Chapter 6

I screamed, burying my face into my sister’s lap as I lay on the back seat. Our black Saab raced down the main road, other drivers hooted their horns and slammed on the breaks to avoid us, but we had to get away. He was gaining on us�?

“Emma, keep your head down!�?My Mum said trying to sound calm, turning round to face me from the passenger seat. I didn’t intend to move. I sobbed into the fabric of Laura’s leggings, leaving tiny puddles of tears behind. Once more I could feel the rising and falling of my chest as panicked breaths escaped me.

My whole body tingled as though a thousand pins were being pushed into me, over and over again; I was sweating because I'd curled my body up so tightly in my thickly padded, rainbow-splattered coat. I wanted to disappear. It had become near enough impossible to see through my glasses, the tears had created smear marks on the lenses, clouding my view. Not that it mattered, all I could see was the "British Isles Road Map" in the back of the chair and the world whizzing past through the window above me.

“Mum, I’m scared!�?/P>

I wiped my snotty nose on the sleeve of my coat. Laura’s body was so warm and I felt a slight sense of comfort as she stroked my gingery hair, telling me once more that everything would be ok. I hoped it would, but the question was, when? When would everything be ok? When would this stop?

Driving sideways made me feel sick; with the heat, the thumping of my head from crying, the chaos, the fear�?My stomach was in knots. I was in so much pain because I lacked the understanding that my sister had and yet I was numb due to the terror of every situation that we were placed in. Nothing made sense anymore.

I heard Chris changing the gears and his heavy shoes moving on the pedals. It’s amazing what you hear when you don’t actually think you’re listening. Chris was my Mum’s new boyfriend; she’d known him for quite some time because they worked in the same factory. He was a few years younger than she was, tall, handsome, kind, caring�?The list was endless. But there was one part of Chris that I will always be thankful for; he thought the world of my Mum and treated Laura and I like his own children. Over the years that has never changed, regardless.

The car took a sudden swerve to the left and came to a sudden standstill. Why the hell weren’t we still trying to get away? I dragged myself up from Laura’s lap and looked through the window. Railings. Brightly coloured railings. We were parked at the side of the road next to an infant school. Next to that was a small playing field and passed that I could see the huge green Asda sign. I peered out of the back window. We weren’t the only ones who had stopped�?Just inches behind us I saw the same red van with the grey dented bonnet. As my Dad leapt out, leaving his door open and the engine still running, I ducked. He couldn’t see me like this, I was a good girl.

Mum opened the passenger door and went to step out.

“Be careful,�?Chris said, taking her hand in his. She stared at him for a moment and then looked back at us, “it’ll be ok�?she muttered, before getting out of the car to face my Dad. I could see that she was scared too but as always she did her best to hide it for our sake. There was no point though because we’d seen that fear for long enough now.

The rest of us stayed in the car, bolt up right, watching the usual events unfold before our eyes. Dad was shouting again but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. The anger could be easily read on his face and when he was like this I always thought he looked as though you could pop him with a pin. His arms flailed around, outstretched from his body, above his head, anywhere but at his side - he did that a lot. I hoped he wouldn’t use his fists this time.

I think my Mum had given up trying to reason with him, so she shouted back. I imagined all the things she would be saying �?how it wasn’t fair what he was doing to us, how she didn’t love him anymore and most importantly, how she would never go back to him. That’s what she’d be saying. When they’d fought in the past after he’d come looking for us, she always said the same things. My Dad didn’t like that. If he couldn’t have her, no one could. That was where my Dad went wrong, because Chris didn’t “have�?my Mum; he loved my Mum for what she was. He treated her as an equal human being with feelings, dreams, memories and he thought she was beautiful. My Dad had never told my Mum she was beautiful �?she was fat. She was always fat. No matter what weight she was, she was fat. Diet after diet, she was fat. Size 8 she was fat. To this day my Mum still has issues with her weight and it pains me every time I have to listen to “Oh, I feel fat!�?or when I ask if she’d like something nice from the corner shop and she says no, changes her mind only to then feel guilty for it afterwards. My Mum has always been beautiful to me, no matter what size she’s been or hair colour she’s had over the years. She’s my Mum.

I stared at the school playground. It wasn’t very big. The playground at my school was huge compared to that one and ours had a big field at the back where I and some of my friends used to go and make bird nests in the summer when the grass had been cut. We always hoped that some kind of creature would lay eggs in it or something but they never did. Not really surprising when it was in the middle of a field full of rowdy infant children! The disappointment stung a little until we decided to go and build one elsewhere! If the weather was miserable and we had to play on the playground, the list of games we managed to squeeze into an hour was unbelievable! My favourites were “What time is it Mr Wolf?!�?and one we all made up, called “Sharkey!�?which was just a customised version of “Tig�?but someone had to be a shark instead.

I liked school and I adored my teacher. Mrs Roberts was a plump lady in her 40s with brown curly hair and glasses. She had a big personality full of crazy laughter and funny stories, but with that came the caring side of a woman who knew what her job was and wanted to do her best for every child who set foot in her classroom. I wont lie, I got told off on occasions for either talking too much or panicking when I couldn’t do something I’d been asked to, but ninety-nine percent of the time school was a good place to be.

There are many reasons why when I think of school Mrs Roberts’s face comes to mind but there’s one memory that has always stayed with me . As a child, not only did I have a fear of the dark, but I was terrified of thunder and lightening. Whilst other people in my class would be running round the room and screaming with excitement, I used to hide under the tables with my knees tucked under my chin, waiting patiently for it to stop. On one particular day we had a really bad storm and I was absolutely hysterical! Mrs Roberts had left the room and panic had completely taken over. I walked round bawling my eyes out, but no one paid any attention. Then I heard a voice�?BR>
”Come on, Piglet�?

I looked up to see Mrs Roberts stood in the doorway with her arms wide open. I ran straight into them without thinking twice. She always had funny names for us �?sunshine, piglet, poppet were just a few.

“I don’t like it!�?I sniffled into her jumper.

She said nothing, took my hand in hers and led me outside the classroom. I stared down the length of the whole infant building as we stood there in silence. My heart was pounding and I jumped when another array of screams came from the classroom. I guessed that the lightening had flashed.

“Come on!�?Mrs Roberts smiled down on me, “walk with me and count from one to ten.�?/P>

I stepped forward and began to count with each step�?�?�?2�?3�?4�?5…�?/P>

Then I froze as a clap of thunder rumbled through the clouds. I felt a gentle squeeze on my hand and once again found Mrs Roberts smiling down at me.

“How many did you get to?�?she asked.

“…Five�?I replied, shaking.

“Well,�?she said, matter-of-factly, “do you know what that means?�?/P>

I shook my head as a tear rolled down my cheek.

“That is how many miles away the storm is, FIVE miles away.�?/P>

I looked blankly at her, saying nothing.

“And you know what else?�?/P>

I still said nothing.

“Five miles is a very, very, very, very, very long way away so you don’t need to be scared, Sunshine. It won’t hurt you and it’s all the way up there in the sky.�?She smiled again, pointing up to the ceiling.

She opened her arms again and hugged me before we went back into class.

I wished I was back at school now. Things felt different there; as though problems didn’t seem real. I was a good pupil and I tried my best, which was usually recognised. We were given stickers if we were good and then once a week we had the “Bees Knees�?award which was something Mrs Roberts made up herself. It was an extra bonus to get that and I’d walk out of the classroom with my certificate and a sticker with a bumble bee on it stuck to my nose! She always stuck it to our noses and said we couldn’t remove it until we’d left the building!

When I was at school I had a lot of problems with my eyes due to an ulcer I had after something was stuck behind one of my contact lenses at nursery. In turn it prevented my left eye from being able to focus which meant I had to wear a patch over my right eye for a couple of hours a day to strengthen my weak eye. I hated it with a passion because everywhere I looked seemed to be moving left to right at speed and it made me feel sick. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t write and I struggled to walk in a straight line, but I was always told that it had to be done. No matter how much I kicked up a fuss, it was always done! Mrs Roberts tried to be nice though and before sticking the patch on my eye, she’d stamp it with a smiley face. It made me feel a little better I suppose - because I was the only one who had a smiley face stuck to their glasses.

I really liked Mrs Roberts and right now I would rather have been at school in the middle of the biggest thunderstorm with the windows wide open and no tables to hide under, instead of being in the big black Saab with heavy doors�?

My Dad was backing my Mum into a corner. Literally. He pushed her against the railings and screamed into her face. I cried some more and I knew I had seen enough. Laura’s lap once again became my safe place to hide and I lay there sobbing silently as she stroked my hair. I remember her hand caressing the side of my head and trying to take comfort in that feeling as I had done before, but I couldn’t because once more my body and mind had gone into a state of complete despondency. That’s probably the reason why memories like this have pieces missing, big pieces, maybe pieces that I choose not to remember, or maybe pieces that I’ve just forgotten. I don’t know.

Most people could question why I haven’t asked anyone to help me fill in the gaps. There’s a simple answer to that. I don’t want to. As a child, you never think of what you might or might not remember, you never wonder what you will look back on in years to come and you never question what feelings may arise when you do think of those memories. I know I never did. That’s why I am writing this from my perspective and my perspective only; to describe what I know is real and to show that sometimes, not being able to remember everything isn’t always a bad thing.

Besides, can you imagine how complex our thoughts would be if we could remember every single miniscule detail of each and every second of our lives? Would we all not be able to tell near enough exactly the same story in a parallel way? Memories give us a past; emotions are what give our past a different definition to that of a complete stranger.

My Dad tried to run us off the road that day; why I will never know. Over the years I have often sat and thought about everything that happened back then; how bad it was, how it effected me, how I was hurt�?Not once did I stop to think that, maybe, just maybe, my Dad was hurting too. As a child you do that though - the world is yours and you are at the centre of it, your mind hasn’t yet grown enough to realise that even though other people come across as being bad and horrible, they too feel pain, anger, heartache�?Ok, so my Dad may not have dealt with his in the best way and yes, he made mistakes; but he’s human. We all make mistakes.

He’s made mistakes since then - he’ll make mistakes till the day he dies, but won’t we all? It has taken me many, many years to reach that conclusion and underneath it all I have always loved my Dad. Regardless of what he’s done or what he does in the future, that will never change because he’s my Dad.