Tell Me Why, Mummy: A Little Boy’s Struggle to Survive. A Mother’s Shameful Secret. The Power to Forgive.. David Thomas
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A little boy’s struggle to survive A mother’s shameful secret
DAVID THOMAS
To my children Molly, Nathan, and Danielle who have shown me the greatest pleasure of all is being a parent
Contents
Chapter One: Living In The Shadows
Chapter Three: A Man Called Reg
Chapter Four: Smashing The Dream
Chapter Eleven: Master Criminal
Chapter Twelve: On The Scrapheap
Part 3: Another Kind Of Memory
Chapter Thirteen: Into The Fire
Chapter Fourteen: Heartbreaker
Chapter Fifteen: Down Memory Lane
Chapter Sixteen: Sparks And Embers
I know she has been drinking again. I can hear her crashing around upstairs and then, suddenly, she’s in the kitchen. She can barely stand as she staggers through the door and gropes her way along the grubby kitchen cabinets, trying to get to me across the room.
I’m playing with my bricks on the lino floor. She starts tottering towards me, falls over, and then tries to lie down next to me. She is completely naked, her eyes glazed and unfocused as she emits a low drunken moan.
‘David,’ she says, her voice alternating between an inaudible moan and a loud drunken shout, ‘come over here.’
She doesn’t seem to realize that I am already close beside her. When she tells me to do something I always do it at once. I love to please her and I hate to displease her. If I don’t do as I’m told she may stop loving me. She won’t smack me or hurt me, but I think she will be angry. So I stand up and then sit down again, so that she can see that I am there, next to her.
When she sees me near her, she looks up and pulls me down towards her. She then takes my hand and places it between her legs, which are spread wide open. It feels strange and I don’t understand why she’s doing this. She rubs my hand up and down between her legs and starts to moan again. She is sighing and keeps moving my hand inside her and then – I don’t know why or how – I start to realize that the loud moaning noises are not, as I first thought, signs of distress but of pleasure.
As this dawns on me, and because she continues to moan, I take it that this game is good and so I’m happy to continue to do it as long as she wants to. She carries on rubbing herself with my hand for some time until she has had enough.
Then she pushes my hand away and without saying a word, my mother picks up her bottle and staggers back across the kitchen to make her way upstairs, while I go back to playing with my bricks on the lino floor.