Daddy's Little Earner (19 page)

Soon after that Dad was sent to prison again for something
unrelated to me. I was quite settled at Break with
Terry but I was really beginning to feel the loss of having
no other family apart from him and Dad. Adore Dad
though I did, I had finally realized that I was never going
to be able to rely on him to be there for me, and if he was there he was always going to be messing with me or forcing
me to go with other men. I desperately wanted to
have someone else I could rely on and it wasn’t fair to put
all my problems onto Terry, who had enough troubles of
his own trying to cope with our family situation. Mel had
eventually told him about Dad making me work on the
block and he went ballistic, saying he was going to knife
him. He was so upset about it that I thought it wasn’t fair
to put that pressure on him any more.

So I asked social services to contact Mum. With Dad
out of the way I thought it would be safe for her to come
and see us and I really wanted to meet her, having no
memory of her from the time when she lived with us. I
was trying hard not to hate her for walking out on us and
I was curious to know what she was like and why she had
made no effort to contact us all through those years. I
thought we would have a lot in common now since Dad
had treated us both in pretty much identical ways.

Social services promised they would do their best and
they eventually tracked her down. She was working in a
hotel in Eastbourne on the south coast and lodging in a
friend’s house. They contacted her and told her that we
had asked to see her. To my surprise she agreed to come
up to Break for a visit. There was a big buzz of excitement
in the home before she arrived. It wasn’t often that
any of the inmates got reunited with their absent mothers
after eight years. When she got there the staff took her through to the sitting room and then they fetched Terry
and me to come and meet her.

I don’t remember now what I had hoped would happen
when I first saw her; perhaps I thought she would
burst into tears and throw her arms around me and tell
me how much she had missed me and how much she
regretted her decision to leave us. I think I wanted to
feel an immediate bond with her, something so strong
between mother and daughter that even the fact it had
been so long since she had seen us wouldn’t prevent it
from holding firm.

When I walked into the room and saw her for the first
time I felt not the slightest spark of recognition or emotion.
She could have been anybody they had just dragged
in off the street to act the part of my long-lost mother.
Having spent so many years listening to Dad telling us
about what a beautiful woman she was, I was shocked by
her ordinariness. I had allowed myself to be fooled by his
rose-tinted spectacles because I had wanted to believe that
my mother must be something wonderful. It hadn’t just
been Dad. Other people who had known them when they
were young had told us how stunning she was and what
a glamorous couple they had made, so I suppose I had
expected to meet the same young woman that they had
all talked about, not this woman who was eight years older
and worn down by life, stripped of the wigs and dresses
and make-up that she had been able to afford when she was on the game rather than working in shops and hotels.
Maybe I had imagined that she had left us for a far more
glamorous life, away from the day-to-day drudgery of
bringing up a family in a council house. After all, if she
hadn’t run away to a better life, why had she gone? Had it
really been so terrible to be with us that it was better to be
a hotel chambermaid or a shop girl with no home of her
own? So many questions were spinning around inside
my head that I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t
say much.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I asked to try to break the
awkwardness of the encounter.

‘Yes, please.’

‘Do you take sugar?’ I asked, shocked to think that I
had to ask my own mother such a fundamental question.
It seemed to bring home to me what complete strangers
we were. I felt a sudden rush of bitterness towards her for
abandoning us and never caring enough to get in touch,
never allowing us to get to know her.

She had been driven up to Break by her mum and dad
and they had gone off into the local town after dropping her
at the home. She asked if we would like to meet them. I
thought that was a brilliant idea – maybe they would live
up to the idealized pictures I carried in my head. As we
walked down the road she pulled out a packet of cigarettes
and offered them to us. Even though I’d been smoking since
I was eleven, I knew this was an odd thing for a mother to offer her children. It didn’t seem like responsible parenting.
It seemed like she was trying to be pals with us, which
wasn’t what we wanted. We wanted a proper mother. We
still accepted the proffered cigarettes of course because they
hardly ever let us smoke at Break, but still it seemed to
undermine even further the idea that she was our long-lost
mum and that she really cared about us after all. Terry
wasn’t as cynical as me and was delighted that she was back,
but I was holding myself in reserve all through that day.

When we got to the town my grandmother was no
more familiar to me than Mum, but for some strange reason
I recognized my grandfather immediately. Although
I didn’t realize it at the time, he had apparently always
had a bit of a soft spot for me when I was small. I found
out later that when Mum left us he had tried to put her
mind at rest a little.

‘Don’t ever worry about that little girl,’ he told her,
‘she’ll be all right.’

I’ve often wondered what made him think that and
why he didn’t make any effort to check on me after Mum
had gone. Maybe he did and I just didn’t hear about it.

After eight years of having no contact with us, Mum
suddenly seemed prepared to look after us completely.
The plan was that because Dad was in prison it was safe
for her to move back up to the area and get a home
together for the three of us so we could all live happily
ever after. I couldn’t believe that it could all be so easy after so many years. Why had we had to wait so long for
her to decide to do this? Dad had been to prison before,
so surely there had been other opportunities? But I didn’t
say anything, for fear of putting a doubt into her mind. I
really wanted this to happen. Initially, however, she had
to go back down to Eastbourne to sort out her affairs and
work out her notice before moving north.

Once she had gone and my initial disappointment
with her had worn off, I grew more and more excited at
the idea of spending more time with her. Whatever had
happened in the past she was still our mum, after all, and
if we were back with her we would be reunited with our
grandparents and other members of the family we hadn’t
seen since she’d gone. Maybe this way we would actually
find a life where we felt we belonged and fitted in.
With Dad away we had no other family and the idea of
being part of a unit again was wonderful.

I talked about it a lot back at Break with Mel, and the
more we talked about it the more impatient I became to
see Mum again and get to know her better. A week or so
after the visit the two of us cooked up a plan to run away
from Break and head for Eastbourne. I imagined Mum
would be just as thrilled to see me again as I would be to
see her, and I thought she would be flattered to think we
had gone to so much trouble to find her.

We got out of the home quite easily and then hitchhiked
down south. Only when we got there did we realize that Eastbourne is quite a large place and we didn’t even
have any idea where she lived or worked. There was also
some sort of carnival going on which meant the streets
were full of crowds, making it all seem even more confusing
and overwhelming. By systematically trekking around
all the hotels along the seafront we eventually managed
to find where she was.

‘We’ve come down to visit you,’ I said when we were
finally taken to see her, feeling so proud of myself for
making such a long journey and maybe hoping once
again that she would fling her arms round me or at least
be touched that I cared enough to make the effort.

‘You’ve run away,’ she snapped. ‘Now you can bloody
well run back.’

It felt like a slap in the face. In the end she grudgingly
let us stay the weekend before sending us all the way back
to Norwich but she obviously wasn’t pleased to be so
inconvenienced. When we arrived back I got all the
blame from the staff for leading Mel astray, even though
our adventure had been a joint decision, but I was used
to that. Neither of us would have gone on our own, but I
certainly hadn’t held a gun to her head. In some ways
she was the leader. Terry was the same as me, always getting
the blame for everything no matter who else was
involved. It was like we were the real ‘problem children’
while everyone else had some mitigating reason for why
they were in care.

One time when Mel was brought back to Break after a
holiday she became so depressed she took an overdose.
When I saw how much attention she got with that I
decided to do the same myself a few weeks later, just as I
had when the boy smashed his room up at The Durdans.
I managed to save up some paracetamol by telling different
staff members I had a headache or period pains, then
one night I swallowed them all. I don’t remember how
many it was but obviously not too many. Of course I
didn’t get the same attention or sympathy as Mel – I just
got told I was being pathetic and to pull myself together.

I’ve probably taken more than a dozen overdoses
through the years, since that first one at the age of fourteen.
Every time while I was actually putting the tablets
in my mouth I always intended to kill myself, but sometimes
I would change my mind a few moments after I’d
swallowed them. A kind of survival instinct cuts in. Realizing
I didn’t really want to die, I would panic and tell
someone what I had done, just as Dad used to. They
would then raise the alarm and once the attempt had
failed I would be left with all the shame and embarrassment
of having had my stomach pumped and of being
given a load of lectures. With each failed attempt my self-
esteem would shrink further.

A few weeks after our reunion Mum moved back up
to Norwich so we could live with her and the council gave
her a lovely three-bedroom house. It seemed like we were actually going to be a normal family after all. Social services
furnished and decorated the house, bending over
backwards to give us the best possible start together, and
Terry and I went off to live with her with high hopes. By
that time Mum had explained to us that she was pregnant
by a man she had met down in Eastbourne, but it soon
became obvious that he was not going to be taking
responsibility for his child. Despite our optimism, the
omens for us were not good.

F
or all Terry’s and my good intentions, and maybe
Mum’s as well, there was little chance that the
three of us would be able to establish a relationship after
so long apart and after everything that we had all been
through along the way. Our new little family unit lasted
exactly six weeks and it was a bumpy ride from day
one. I don’t doubt that both Terry and I were complete
pains in the neck for Mum, and that having had no one
to worry about but herself for the last eight years it was a
bit of a shock to suddenly find herself in charge of two
difficult teenagers she hardly knew and who harboured
incredible resentments towards her, but it was still a
disappointment to find her defeated so easily.

We had changed schools yet again in order to attend
one closer to our new home, and I was refusing to go in at
all, not wanting to start all over again with people I didn’t know. I’d had enough of having to prove myself in new
social groups, dealing with new bullies all over again and
having to show them who was boss. I just wanted to be left
alone and maybe have a bit of fun out of life. I would skive
off up to the city with friends instead, drinking and generally
playing up. There were a lot of arguments at home as
Mum attempted in vain to exercise some sort of parental
control, which I counteracted with large doses of adolescent
resentment, endendent up slashing my wrists and taking
an overdose yet again. Social services were called and
Mum was forced to admit she couldn’t cope with us.

After things had gone wrong with Mum, Terry and I
were taken into care again. I was heartbroken that my
dreams of having a proper family had come to nothing
and I was even more devastated when I was told that Terry
and I were going to be separated this time. I was taken
to a place called Bramerton Lodge, while Terry was
moved into a hostel to have a go at a sort of independent
living. I couldn’t understand why we weren’t both
returned to Break and I felt rejected and abandoned by
them as well as by my mother. I know my behaviour wasn’t
great but the things I did – cutting myself, taking
overdoses, prostitution, drinking myself into a stupor –
were hurting me much more than anyone else. I was crying
out for help and no one at all was responding.

Bramerton was a remand and assessment centre in the
countryside outside Norwich. It was considered to be the last chance for kids like me, after which prison or borstal
were the only options open to us. The building, which
had ominous-looking bars at the windows, was stuck in a
field in the middle of nowhere. I was told I would be
there for just six weeks while they decided what to do
with me next, but in fact I would stay there for the best
part of three years on and off.

It was completely different to any home I had been in
before, with a very strict, controlled routine. My first
night there I walked into the common room with a big
bolshy attitude.