Wake Up, Mummy Read Online Free PDF Page A

the children’. What was more important than anything else, he would tell her, was that my brother and I had two parents. He was wrong, as it turned out, but I think he meant well.
    Of course, part of the problem was that my mother had always had a tendency to exaggerate and overdramatise everything. She’d been doing it since she was a small child, and her parents had grown used to never knowing what part of anything she said was fact and what part was fiction. So my grandfather simply didn’t realise how miserably hopeless our lives had become.

3
A new beginning
    IT WASN’T LONG before something must have happened to make my grandfather change his mind, because one day he arrived at the house with my uncle and told my father, ‘That’s enough. I’m taking them home with me. They won’t be coming back.’ He didn’t shout or even seem angry. He just spoke in his calm, authoritative way without raising his voice. But I think my father could tell he’d made up his mind and that he was in no mood for arguments.
    I could feel my heart thumping, as though it was growing larger with every beat until it started banging against my ribs. Were we really going to escape from the constant threat of my father’s violent temper and go to live with my grandparents, who I adored? I didn’t dare believe it was true.
    It wasn’t long, though, before my excitement turned to fear, as it became clear that my father wasn’t going to let usgo without a fight. I didn’t understand why he bothered: I was sure he’d be glad to see my mother and me leave, although I knew he’d be sorry about losing my brother – for a while, at least. So perhaps it was just because he liked to be in charge. He always insisted on being the person issuing the orders, whatever the situation, and I suppose it was the fact that my grandfather had taken control out of his hands that made him so aggressive.
    My father was a bully and, like all bullies, only abused those who couldn’t fight back. So he didn’t try to vent his anger and frustration on my grandfather or my uncle. Instead, he started screaming at my mother, who, for once secure in the knowledge that there was someone there to protect her, screamed back at him.
    ‘It’s okay.’ My grandfather could see that I was frightened, and he laid a large, comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘Just go and put on your shoes and coat. Take Chris with you.’
    A few minutes later, I walked out of the front door of my home and stood waiting to be told what to do next. My father was standing by the gate, still shouting and swearing, and when he saw me, he walked back up the path, bent down until his face was level with mine and shouted, ‘That fucking doll was bought with my money, and that makes it my fucking doll. You don’t own a single thing. So you won’t be taking a single thing with you.’
    Thin threads of his saliva spattered across my face as he spoke, and I could feel his hot, stale breath on my cheek. I tightened my grip on my doll, Sally, and tried to tuck her under the open front of my coat. But he snatched her easily from my hands, pulling her away from me with one sharp tug and tossing her on the ground between us.
    ‘Good God, man!’ My uncle sounded shocked and angry. ‘Surely you can let the child keep her doll!’
    My father smiled a slow, smug smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and then ground the heel of his boot into Sally’s face.
    I was still sobbing hysterically when my mother came flying out of the house shouting, ‘You fucking bastard!’ For a split-second I thought she was finally going to speak up on my behalf. But when I looked at her face I could see that her anger was more an expression of how much she was enjoying the drama of it all than of any feelings of sympathy for me. She was probably already imagining telling the story at the pub. She loved describing the terrible life she had to put up with, not least because the more shocking the story – suitably