sit. He repeated his instruction; I did as I was told. Then, when I had finished, he told me to go fetch the ashtray.
I did as I was told, determined this time I would get it all in and not drop it, but, as I headed for the bin, he told me to bring it to him. He ordered me to tip the contents onto my mums’ plate, then sit back down. He made me sit and watch her eat her dinner with the ash and cigarette butts mixed in, he told me, that this was my choice for her, that I had looked for her judgement before obeying him, and now, I was punishing her for making me weak.
I sat there and watched as she ate every bit, even now I can see her eyes water as she fought back the tears and the vomit. I should have refused I should have said no and taken my own beating, but I betrayed her.”
Chapter Eight
“How old were you?”
“I was about three or four, I know it was before I started school, so it had to be before I turned five.”
“How the hell do you hold a child that young to account when they are doing what their parent tells them? What both parents had told them? Mate, you say you have been seeing counsellors but seems to me you weren’t listening to what they were telling you.”
“I listened, but I have barely scratched the surface, I found myself enjoying it!”
He paused and took another swig from the bottle, he was waiting for the judgement to begin but the other man said nothing, he just looked so incredibly sad.
“That’s a lie, I didn’t enjoy hurting my mum, but I enjoyed my dad’s approval. During the day when my dad was at work, I would cling to my mum, beg her forgiveness for whatever I had done to her the night before, I hated weekends because by Monday I would have so many things to say sorry for. She always forgave me, she always told me she loved me and that we had to do what we needed to do to survive. I did ask her once why we didn’t leave, run away, but she cried and told me he would never let her go, he would never let me go. I don’t want to go into what I did, just know I hated myself for the pain I inflicted but I loved both my parents. I know my dad was a monster, but I loved him.
Once I started school it got harder for me to cope. I didn’t have that chance to hold onto my bond with my mum, my dad dropped me at school, then I had to walk to his work after for a lift home. It wasn’t just the violence I was a witness to now, it was other thing
s.
There was one night I was sat on the floor watching cartoons on TV, I was being rewarded for getting full marks on a spelling test, then I heard my mum say no. I froze, my mum never said no to him. I glanced around and he was trying to put a hand up my mums’ skirt, I didn’t know what he was doing but I was scared because whatever it was, it was bad enough to make my mum try to stop him. I fixed my gaze on the tv, but I was no longer happy about watching the cartoons.
I asked my dad if I could be excused, I said I had remembered I had some homework to do, but he told me to shut up and stay where I was. I heard a slap, then reflected in the tv screen, I saw my mum forced over the coffee table, my dad kneeling behind her. He was grunting and bumping into her against the table. I was confused, how it could be, that pushing her against the table, could be so hard that he was getting out of breath, and how it could make her cry so much when nothing else he ever did to her made her sob like that.
I didn’t understand what I was witnessing but it would turn out to be the thing that changed my life.
The files said that I was exhibiting worrying signs when I started school, that they were already keeping a record of all the inappropriate behaviours I was acting out. So, you can imagine the reaction the next week when, during an argument with a classmate at lunchtime, I grabbed her by the hair, pushed her face down on to a table, and started bumping against her shouting the words I had heard my dad say in between grunts. That’s what you want isn’t it bitch, you dare to say no to me, this is how you like it.”
Dave let out a nervous laugh.
“Sorry mate, I know it’s not funny, and that you heard all that is horrendous, damn, I’m sorry, was just the thought of, well how the hell do teachers react to that, they must have known you didn’t know what you were doing, so how do they explain it.”
“It’s okay, I suppose in some messed up way, looking back, I can see there was a funny side, the teaching assistants face went a bright shade of red, then purple. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me from the lunchroom. I could hear the girl crying and other kids were laughing but I had no idea what I had done, what it meant, neither did any of the other kids but that teaching assistant was telling me I was filthy, disgusting.
She made me sit in the corridor outside the headteacher's office, people were walking past laughing at me and sniggering, I was terrified. I thought about running out the door right then, and keeping running, but at that minute, the door opened and the teaching assistant walked out, not even giving me a second glance. I was ushered into the room.”
“What happened? Did they call your parents?”
“I thought they were going to but instead the head came and sat down next to me, I can remember how gentle and soft her voice was, it reminded me of the way my mum talked to me. She was asking where I had seen and heard that sort of thing. I stayed silent; my dad had always said we do not discuss what happens at home with anyone. I knew I was already in trouble, and I knew my mum would be made to pay for me drawing attention to myself. I started crying and I just kept saying I was sorry. I am still not sure who I was sorry for my mum, the girl or myself.
I don’t remember what happened next only what was written in the files. A type of psychosis, that’s what it says, I just shut down completely, the school nurse came in and rung for an ambulance. They rang my parents, or should I say they rang my dad at work, he would not let them have the home phone, and my mother was not allowed to leave the house without him anyway. Other calls must have been made but I don’t know if the teacher made them or the doctors, but social services were there before my dad arrived, the reports say he became enraged and abusive to staff when he was denied access to me. At some point, the police were called and he was arrested.
I was kept in the hospital for a week with a policewoman sat by my bed the whole time. I remember, as I started to come back to myself, that I asked for my mum a few times, but the policewoman would always smile and shake her head before calling for a doctor to check on me and sedate me.
I was taken to from the hospital to a foster home, I had been there a week when I was called downstairs and sat down surrounded by adults I did not know and told that my mum was dead, and I would not be going home. I didn’t need them to tell me my dad had killed her; I knew it and I knew it was my fault.”
“No! No, no, no! It was not your fault you were a child, shit, mate, I don’t know what to say but you didn’t do anything, you weren’t to blame for anything.”
“In one way I get what you are saying but, how can I put this, do you believe that some people are born evil? That some people, when they face the worst things in life, can rise above it, and others will just sink in depravity?”
“I don’t think it is that simple, I don’t think whether you are good or bad decides what you get in life. I always thought I was a good person but look at the way my life went. I know nothing as bad as yours, I don’t think you know how remarkable it is you are here today. There are a lot of people would not have made it this far.”
“Yeah, I know, but there are a lot of people would never end up here as well. I was passed around from one foster home to another labelled as a difficult child, I was rude, aggressive and had no idea of how to treat the opposite sex. I had foster parents who tried to bash the devil out of me and beat the lord in.
I was eight when I learnt the hard way what my dad had been doing to my mum, it was an older foster child who forced me down over the desk in my room while another kept watch at the door. I thought I knew pain before, but it was nothing to that, I couldn’t sit down properly for days, I think the family knew what had happened, but nothing was said. A day or two later my bags were packed, and I was moved on to the next place.
It was around the same time that my name was changed, I didn’t know at the time but in my records, it showed that my name was changed once my dad was finally held accountable for my mum’s death.
Chapter Nine
The next few years I lost track of the number of homes I was put in, most of the time I had no one but myself to blame for being moved on, I was bad, everyone knew it, I started getting into trouble with the law. I stole from everyone, it didn’t matter if I liked them or not, I had no respect for anyone and certainly none for myself. Then an angel appeared.”
“Is this your love at first sight?”
“No, definitely not. My angel was a 58-year-old retired nurse, she had fostered a lot of kids with her husband, but he had passed away and she had stopped. It was a sheer fluke that she heard about me, the kid no one wanted to take on. Everyone told her I was bad news, that she didn’t want to waste her time and energy on me, I heard them, when she came to the home where I was.
She got mad, for the first time ever I heard someone stick up for me, I heard her say she had read my file, and that if they couldn’t understand why I was messed up and acting out, they had no right to be fostering. I hadn’t read my file; I had blocked out so much by that point that even I didn’t know why I was angry and lashing out. I heard her leave and I wanted to cry, I couldn’t remember the last time I had wept at that point, it had been years, but it felt like my last chance had walked out the door. I went to the bathroom and picked up a razor blade.
I stood looking at myself in that mirror, looking at the image of my dad looking back at me, I was his double and I hated everything about myself, I was trying to break the plastic to get the razor blade out when I heard my name being called. I didn’t answer, then she was banging on the door, she said young man get out here right now and pack your bags you're coming with me. For the first time in my life, I felt a glimmer of hope.
We got in the car and, as she drove, she gave me a few home truths, ones I needed but didn’t want to hear. She offered me a clean slate, well not totally clean, I still had a few criminal charges pending, and there was a chance I could be sent to a young offenders institution, but we would deal with that when and if it happened. I was 14 years old and for the first time, I f
elt like just maybe, I deserved a future.
Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t easy I still acted up and pushed boundaries and broke rules, but she wouldn’t break, she wouldn’t tell me what am I waste of space I was, how worthless and disgusting I was. She just kept telling me that I had the choice and the power to determine my own future. She tried to get me to talk about my past, but I couldn’t remember much, I had reached a point where I had become so good at blocking things out, I could not remember anything. Then one day she took me to the hospital and, as we sat in a sterile waiting room, she told me we were going to face my past, and we were going to do it together.
That first day, she sat with me and we discussed how I was going to deal with learning about what had happened to me, the woman psychiatrist seemed more interested in whether I was sure I wanted to know. At the time I thought she was dumb, I mean why would be there otherwise, only later did I realise she had been shown my file first, I left there complaining we had wasted a day and that I didn’t like her. Emily, that was my angel's name, told me that nothing got fixed properly overnight, only patched up, and that included me, she said we were going to do this properly. I wonder if she knew then that I could never be fixed completely.”
“What happened? Why are you here tonight?”
He pulled out the bottle and took a drink, looking at the bottle as he replaced the cap he thought, one more drink and it will be time.
“I’m getting there, as you said yourself, you need the full story to understand. I was in counselling for twelve months that first time, then it was decided, that I should take a break while I concentrated on exams. I wasn’t expecting to get any qualification, my education was so messed up by the constant moves and my behaviour that I didn’t hold up much hope, but Emily insisted I at least try.
Escaping The Shadows Anthology: Shenanigans'19 @ The West Midlands Book Signing. Page 19