Amelia's Story (Box Set the Complete Series Books 1 & 2) (5 page)

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 so with all our heart. We imagined a life with happy parents, 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, we would ensure that both mother and Uncle Steven had all the private time they needed and 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 recognised her as she was so nice to us when he was around.

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, just as we had made new friends and become 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 removal 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, 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 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 and we would still be locked in our rooms with no lights most of the time, that we would still have to spend all day at 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 he was armed with gifts for us all, mother was telling us how we were all going to live together – music to our ears. Uncle Steven had a son from a previous marriage, who was older than me at 13-years-old. 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, however, we had no idea what the problem was or how serious his condition was. Uncle Steven did not speak of him much.

He was always talking of the future and making elaborate promises. I was promised a flat when I reached 18-years-old and Jake was promised a top of the range motorbike! These were dreams beyond our wildest imagination; we had never in our life been this happy. But it was not to last. Uncle Steven left us all on that visit full of hope and promise for the future, but it soon transpired that we were never to see him again.

It was to be a week later when we were to enroll for the first time into our new school, Broughton Middle School. We settled in well and took an immediate liking to this new school. Most of the children who attended were from poor families, who also lived on our new estate, so we did not stand out at all. In fact, we blended in very well and made lots of friends. I loved school and it was my favourite place to be; sometimes it felt like a sanctuary from our home life.

I was in the year above Jake but we always met up at break times, and after school I would wait for Jake outside the school gates so we could walk home together. We had a dog called Sooty – I cannot remember how or when we took her into our home – but I always remember how she met us at the school gates every day. Sooty loved us and was so loyal, we took her everywhere with us. As we went through the gates Sooty was jumping all over us wagging her tail. Jake and I would smother her with kisses as we were just as pleased to see her.

On our arrival home from school one day we walked into the house and were greeted by our mother who stood in the hall way crying out loud. There was a neighbour consoling her. When she saw me, she came at me like a crazed woman giving me the biggest almighty slap around the face, she started using her fists and was punching me hard in the face, holding a letter in her hand waving it at me screaming, “This is all your fault you stupid bitch,” screamed mother.

I had no idea what she was talking about and no idea what I had done, but apparently I had done something. No matter what went wrong in mother’s life, she always blamed me. There were times when she would scream at me, “I wish you were never born, I never really wanted you at all, and you’re just like your father.” I started to realise that I was a permanent reminder for her every day of Christopher, that she was taking her hate for him out on me.

Mother had something new to blame me for with Steven’s departure; she laid into me with both fists as I curled up into a ball. The neighbour, along with Jake, used all their strength to pull her off me. I ran upstairs and hid in my room with my head buried in my pillow sobbing my heart out. She never apologised for that or explained how in the world it was my fault. What we did discover is that the letter from Uncle Steven revealed he was to break off the engagement, as his son had passed away and he just could not go through with the wedding, for reasons I do not know to this day. As the days passed by, our mother became more and more volatile and more dependant on the drink. She never picked us up from school, she never walked us to school, and she was never up before midday unless there was a visit from the Social Worker. Then she would make the usual effort to hide the truth about how we were really living. She had reverted back to her old awful self.

At almost nine-years-old, I felt totally responsible for Jake, Jenny, and Susie. I did as much as someone my age could do to amuse them and keep them out of our mother’s way, but there was always a reason for her to slap me or to strike me with the dog chain if it was at hand; the dog chain was my least favourite as this hurt the most.

School was a safe place, a friendly place, the only place where we could be our true selves. I never walked home from school without Jake, not ever. We used to tease each other on the walk home and prolonged it as much as possible as there was nothing to hurry home for. Sometimes we would play knock and run all the way home, sometimes being chased by the annoyed occupants! We loved that game, all the kids on the estate played knock and run. One day when we arrived home there was no answer so we walked around to the back gate and climbed over, letting ourselves in through the unlocked back door and walked into the house. We found our mother passed out on the sofa surrounded by empty bottles. My immediate thought was that mother was dead. Both Jake and I filled with fear, not knowing what to do at first. I gently touched her face hoping this would rouse her, and after a few attempts she opened her eyes.

“Amelia what time is it?” she asked.

“Four o’clock mum,” I replied nervously.

“Don’t lie to me you bitch, why are you not at school?” Then she reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling me down close to her face, “Don’t lie to me I said,” then she slapped me hard across the face.

“Mum we have been to school, I promise it’s nearly teatime, Jenny is due to be dropped off anytime soon.”

Mother sat up from the sofa, her hair stuck to the side of her face, yelling at me to get out and take Jake with me.

Jake and I ran upstairs to change out of our school uniforms and then went outside to wait for Jenny’s special school van to drop her off. The side of my face was bright red and stinging. I wiped the tears from my face and looked at Jake, he just smiled at me and said, “Don’t let her get to you Amelia, she’s not worth it.”

In front of our house was a fantastic steep hill, along each side of the hill were houses dotted about. We took our old makeshift skateboards to the top and lay down flat with our arms stretched out like a bird, and then we would race down to the bottom. All the kids used to line up and take turns flying down this hill on their skateboards; it was great fun and kept us busy for hours upon hours. But this day we had to keep a watchful eye out for Jenny to return home. She was almost three-years-old and attended a special nursery school for the physically disabled. As the van approached I ran towards it to collect Jenny. The driver asked where my mother was. I told him she was unwell and having a lie down. I said goodbye and then carried Jenny into the house.

Mother was in the kitchen cursing to herself – she told us all to go and watch television quietly while she was preparing dinner; there was no sign of the bottles on the floor or the overflowing ashtray that greeted us when we came home from school earlier. We all sat down for our dinner in relative silence. The table which was simply laid out with knives and forks looked sparse and uninviting. There was a large plate in the middle of the table full of buttered bread and salt and pepper pots on either side.

We ate in silence and were then ordered to bed soon after. Mother had made it abundantly clear that if she heard one sound from any of us then she would not be held responsible for her actions.

This is how life continued for a while. When weekends arrived Jake and I spent all our time outside. We would take our old battered bikes on adventures for miles armed with a puncture kit and jam sandwiches which we had made for ourselves that morning. We would cycle to our favourite place - the old ruin with the sumptuous orchard! Oh how I loved this place - it was so magical and full of life. One day we walked around the old ruin looking for a way in. The windows were all boarded up with corrugated iron, but we were so curious to see inside because we had dreamt up all kinds of theories as to whom once lived there and what had happened to them and why it was left to wrack and ruin. As we came to the large window at the bottom right of the building we saw a way in; it looked like someone had tried before us. How dare they I thought, this was our place, Jake and Amelia’s.

We pulled back the bent iron sheet just enough so we could squeeze through. I climbed in first, after all I was the oldest and then Jake followed. It was very dark and dank inside. We stuck close by one another as we set about on our adventure inside the old ruin. We were awestruck at the sheer enormity of the place. As we made our way towards the stairs I turned around to look at Jake.

“I’m ok, carry on,” he said confidently.

The stairs were very unsafe; parts of which were missing, there was no banister and lots of missing steps, and we very carefully climbed the stairs mindful not to fall into the empty holes that were once steps. As we reached the top there was a rustling sound coming from a room on the far left. I’m sure our hearts stopped for just a second. We were frozen to the spot, and then all of a sudden and without warning, a very scruffy dirty man with scraggly hair appeared in front of us. We jumped out of our skins screaming and ran all the way downstairs and back outside into the orchard.

From that day forth we never attempted to go inside the ruin; however, we did make many more visits to the orchard. The old man who was living in the ruin was homeless, nameless and he never bothered us and we never bothered him again.

Highfield House Children’s Home

Things became so bad at home following my mother’s drunken spree; it was as if she had forgotten that she had any children at all. Scenes like this became the norm with the days that followed. One Sunday we were all sitting down to lunch and mother was in a very bad mood. We were all sat down very quietly not daring to speak. Mother came into the room and sat down. I was sitting opposite her, not feeling very hungry and so not wanting my dinner. Mother went ballistic and called me an ungrateful bitch, then without warning she stood up, reached across the table and gave me the most almighty slap around the face, knocking my dinner all over me during the process. It was so unexpected it took me by complete surprise and almost knocked me off my chair.

I then shouted, “I hate you,” and she hit me again. So I ran out of the back door
, through the garden and leaped over the fence.

I ran down the hill towards the main road and sat on the grass bank crying. Before I knew what was happening, my mother came running around the corner towards me, calling me all the names under the sun. She then grabbed me by my hair and dragged me all the way up the hill back home, all the while shouting and screaming. Everyone was looking out of their windows, children stopped playing and they were pointing at us; it was humiliating to say the least.

As soon as we were back inside the house she threw me into my bedroom and bolted the door screaming, “You will stay in there until tomorrow you defiant bitch.” I was so upset I started banging on the door begging her to let me out, but I was met with her sharp nasty tongue. I was not allowed out of my room until the following day. The shouting, screaming, and arguments became an all too frequent event in our lives once more.

Unsurprisingly, this started to raise the neighbour’s suspicions and after I received yet another beating and was thrown out of the house again the neighbours made an anonymous phone call to the Social Services. I was subsequently removed from my mother’s care and I was taken very swiftly to Highfield House Children’s Home for my own safety. Mother had started taking all her troubles out on me – being the oldest, I was the one who faced her wrath more and more. However, she was very clever at convincing the powers that be that I was the one at fault. Back then there was a motto I often heard -
children should be seen and not heard
. Unlike today, there was nowhere a child could turn to in situations like this, no help lines or charities that we were aware of set up to help children in distressed situations.

I arrived during the middle of the night, tired and upset. From the moment I entered the old dark building situated at the top of the hill I despised it. There was a cold feeling to the place. I did not receive a very warm welcome from the moment I entered the building, not from the staff, not from the children, not from anyone. I was shown to my bedroom and left to go to bed, but before the staff member left she said, “One step out of line young lady and you will know about it.”

I did not belong there. I will never forget that night as long as I live. I felt like I was being punished for my mother’s failings; it seemed no matter what I did life was getting worse by the day. I cried like a baby all night, my pillow was sodden with my tears. Right there, right then, I would have given anything to be at the old ruin with Jake, climbing trees, and scrumping fruit.

I was awakened to a loud shrill like noise at 7:30
a.m. and jumped with fright as a lady walked into the room. She greeted me with a nonchalant hello and told me to get washed and down to breakfast by 8:00 a.m. sharp, no later. She pointed in the direction of the wash rooms and left me to it. I was petrified and felt like the staff had taken an immediate dislike to me and I just knew I was in for a hard time.

I hated it there; I started crying for my mother
, but my cries went unheard. It does not matter how a child is treated by their parents, they will still love them even when they fear them. I needed her to come and get me as I was scared and alone at this time. Jake was not with me. I had been placed into care by myself, alone, without my brother and sisters. Confusion and fear was setting in fast, feelings I was all too familiar with. At that moment in time I would rather have faced my mother’s wrath than remain there. At least I knew what was to be expected and could be with my siblings, watching out for them.

I did not go down to breakfast; I didn’t know where the dining hall was or which way to go as the building was huge. I had also wet the bed and was afraid to leave the sheets where they were in fear of being punished. Eventually
, a female member of staff came to collect me. She was harsh and to the point. I was escorted to a communal area and advised, “You have missed breakfast now; lunch will be at one o'clock.” I was also advised to stay within the confines of the communal area until lunchtime.

I was not allowed to go outside, I was not allowed to leave the communal area
, as the door was locked and you could only leave the room with a member of staff by your side. It felt like I was in prison. There were only a few children residing at Highfield House during my time there, it was lonely, the staff made no effort to make you feel at home - or even at ease - I was just another passing statistic to deal with. There was very little to do on a daily basis; the communal room had a few chairs and sofas scattered about, a television in the corner which displayed a very poor snowy picture and a very old pool table that had been donated to the home, and that was it. They just did not have the resources; this was a temporary place for children to stay while decisions regarding their future were being made by the powers that be. A child in this place could not possibly feel more alone in the world, it was cold and unfeeling.

After about a month into my stay at Highfield House I had a visit from my Social Worker and was advised that I was going to be transferred to Breeton House children’s home the following day. A rush of relief swept through me. I was told it was a pleasant place and it was run like a large family home. My Social Worker convinced me this was the best decision for me. The Social Worker informed me that mother had made it quite clear she no longer wanted me home. This obviously brought tears to my eyes and pain in my heart. I cried asking why? What about my b
rother and sisters? I had never felt so rejected in my life; the feeling of despair that was deep within me was taking root.