Nine Lives by Gary Kittle

Author:Gary Kittle
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: war crimes, truthfulness, guilt and secrets, stories about life, courage and integrity, families in crisis, men and love, facing adversity, honesty with oneself

NO LAUGHING MATTER

There was a kid we knew who had this dodge of swallowing coins: sixpences, farthings, you name it. Better than that, he could regurgitate them back in any order you asked. It was a neat trick, so my brother Fred accused him of showing off. Nothing could be further from the truth, the boy explained. Turned out he was swallowing the money because that was the only way he could keep it; otherwise his old man would have had it for beer or the older boys for cigarettes. That’s what life was like for kids like me in Paddington in the nineteen-twenties: tin baths, head lice and resoling your shoes with tyre thread.

Fred passed away a few years back, and I’m waiting in this care home to join him. In a funny sort of way I’m still the entertainer at ninety-five. I play the piano, sing songs, tell jokes. It’s in my bones; it’s all I know. Mucking about, making folks giggle. I’ll have the last laugh, too, just like I did with Dad.

I remember my last visit to try to patch things up, his booming voice haranguing his new bird for letting me in, then the living room door bursting open and there he stood, the king in his castle, and I knew straight off from his expression what was coming.

‘Out!’ he boomed, pointing towards the door. It was the last thing he ever said to me.

There was no use arguing; never was. I stood outside, cold and miserable, with nowhere to go - but I was used to that by then. It was his way of saying goodbye, and like everything else he did and said it was brutal, punitive and unfeeling.

That door at my back slammed like the stage trapdoor. It made it clear he never wanted to see my face again. Truth is he hated me. My very existence was an irritation to him. And the only way I can explain it is jealousy.

He worked away a lot, which was a blessing for his family. Sometimes he would be gone for months at a time and in-between he would drink. Couldn’t drink at work, see, because he used to chauffer for a living. I was nine when my parents divorced. She walked out - or ran if he’d been drinking - and moved somewhere even his right hook couldn’t reach, leaving us boys to fend for ourselves.

I don’t know why we didn’t see much more of Mum. I imagine she was scared of him, like we were. I remember she bought me a bicycle one Christmas. It was painted red with a bell and everything gleaming brand new. As soon as he saw it he got a hammer out of the shed and smashed the bike into pieces, each piece a tiny shard in my heart. Like I said: jealousy. Everyone had to suffer more than him or he lost his rag. No wonder Mum left him, a better explanation at the time than admitting to myself that neither parent wanted me.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.