Fifty Years of Fear by Ross Greenwood

Author:Ross Greenwood [Greenwood, Ross]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Published: 2017-09-30T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 29

2004 – Age: 38

Much to everyone's surprise, Titch’s untimely demise from hypothermia hit Michelle hard. For someone who led such a violent life it was a let off for him to die so peacefully. I thought she would be relieved to escape his heavy embrace.

Instead, her chaotic existence continued, as did her legendary consumption of alcohol. The couple who lived across the landing appeared to be losing their battle too. They suffered in silence, so things carried on as they were and nothing was said.

Kirsty was quieter the older she got. She only blossomed when she was round ours. It was the only place where she could be a child. I often saw her battling with shopping bags from the supermarket or hanging washing on the line. Ten is no age to be taking on that kind of responsibility.

We invited her over whenever possible. Sometimes she came, other times I caught her taking rubbish out, the chink of the empty bottles betraying their presence. Or I'd peek through her window and see her hoovering. Michelle would be unconscious on the floor and oblivious.

Clara’s health was suffering too. The doctor warned her that she was doing permanent damage and must make changes to her lifestyle. Some days she didn’t get out of bed. I was distracted by Kirsty who was often teary. Her life was a struggle that her inexperienced self couldn't cope with.

Most nights she curled up on the sofa next to me after having a shower at ours. She often did because hers was broken. I wasn’t sure what that meant entirely, but she wouldn’t let me round to help tidy, never mind see her bathroom so I could fix it. Kirsty was a good girl, still protecting her mum.

Like most kids, she never wanted to go to bed.

‘It’s not fair.’

‘Come on. It’s late now.’

‘No, not that, life.’

‘What isn’t fair about life?'

‘Why some people have a dad and others don’t.’

‘I know poppet. Life can be tough. My dad died when I was fairly young.’

‘At least you knew him. There’s something wrong with my mum too. She sleeps and cries. I don’t understand. I thought we’d be happy now that horrible man has gone.’

‘So did I. You will be, I’m sure of it. Up you get, I’ll tuck you in.’

‘Can’t we just sleep on here? I'm warm and cosy.’

‘You’ll sleep better in bed. You can properly relax.’

‘He wanted me to call him Daddy.’

Long seconds stretched out as I considered her words. I stared in at a minefield.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t. You are more my dad than he was.’

‘Well, thank you for saying that.’

‘Will you read me a story?’

‘What do you fancy? Gruffalo, Lady and the Tramp, or Beauty and the Beast?’

They were her favourites.

‘Lady and the Tramp or The Gruffalo. The Beast is dead.’

Out of the mouths of babes.

‘Come on then. Quiet now, so we don’t wake Clara.’

We sneaked past Clara’s door and gave each other a conspiratorial smile. Both books were read in the end, and she seemed to quieten down.

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