Chapter 2

Molly, Debbie and Daniel were there waiting to greet us. An exciting five minutes was followed by the arrival of daddy’s new wife, Sue. She said, “Hello,” gave a quick hug without even looking at us and then pushed us aside to get to daddy. I didn’t know where to look when I saw her kissing him with an open mouth. She looked like a Vampire trying to eat his lips. That’s my daddy, I thought. Keep your hands off! Who are you anyway? Her own kids were told to go clean up the kitchen whilst Sue showed us up to our rooms.

I remembered Sue from when she was my mummy’s friend. She was a very pretty woman and she knew it with plenty of male attention. She had long legs always shown off by the shortest of miniskirts. Her breasts although large were nicely shaped by some kind of special bras, pushed together like a couple of balloons, always showing lots of cleavage. She maintained a full face of make-up. In fact, she seemed to wake up with make up on, never going downstairs until she looked pretty, and with perfectly polished finger nails too, always red and perfect. Her dark brown hair was permed into tight curls--afro’s were the fashion. She had big blue, drilling eyes. When she stared at me, I had to look away. Straight away I knew I had to respect this lady; everyone did and nobody argued with her. She’s always right you know!

I was sharing with two girls, Debbie aged eight and Molly six. We had bunk beds and there weren’t any blankets, just sheets.

“You don’t need blankets,” Sue stated in a matter of fact way. “It gets far too hot in this house.”

I looked for toys and thought to myself, That’s a good point, where are my toys? The bedroom looked out into a small garden. Maybe my toys are outside or in daddy’s car? Guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow, when it’s light.

Alex wasn’t too happy about sharing a room with Daniel, he was only three. Debbie was the oldest. She made it very clear she didn’t want us there and certainly didn’t want to share her mum. She hardly said a word to me but seemed to get on well with Alex, maybe because her birthday was three days before his and it was like they were twins.

Debbie looked like her mum with the most beautiful long, dark hair. It was almost black and with her tanned skin she looked very healthy. But there was something dark and evil behind those eyes that hinted of misery.

Molly was totally different, she was very plain and pale skinned, skinny and not at all pretty. She had teeth protruding all over the place and looked like a good candidate for a brace. But she was a lovely person, always sweet, and we seemed to get on so well right from the start. She was only two months older than me and we often pretended we were twins too.

Things seemed fine for a few days. We were shown around the local area by the kids. We saw the school we would be going to and went shopping for school uniforms.

Daddy came into our bedroom early the next morning. He woke me up and gently whispered, “Honey I’ve got to go back to work. I will see you next week.”

I thought I was dreaming until I woke up a short while later and daddy was gone. I was brushing my teeth when a pain shot right through the side of my head.

Next thing I knew Sue was screaming at me, “I called you, you little bitch and when I call you, you had better move!” The pain I felt was her right hand slapping me round the head, the force enough to knock me off my feet.

“Get downstairs,” she screamed right in my face. I had never been hit before, I was shocked. My brain froze in shear panic. I ran downstairs with all the kids looking at me.

Alex asked, “What’s wrong Abbie?”

“Butt out!” she shouted, “or you’ll soon find out.”

The others ignored what was happening and carried on with what they were doing. They obviously knew better than to cross Sue.

“Sit down here,” she smirked pointing to the floor in front of her feet. “That is just a taster of what you’ll get the next time you ignore me.”

I sat down and noticed her toes were painted red too. “I didn’t ignore you Sue,” I pleaded. The next thing I knew my hair felt like it was being pulled out in chunks as I was dragged across the floor,

“Don’t you dare,” she growled. She was so angry with me and I didn’t know why. “Don’t you dare answer me back. Now get up,” she bellowed, her face contorting. She didn’t look pretty anymore.

I scrambled to my feet.

“Quicker,” she said, just as my head was wacked off the nearest wall. “I’ll knock some sense into you, you spoilt little “daddy’s girl.” She spat in my face, she was so close I was afraid she was going to bite me. Pain was soaring through my head, and I felt sick and dizzy. She continued screaming, “I am your mother now and you’d better shape up girl. Your own mother found a way to get away from you. I don’t blame her either, you ugly little shit, don’t you EVER call me SUE again. Understand?”

“Please, please,” I begged her over and over, but she wouldn’t leave me alone. It just seemed to make her want to hurt me more.

“From now on you call me Mum and think yourself lucky I took you in, because no one else wants you.”

No one else wants you, no one else want you. Those words stuck with me like a dagger to the heart. No one wants me? I was devastated.

That was the first time we were left alone with her. She didn’t even give us a chance to settle in before the beatings started. I remember being kept off school for a few days. I had to stay in bed locked in my room with my bucket to pee in. My head hurt so much I couldn’t move without being sick, and I kept seeing dots floating around my room. I felt dizzy all the time.

“How long has she been like this?” daddy asked her on his return the following weekend. Daddy was a truck driver and worked abroad all week, just coming home on weekends, which left our new ”mum” free to do whatever she wanted.

“She fell down the stairs,” Sue lied, barking at him.

“Fell down?” he said looking me over. I wanted to scream but I was afraid.

“Don’t you dare judge me, I am not your babysitter. Besides she has been a brat all week, and I’ve had to get tough with her too. I can’t cope with five kids especially if she is going to be a brat.”

Daddy looked at the bruises on my face. I could see the pain in his eyes, but he said nothing and walked away. Right from the start I thought he knew I had done nothing, but he didn’t say a word. If I spoke up, I was afraid she might kill me.

Monday morning soon came, and daddy woke me up again. He said, “Be a good girl, Princess and I will be back at the weekend.” Panic immediately set in; I lay in bed and held on to him.

“Don’t go Daddy… please don’t go.” I tried to hang on but he pushed me away. I cried out after him. I really wanted to tell him what she had done and what I was frightened she would do again, but I couldn’t. He must have seen the fear in my eyes.

“Shhh,” he said with his soothing voice. “Things will be okay, just be a good girl for me.” He walked back, kissed me on the cheek and off he went for another week.

I heard the door close downstairs and dad’s car start. It pulled off down the road, then footsteps headed toward our room. I pulled the sheet over my head not wanting her to know I was awake but it was too late. She stomped in, grabbed my hair and dragged me out of bed. Out on the landing, she screamed in a sarcastic taking-the-pee tone of voice, “Aaaw daddy’s princess is sad. Aaaw poor little girl being left here all alone. What are you trying to do, make your daddy cross with me or something?”

“No,” I cried. I should have known better because it fell on deaf ears. “I miss my daddy…I want my daddy!”

I sobbed, but laughter filled the air. She was too busy laughing at me to hear me cry. A cane stood propped just outside the door. I was sure it hadn’t been there before. She grabbed it as she passed and told me to bend over,

“No… no… no!” I begged holding onto myself, covering my bottom from her with my hands.

“Each time you say no, you will get more,” she added and laughed while grabbing my hands away, “Go on, keep saying no,” She warned as she ripped my nightdress off leaving me stood almost naked in just my knickers. She told me, “You get yourself in my bedroom, bend over the end of that bed and grab hold to the bed frame.

To this day it sends chills up my spine. I’ll never forget the coldness of that chrome. “If you let go of the bed I will keep doing it,” she shouted at me. Her eyes looked like they would bulge out of her head. Those enormous eyes had such anger in them. The first smack hurt badly but obviously not enough, so she pulled down my knickers and started hitting me harder. The pain was unreal and I thought, Why? Why is this happening to me? What did I do? She counted to twenty then stopped and left me crumpled in a fetal heap on the floor of her bedroom, shaking and sobbing. Why?

She left the room. “Hurry up and get ready for school,” she shouted up the stairs.

My teacher looked at me sometimes like she knew what was happening. I had tried to tell a teacher several times but the thought of what I’d get from mum for telling tales would be worse, so I didn’t bother. Besides the whole nightmare was too embarrassing to tell anyone.

I often heard Alex crying and shouting. One morning I woke to piercing screams, “No, please no more, please stop Mum.” I had been dreaming, then shook my head to realise what I heard was not in my dream. I ran to his room and stopped still frozen, standing in the doorway. I looked over to where mum was stood over him, hitting him over and over again because his bed was wet. Alex had started bed-wetting after my real mummy died.

“I’m sorry,” he cried “I won’t do it again.” He pleaded with her as she grabbed him and shoved his face into the wet sheets, rubbing his head around in the urine. She shouted at him constantly telling him how dirty he was. I tip-toed back to my room before she saw me. What could I do? But I could still hear her.

“If you like to be wet that much, then you can smell like it all day,” she said to Alex in front of Daniel. I had seen Daniel huddled up on his bed looking terrified.

And so it was; Alex had to go to school smelling of wee most days. Luckily none of his friends noticed or if they did, no one ever said anything. On return home from school every day when he had been wet the night before, he would be made to go into the bathroom and wash his sheets in the bath, sometimes with bleach if they had stained. One night he had to sleep on the floor with no covers as his bed sheets weren’t dry. That became a regular thing; most nights he slept on the floor.

It wasn’t long after that I began to realise I couldn’t stand hearing him scream any longer. To this day I don’t know what came over me; maybe it was his wailing that went straight through me like a sharp knife through warm butter. One night I ran into his bedroom and threw myself over him to protect my big brother.

“Leave him alone,” I shouted mustering up all my courage.

That was the start of me standing up for Alex. But, of course, I also took a lot of his punishment, or got punished right along-side. At six-years-old I learnt it was easier to be beaten than to witness my brother screaming like that. It was just the way I was.

Alex didn’t stop wetting his bed. He wouldn’t tell mum it was wet and would just sleep in it for days until she found out.

The rooms never got too cold for blankets. It was freezing to me. We often got into each other’s beds and cuddled up to keep warm.

We lived in a small town near Coventry. It was a quiet street with houses that all looked the same, the same red brick with the same porches. They all had bin sheds by the front door that were painted different colours, ours was red. It was a typical town council estate, but not far away was wide open country. I loved wandering out in the country. We got to know the area well, like where the best places were to go fruit picking or scrumping and where to get the best blackberries and gooseberries. At weekends we were kicked out of the house after breakfast--that’s if we were lucky enough to get any--and told not to return until after tea time. We were not allowed back in the house under any circumstances, rain or snow. We couldn’t even use the toilet and certainly not allowed lunch. If we needed the loo then a bush would have to do. There were enough of us to be lookouts and watch for people coming. So we pretty much did as we liked and went where we liked. It was so wonderful just being away from her.

I was probably about seven years old when I found my love of horses. It was during one of those cold, wet days where we had to entertain ourselves. There was a beautiful grey horse nearby. I used to stop and stroke it whenever I went by and give it an apple I’d stolen scrumping from a neighbour’s tree. It was so friendly. One day after watching cowboys on television I decided I’d see if I could ride it, going against Molly’s pleas and begging me not to. I don’t know what possessed me but I climbed up the fence and dragged myself onto the horse’s back. I had never sat on a horse before, never mind actually riding one. I didn’t have a clue what to do but I’d seen in Westerns on TV that you kick them, so that’s what I did.

My heart was beating like crazy; the horse galloped down its field and jumped the paddock fence. It then started running around all the gardens in that posh housing estate. Whilst Molly watched with her mouth gaping open in shock, I couldn’t control it. I was just a passenger on a huge grey cloud. I could feel its breathing under me and the power it had as it moved and I grabbed onto it’s mane to keep me aboard.

Although I was struck dumb by the beauty of that horse, I knew I would be in serious trouble for this one. So when it stopped to eat grass I slid off its back leaving it to fend for itself in some person’s landscaped garden, hoof prints everywhere. How I didn’t fall off and break my neck I will never know. I ran away from the evidence giggling inside and buzzing from excitement. As I caught up with Molly we ran away from the scene of the crime together and were looking back over our shoulders to see whether any curtains were moving. Had anyone seen me? The post lady pulled up emptying the mailbox, and we breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t turned up two minutes earlier and witnessed the destruction.

No one had seen me, only my step-sister Molly.

“You will be in major trouble now,” she said with a shocked expression all over her face. “But, don’t worry, I won’t tell.” She smiled at me, her brown eyes sparkling. All the way home we were giggling and remembering how that horse had jumped out of its paddock with me clinging on for dear life.

“I was a little scared,” I said.

“You looked like you were flying,” Molly squealed,

“I felt like I it too,” I bragged. I wasn’t going to let on how frightened I really was. I didn’t for a minute think of the danger I had put myself or that poor horse into. All I could think about was hoping and praying Sue didn’t find out. I was glad it was just Molly and me; I couldn’t trust the others.

Sue never did hear of it. That horse gave me a valuable gift, a sense of power just for a snapshot in time. The thrill of that ride let me escape my misery and go somewhere else. That was the dream I hung onto and often brought back to life. I remembered it whilst I was getting beaten on a regular basis. I would hold onto the chrome bed and think of that horse. I’d travel away, miles and miles away from reality; that way the cane didn’t hurt so much. Memories of that ride, a brief moment of ecstasy, would serve me well.