I said it over and over again. I dreamt it regularly a recurring dream. I was in school I was enjoying my lessons I was learning and then I would wake up. Poor, no prospects, getting older and I can admit it now trapped by the children I had when I was a child myself. There was something wrong with me.
My daughter will understand what I mean she is young enough to me to get what I mean. I was too young to be a fantastic mother. I look at young girls 16 and sometimes it makes me take a deep intake of air, my heart beats fast as I get a glimpse back to the past and see myself a terribly unhappy child-woman. A reluctant mother and grieving for my education that was snatched away from me by my hellish parents. I forgive them by the way.
My parents immigrated to my fathers Island Grenada as soon as I was out of school. I had a lot of trouble at home and was under the care of social services at the time they left England. Within weeks of them leaving I was pregnant by the most violent man in the world. Or one of them.
Being forced out of school and then getting pregnant stopped me maturing properly, it stopped me learning social skills. I didn’t know how to properly integrate with people and as I was a clever child I didn’t really want to go partying, not that I could any way I had the children. I missed out on precious things, if only I had parents who had protected me and wanted the best for me, they were always going on about my cousins in Ireland and how clever they were and what universities they were going to and then would look at me as if I was a child from the devil himself. I suppose I made their lives as hard as I could because they were cruel and I have a streak in me that has always hated injustice and I knew they were unjust to me and my brother.
She should not have had any more children she already had 11 by her first catholic husband and she suffered an East End nightmare, it wasn’t all hunky dory being an East End Lady with a million children looking out for each other, that only happens on the telly not in real life.
This is not a great ramble on about the past because today I draw a line under my past. I graduated and I got the qualifications, I have friends from University,
Holly Powell Jones, friends until death and beyond.
I have a great job, I at last love my home and want to stay in and not be out every minute of the day. People have said over the years “You’re never home.” I have never ever felt I had a home to call my own.
When Richie died he got some compensation money as did I for our pain and suffering in the days leading up to his death, I used the money to buy my property, Richie would often say “Mummy when I grow up I’m going to buy you a house and he did.
I finally can enjoy it. I’m going to decorate and love it, fill it with love and then move on just like a girl who has finally graduated and now steps out into the big wide world.