James is also growing in confidence and,with it, his sense of restraint is dwindling. Along with Caroline, he needschecked and kept in line because he too is simmering away, growing increasinglyintolerant of father’s behaviour. It seems as though the fear they both oncehad has been gradually replaced with anger and a sense of injustice at why wehave to put up with this! He is also frustrated with mother. He thinks sheshould ‘grow a back-bone’ and stand up for us all and do something aboutgetting us out of there. I explain it’s not as simple as that; she’s unable todo this but I suspect this is falling on deaf ears as his anger, frustration,and intolerance grow.
The only one who doesn’t have a lot to sayon the subject is Juliet. She is like a little sponge taking it all in and Ioften worry about her the most. What is going on in that little head of hers?There is simply no shielding her from what is going on.
The responsibility I bear when it comes tothem all feels like a heavy burden on my shoulders. It feels as though I haveno one to vent my feelings to. I can’t speak to mother about anything as Idon’t want her to deal with any more than she’s currently going through. Hermental health doesn’t look too good just now. I’m no expert but she’s becomingincreasingly forgetful. I’m getting up extra early in the mornings to lend ahand with feeding the animals and laying out the breakfast things becausethere’s been a couple of occasions recently when she’s forgotten to do themorning feeds and God forbid if she gets anything wrong with his breakfast soI’m there to make sure that doesn’t happen.
I can’t say anything to school friends orteaching staff either for the same reasons. Our lives would not be worth livingif any accusations were pointed in his direction. I sometimes wonder, however,if our lives are worth living as things currently stand. The thought thatthings could worsen is too much to bear and I know I’ll never utter a word. Idream about leaving at 16 as soon as I am able to but then I’m torn. This wouldmean leaving mother to face his wrath alone, without my support.
I snap back to reality as I’m aware he’sshifted in his seat. The tension in the air is palpable. The kitchen window isajar, and I can hear the familiar noises around the grounds of animals callingto each other, snuffling and happily grazing. It always astounds me how utterlynormal everything around me is. The world just carries on; everyone and everybeast living their own little life and then there’s me, stuck in this recurringnightmare. Sometimes reality is indistinguishable, and I question whether thisis actually happening or if I’m in some sort of quasi dreamlike, nightmarishstate.
We move towards stage three now, thedishing out of the punishment. He breaks the silence; “Well I suppose you’ll beexpecting special treatment today, son, on your special day and who am I todeny you that! Mary, look in the cupboard, woman, have you got any of mychocolate muffins left?” This had me baffled. Where was he going with this? Achocolate muffin is something I can honestly say I have never tasted in theconfines of the croft (they are his special treats, and we would never beallowed to touch one). I’ve only ever tried one a handful of times at school.
Mother dutifully obliges and retrieves oneand places it down on the table. “Excellent. Don’t ever let it be said that I’mnot good to you, son. By the looks of it that’s my last one so you’re in luck.It wouldn’t be right though if your mother and I didn’t join you in celebrationnow, would it? I’ll have a Scotch. Mary, move it, I’m thirsty, woman, come onnow.” She doesn’t delay and fetches a whisky over ice for him from the diningroom drinks cabinet. This is all way too civilised and I’m nervous. What has hegot planned for us? I daren’t look up; my eyes still obediently downcasttowards the table and the muffin looking expectantly up at me.
There is a pause whilst he takes a largeswig from the glass and the noise when the glass makes contact with the tableagain echoes around the room. “Fill her up, Mary. Would you have me die ofthirst, woman? Your idea of a measure and mine are clearly worlds apart. Fillher up good this time, we’re celebrating the lad’s birthday, are we not?” Sheshuffles back through and does as he asks, then returns to her seat alongsidemine. I imagine she’s a bundle of nerves wondering what he’s got in store forher.
“Well, let’s take a look around the tableshall we. Birthday boy has a chocolate muffin, lucky old him, and I have arather large glass of Scotch here thanks to you, Mary, but there’s somethingmissing, isn’t there? Mary, you have nothing in front of you and that we needto remedy! We can’t have you sitting watching us tuck in with nothing for yourselfnow, can we? Come on, lad, follow me because I have an
