Jealousy ain’t Pretty

Off to London today, and I thought i would share an excerpt from the book with you..

We didn’t have any regular contact arrangements with Dad and Pat his new bird, I remember we occasionally we would have tea around at hers, dad wasn’t always there, I always felt unwelcome, like a spare part, in her home, even though she never gave any real cause to feel uncomfortable and was always nice to me and my sister, it was always there. And when dad was around he always seemed to favor and fuss over her sons rather than us (I supposed they were the sons he never had!). Dad was hard to talk to, he wasn’t interested in us, he took no interest in how school was going? precious our lives in general, always leaving me feeling like we were never enough, always feeling that we were just two annoying kids that got in the way. He’d talk and have banter with the boys about football and girls, laughing at their latest antics, but never interested in what me and Sarah had been up to. It got too disheartening at times, my heart would sometimes physically ache for the same kind of attention that was always reserved for Pat and her boys. 

There was one time that me and Sarah had sleep over at Pats house. We had been at her house hanging around with the local kids all day one evening Dad and Pat were going out to the local pub leaving me, Sarah and Stephen in the maisonette alone, we were playing darts on dads darts board in the dining room. There was music on in the background and the night was going great until Stephen dropped the bombshell that Dad was planning on taking him, his brother and his mother away on holiday abroad later that year. Like what the fuck!

I remember feeling extremely jealous, after all the furthest I had ever been on holiday was to the coast to Cleethorpse or Skeg Vegas on a caravan holiday with mom and adrian, (not that I was ungrateful or anything) but I already envied all my friends who went abroad for their summer holidays and now I was being told Dad was taking them away, it didn’t help neither that dad had NEVER taken us away before and now he was talking another woman kids? I felt the rage and feelings of hurt engulf me as Stephen bragged about where they were going, what they would be doing, the water parks, the sun, of course I made out I wasn’t bothered, but he was on a roll (he probably didn’t realise it was such a big deal) and he wouldn’t shut up rubbing it in, it felt like salt was being rubbed into an open wound! Like an elastic band being stretched to its full capacity, I snapped and in one split second I had gone from having a friendly game of darts to stabbing him on the top of his arm with one of me dads darts! I didn’t know where it came from, (well I did) I had never felt the need to use a weapon before other than my fist, all I know is that it worked, (well it shut him up bragging about the holiday at least). Our Sarah just stood there stunned, speechless as he fled the room crying, heading straight to the phone at the bottom of the stairs to call his mom at the pub to snitch on me. 

At the time I didn’t feel sorry for him at all, in fact, all I could think was ahhhh sharrap ya little puff He got off the phone to his mom, who must have told him to go straight to his room and wait there until her and dad came home, he placed the receiver on the phone and in between his sobbing and climbing the stairs, he shouted behind him “I would never be welcome in his house after this”. I felt no guilt at all about my violent outburst, I mean the dart didn’t even really go that deep, it wasn’t like he was losing blood or owt, it was a fucking pin prick for crying out loud! If I could have gone home then I would have, but it was too late for us to be going home (I did briefly consider running away, but decided I had best stay put and await my fate) so me and Sarah went to bed and waited until dad and pat came home.

They couldn’t have come home straight away, because I had felt asleep, into a deep sleep, I remember being woken by lots of shouting and screaming, at first I thought I was back at home, but then I heard  Stephen crying in the background and remembered where I was, I had flash backs to what I had done earlier, now wincing to myself acknowledging that perhaps I might have gone too far this time?

I heard someone coming up the stairs, I was shitting myself, fuck me I was in for it now, I lay in bed waiting to get a pasting of a life time, but that didn’t happen. Instead, Dad came into the room and said to me “what’s gone off?”  I remember bursting into tears, but trying at the same time to compose myself (as dad didn’t do crying) I was scared shitless that I was going to feel the wrath of dad, dad had never hit me before, he never had too, his angry voice alone sent shivers throughout my body and just the thought of those hands like shovels giving me a pasting could send me into meltdown. I told dad what had happened and why I had stabbed Pats precious son and tried justifying myself saying it was only a pin pick, it’s not like he needed stitches or owt! 

Rather than get angry, give me a slap, or shout dad calmly said to me “listen, ignore what he said about the holiday” he then chuckled telling me “not to worry about it and to go back to sleep, he’d sort it” For one moment it seemed like he was actually proud of me opposed to being angry, which was a first! He then stroked my head, before turning to leave the bedroom, silently closing the door behind him. I can still recall the relief that washed over me as I laid in bed, but what I remember more is the feeling that I had done dad proud.

I listened as dad descended the stairs, then I heard Stephen climbing back up them sobbing quietly before going into his bedroom and closing his door. There were a few raised muffed voices between Dad and Pat, and then the front door slammed and then there was nothing, just a deathly silence. 

The next morning when I woke, I was not looking forward to going downstairs meeting last nights victim nor his mother Pat, who would surely hate me after this! And there was nothing to say that dad might have had a change of heart once he’d sobered up from the night before, so I knew I wasn’t out off the woods just yet! I recall the moment I walked into the dining room, Pat was sat there at the table alone with her back to me, (I was already dressed and ready to leave)  but I knew I would have to apologise first and even try and explain my actions, after all she had never done anything wrong to me (well, apart from shagging me dad) and it wasn’t her fault her son was a puff! I did wonder if after my actions whether or not she might never let me in the house again and if she didn’t, I couldn’t have really blamed her, but it would mean that I would see less of dad.

She was sat wrapped in her dressing gown, having a fag,  upon hearing the door she turned her head slightly,  saying “good morning?” Nice as pie, as if nothing had ever happened the night before, she didn’t seem angry at all, in fact she was quite the opposite, her tone was really friendly. I took this as a good sign and went to take the seat next to her to try and explain why I really stabbed her son, would she understand that it wasn’t because I hated him,? it was because I was jealous? Dad had never taken us on holiday? Would she understand? 

As I took my seat and Pat lifted her face, I had only seen one side, when she turned full on the other side of her face, was black and swollen, the bridge of her nose which was once small and petite was now swollen beyond recognition, her nose looked broken, there were remnants of blood from the night before encrusted on the inside of her nostrils. I was stunned, speechless, I didn’t know what to say apart from “god what happened?” She tried telling me that she had fallen coming up the stairwell the night before, but it wasn’t anything to worry about “Actually it looked worse than it was”  Now where had I heard that line before? 

I remember thinking, nothing to fucking worry about? Pat, you look friggin deformed! Have you seen your face? She didn’t mention anything about what happened between me and her son Stephen the previous night, it was like nothing had never happened, it was weird, she was weird, her face was disfigured, her once pretty face was deformed and would take weeks to heal. I instinctively knew in the pit of my stomach that dad had done this! Then the guilt quickly engulfed me. This was my fault, this was because of what I did last night? Dad you didn’t have to hit her for fuck’s sake! It was only a pin prick and it was her son, not her? She hadn’t done anything wrong. 

So why had dad hit her?