Daddy's Little Earner Read Online Free PDF Page A

three days and went on todevelop pneumonia. There’s no doubt that Dad had agenuine problem with depression, but it was always hardto tell if he really wanted to go through with the suicideattempts or if they were ‘cries for help’.
    While Mum was visiting Dad in the hospital a seniorpsychiatrist came to talk to her. He’d been listening toDad and had been appalled by everything he’d found outabout their life together.
    ‘You’re married to a very dangerous man,’ he warnedher. ‘Your husband is schizophrenic and in desperateneed of psychiatric help. Frankly, I’m amazed you’vemanaged to stay married to him for as long as youhave.’
    He arranged for Dad to be moved to the psychiatrichospital and Mum agreed to go in the ambulance withhim. She must have been feeling relieved that someoneelse was recognizing her problem and finally helpingher and she must have been worried about Dad too. However badly he had been treating her, he was still thelove of her young life and the father of her children.
    ‘How long can they keep me here?’ Dad asked theambulance driver.
    ‘They can’t keep you here at all,’ he replied. ‘You’regoing in voluntarily.’
    When he arrived at his destination the doctors triedhard to sedate him but he just kept saying he wanted toleave and ordering Mum to call him a taxi. She tried toput up a fight, tried to persuade him that it was for hisown good that he got treatment, but ultimately there wasnothing she could do once he’d made up his mind. Eventuallyshe gave in and they got a taxi home, where theirlives soon descended back to their previous level of violenceand abuse, with Mum back working on the blockevery night of the week.
    Mum tried to leave again, not long afterwards, andonce more she went to a refuge for battered women. Shestayed away longer this time and social services took Terryand me off to live with a foster family, some lovely peoplecalled the Watsons. They had a swimming pool in thegarden of their Suffolk home where they carefully taughtus how to swim. Dad had very different ideas on howthese things should be done: one time he had slung us intothe sea off the pier at Great Yarmouth, telling us that thatwould teach us how to swim. ‘Sink or swim!’ he laughed.As we survived the experience I suppose he must have been right, or maybe it was the current that washed usback up onto the beach along with all the other flotsamand jetsam, but I remember how terrifying it was flounderingaround in the waves, swallowing great mouthfulsof salty water every time I went under, compared to allthe gentle help and encouragement the Watsons gave us.
    They were such a sweet couple, trying everything possibleto make us feel welcome and part of their family. Wewent blackberry picking and Mrs Watson made homemadepies and jams with us, but whatever we did andhowever nice they were to us I felt like an intruder. Iknew I wasn’t their child and I felt I shouldn’t be there.It was never possible to really relax. I did wonder whatmade the Watsons’ own children so much better than usthat they deserved a life like this. Why wasn’t I as specialto my parents as their daughter was to them? My memoryisn’t very clear on dates and ages but we must havebeen with them a while because they put us into the localschool, which was very sweet, and the teacher theretaught me how to write.
    However wonderful life was with the Watsons, I stillwanted to be back home with my dad because that waswhere I felt I belonged. I wasn’t good enough to deserveto live in a nice home like the Watsons’. I remember oneparticular afternoon, lying beside their swimming pool inglorious sunshine. Everything seemed so perfect. I had abeautiful new home and some new clothes they had bought for me. Mrs Watson brought us out cold drinkswith ice cubes and fretted about me getting burned, rubbingsun cream onto my skin and making me feel soloved and cared for. But something wasn’t quite right andI still felt sad. I wished I