Amelia's story Page 4

  They were not bad foster parents, but not particularly nice either, as they were quite strict and slightly removed from the job in hand. But I guess they had to be, because getting attached would make it too hard for them to foster, knowing they would have to say goodbye eventually. It was so hard being shifted from one place to the next. You would think it would be something we would have gotten used to, but that was not the case. We longed for the lives that other children had with some stability, love, and attention. Jake and I always talked about how amazing it would be to have a normal life just like the very children we were staying with at our temporary foster home.

  The children’s rooms were incredible; there were so many toys, the bed sets matched their curtains, and they had their own writing desks to complete their homework. The bedrooms were like fantasy rooms to Jake and I—we had never seen anything like them before in our whole lives. At first Jake and I thought the foster parents were wealthy, but it turns out they were just a very hard-working couple who saved and provided well for their family. But to Jake and I they were millionaires!

  We were to remain with our new foster parents until the new baby was born and our mother was in a routine. Jake and I couldn’t quite warm to our foster parents. Part of the reason was that their two children were treated very differently to us in the most obvious ways. Although we were not mistreated, it was obvious that we did not belong there, and for that reason we did not want to be there.

  When we were eventually returned home, it was to a new half-sister, Susie. I could not believe how miniature our half-sister was; she had a shock of black hair and the tiniest fingers I had ever seen. My time was immediately taken up fetching and carrying for my mother, which I did not mind in the slightest, as it kept mother busy enough for a while and took the onus off Jake and I. My daily job was basically taking care of Jake and Jenny most of the time. Jenny had a large blue- and- white-striped buggy, which I used to place her in and take her for a walk around the rough council estate, partially because I wanted to be away from Mother, but also because Mother had some peace and quiet, allowing her time to be focused on Susie. Social Workers were a frequent presence once again, popping in and out at every opportunity, checking on our welfare and imparting their advice to Mother.

  By this time, we were now all calling Robert “Dad,” and he was still the fearful man I remember—too afraid of Mother, always doing what she told him, no matter how impossible the task. This was making him depressed, and he was no longer happy. He rarely smiled, and it became noticeably clear to Jake and I that he was suddenly away from home often. We began to see less and less of him, and when he was around, he seemed to develop a little backbone. Perhaps being away from Mother more often was changing him. They were in each other’s company a lot less, which meant she did not have that complete hold over him anymore. When Robert was around, it was just pure carnage. The rows became more two-sided as time went on, and when tempers flared they reached new heights. Their fights became quite frightening at times—pots and pans would be thrown at each other, and our mother’s temper knew no bounds. I was sure this was the type of woman who would be capable of raising the blood pressure of a monk. It was not unusual for windows to get smashed during their rows, which would then be boarded up for a few weeks with thick-brown carpet tape until the council came to replace them. As usual, Mother knew how to get what she wanted, and a few dramatic stories later, the glass was always replaced free of charge.

  One day when we arrived home from school we walked into mayhem. There was arguing and screaming, and Robert was packing his bags and preparing to leave. Mother was in such a rage the hatred seeped out of her eyes, so Jake and I grabbed our two sisters and hid in the corner of the living room, as far out of sight as we could possibly get. We were all crying and sobbing uncontrollably, fearful of what our mother was going to do next and which one of us would take the punishment for the latest fight. Sadly, Jake and I were only too aware that when she was like this, just about anything could happen and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Jenny and Susie were shaking in our arms as they continued to cry hysterically.

  We were eventually sent to our rooms where we were told to remain, so we all sat close together, huddled tightly, listening to what was our life’s soundtrack coming from below: banging, screaming, swearing, smashing. I was sure this could be heard all the way to the end of the street. Then all went quiet. Sometime later, Mother came up stairs crying and hugging us all, telling us that our dad had left. She left no detail out during her explicit explanation, which totally shocked Jake and I. We did not believe her at first, knowing that if ever there was a woman fit for amateur dramatics, it was Heidi Sue Thomas. However, on this particular occasion, she was right. Our stepfather left to begin a new chapter in his life, something that shocked us all, not helped by mother’s descriptive way of informing us that Robert had left to be with another man.

  Mother had found Robert in bed with another man, and he admitted to being gay without hesitation when asked. During the fight that took place before his departure, Robert told Mother how intolerable she had become and advised her to seek treatment for her temper. Mother shouted expletives into the street for all to hear, while Robert walked away. As much as he had begun to argue back with Mother, Robert had the dignity to keep this indoors and did not cave into Mother’s attempt to make him vent in public. I respected him for this, as I was at an age where I was aware of other people’s attitudes toward our family and had begun to feel embarrassed about it.

  The neighbours were not favourable toward our family in the least, and I was now noticing the strange looks we received from them, along with the pointing and staring. Some of the local children were told to keep their distance from us by their parents, due to our foul-mouthed mother, something any respectful parent would do.

  My relationship with Mother became more volatile as I started sticking up for Jake. Robert’s departure had changed me a little, and I knew there was no longer an adult around to defend us. I was now the oldest sane member of this household. It started to become very apparent to me that the way we were being treated was not the norm at all.

  I started asking myself a lot of questions: Why us? Why our mother? Were we so bad, was it so terrible having us around? I had no idea why I could do nothing right in my mother’s eyes.

  I felt sad most of the time, as did Jake; life was just too hard. Although I still feared Mother, I told myself that I needed to stick up for Jake when she hit him for no reason, or called him terrible names to humiliate him. Robert leaving Mother continued to have a downward effect on her, and the atmosphere became tenser in the house. Mother was drinking more than ever before, and she tolerated us even less. We were often left outside all day, regardless of weather conditions, only to be allowed back into the house from teatime onward. We were guaranteed a barrage of abuse when it was time to go in and would once again be made to feel worthless. Another guarantee was an empty bottle of vodka somewhere in the house that Mother had devoured.

  I remember one morning when Mother got up early and informed me I was having my hair cut. I assumed this meant a trim, but Mother had other ideas. I had lovely, long, dark hair and was very proud of those locks. We went to see a friend of Mother’s, and she was told to give me a feather cut. It was short, layered, and horrible. I hated it. This was done purely out of spite, and not because I needed a haircut. I spent the rest of that day in tears, looking at myself in the mirror, my lovely, girly locks were gone, and I thought I looked like a boy. Mother smiled and giggled her way through the day, obviously finding it all very amusing. Unsurprisingly, all the other kids in our square laughed at me, pointing and staring, and it was just humiliating. A friend of mine told me that I still looked pretty, but I knew I didn’t. To top it all off, I knew I would have to face school on Monday morning and no doubt the pointing and laughing would start again. Over the next few days, I prayed that my hair would grow back quickly, but that was obviously not going to happen. Mo
nday soon came around, and I think building myself up for such a terrible time made the day a little easier. I managed to get through that Monday morning just about, and the other children had moved on from their insults by the afternoon.

  Back at home, we soon started to notice the arrival of a man in an R.A.F uniform. He was a very handsome and well-dressed man, always turning up at our house armed with bags of sweets and lots of chocolate. We were told to call him Uncle Steven, and this was fine with us as he was very pleasant. More to the point, so was our mother when he was around. For Jake and I, Mother being so happy was like being in heaven; we were temporarily relieved from our miserable lives. Uncle Steven would take us all into the car park to see his green Ford Cortina; we were not used to seeing cars on our estate, at least not new ones with all the tires on! We were allowed to sit up front and beep the horn, and for that moment we were the envy of all the other kids on the estate. I had never felt like that as a child; for all eyes to be on Jake and I in envy has to be one of my proudest memories. Uncle Steven became a frequent visitor, and we all thought he was great. He introduced us to chocolate spread on toast . . . mmm, I loved it! He always came armed with a stack of chocolate spread, which Jake and I thought was the best thing ever. The chocolate jar would be almost clean by the time we finished, and most of it would be all over our faces!

  Uncle Steven was on leave for a couple of days and he was staying the night with us. This was the only time we really liked our mother, when he was around. He seemed to bring out the best in her for a reason we did not know, and he genuinely seemed to like us kids too, which was a plus point. We all felt so proud when he walked up to our house on a visit. The neighbours’ curtains would be twitching at the sight of this tall, handsome man in his R.A.F. uniform.

  Uncle Steven always gave our mother money to pay any outstanding bills and a bit extra so she could stock up on cigarettes and vodka. He was very generous, and I thought he was a gift from God. For a while we felt like we were a normal family whenever he was around. Our mother was lovely to us and happy in his presence. We all laughed and joked together; Mother would send us out to play for a while during his visit, telling us she needed some private time with Uncle Steven. Of course we were happy to oblige and would run outside, sit next to the green Ford Cortina, and eat our sweets happily! We watched over his car, protecting it against the thieves, which were rife on the estate.

  When his visit ended, Mother would be in a great mood for a while. She even attempted to get up early in the morning and help us all to get ready for school. She occasionally did my hair in my favourite princess style (my hair had grown a fair bit); I loved my hair like that. As time went on, we had totally forgotten that Uncle Steven was not our real uncle. We had accepted him into the family whole-heartedly and wished every time that he did not have to leave. We were fascinated with his stories of the Air Force and all his worldly travels to Singapore and the like; he was fast becoming our hero. Jake wanted to grow up to be just like him. He talked endlessly of joining the Air Force when he grew up. For a while things at home were quite calm, and Mother’s temper did not surface very often. She had her moments, but they had lessened. Uncle Steven seemed to have a calming effect on her, which was for now, at least, transforming our lives—a calmer life for us all.

  Uncle Steven’s next visit was a month later. We were all dressed in our Sunday best and extremely happy and excited as he had promised presents for us all! I watched for his car at my bedroom window, which overlooked the road at the back of the house. I dreamt of him being our new father as we all thought he was perfect. Jake and I talked at length when Mother was not around about how lovely it would be to live a normal life and to have a proper family; our mother would be happy and so we would all be happy. Oh how we prayed this would be. I squealed with delight when I saw his green Cortina speeding up the road. As far as Jake and I were concerned this was like a Rolls Royce to us.

  I ran downstairs, shouting, “He’s here, everyone, he’s here!” Mother was excited too. She smiled, asking us all to calm down and to give him time to get through the door before we all jumped on him! It seemed like forever since we had last seen him.

  As soon as the door opened (Mother had supplied him with a key of his own), we jumped all over him. He looked so smart in his uniform and hat and we were all so proud. Mother told us all to go and sit down while she took him into the kitchen for a chat. She always ensured this was the first thing she did when he arrived. All the red-letter bills were displayed in a line on the kitchen counter in order of importance of which he would go through and write out checks for each and every one. Once that was out of the way, Mother unleashed us on him, and we would all sit down listening to his stories while Mother cooked a roast dinner.

  I had noticed a significant shift in their relationship. Things were definitely getting more serious. Jake and I were taking bets on how long it would be before he was a permanent member of the family. Oh how we prayed, hoped, and talked at length about it. Were we lucky enough to have such a wonderful thing happen to us? Would he propose to our mother? Oh how we hoped with all our heart. We imagined a life with happy parents, and holidays to Uncle Steven’s cottage in Oxford. Were we really lucky enough to be granted with such a wish? We prayed hard and often that we would be.

  Uncle Steven felt like our last chance at a happy life. Jake and I had pinned all our hopes on this happening. We, of course, played our part when he stayed with us; we would take his coat, pass him his slippers, fetch him water, and we ensured that both Mother and Uncle Steven had all the private time they needed while Jake and I would take care of Jenny and Susie. It was almost like our mother had had a personality transplant; for the most part we hardly recognized her as she was so nice to us when he was around.

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  Broughton Estate

  It was not long before Mother announced we were being re-housed to a four-bedroom house on another rough estate some three miles away. At first Jake and I were saddened at the news, as it seemed to us we were always on the move. We never stayed in one place for very long. As soon as we had made new friends and became used to our new schools, we were uprooted yet again. Eventually we came round to the idea, knowing it was going to happen anyway and soon mustered up enough positive energy to embrace the move.

  For several days Mother seemed in good spirits while we were all busy packing up ready to move into our new home. Her jolly mood was infectious. Along with the regular visits from Uncle Steven, life was definitely on the up. The day of the big move the moving men packed all the boxes and furniture into the lorry; Mother made sure she had unscrewed all the light bulbs and took down all the netting, and carpets were taken up to be refitted into our new home. Even the garden plants were uprooted as these were Mother’s pride and joy.

  On arrival at our new home, the excitement was evident; Mother had assured us this was going to be a fresh start for all of us. We basked in this glorious news and were rushing around the new house all placing claim to our chosen bedroom. Jake and I had the smallest of the three rooms available, and Jenny and Susie had to share a room so they had the largest one. Mother had the master bedroom. I caught her adding those large bolts to the doors to each of our rooms, watching her while she was doing this, my stomach feeling queasy at the very thought of it. I was hoping with this fresh start that Mother would do away with the locks and bolts on our bedroom doors. For the first time ever I questioned the bolts and asked her why? I was met with a cold reply, a reply that was a harsh reminder that our real mother was still hovering around, “To stop you from leaving your bedrooms, of course,” she replied coldly.

  I knew then that our unpredictable, bad-tempered mother had not gone away, that she would again resurface before long. There was a look in her eye that made my blood run cold. I was no longer feeling so positive, no longer feeling that this was a fresh start. I knew all too well that our unpredictable mother would still make our lives unbearable. We would still be locked in
our rooms with no lights most of the time, and we would still have to spend all day on the weekends outside no matter what the weather because she could not cope with us all in the house when school was out.

  The house was a basic four-bedroom council house sandwiched in a row of three on Broughton Estate. We had a new house, a new school, a new life. Once again we had to make a new friend, which was not a hard task on this estate as it was full of kids of a similar age, and everyone was living in poverty of one form or another. Uncle Steven was a regular visitor at our new house and helped Mother out a lot on his visits, fixing this and that around the house, and making sure Mother had enough money.

  Then one day Mother gathered us all around the table in the dining room and announced she was getting married to Uncle Steven. We were all delighted, and our screams could be heard all the way down the street. On his next visit, Uncle Steven was armed with gifts for us all. Mother told us how we were all going to live together, which was music to our ears. Uncle Steven had a son from a previous marriage, who was older than me at thirteen years of age. We had not met him yet, as he had not been very well for some time, but we had seen a photo of him. We knew he was not well, but we had no idea what the problem was or how serious his condition was. Uncle Steven did not speak of him much.