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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СКАЧАТЬ taken me to Blackpool, on England’s north-west coast, to see the illuminations. But Devon is different. It feels wild and exotic.

      Once on holiday we’re determined to make the most of it. Family photos show us enjoying ourselves on the sands and paddling in the sea. This is really my first family holiday as I don’t remember any with Mum and Dad in my years at Calder Bridge.

      But one thing hasn’t changed for Mum as a result of moving in with Reg. It isn’t long before she starts drinking heavily again. Her need is too great and she must feel she can get away with it – after all, he is 66 and she is only 31. When I’m older it occurs to me that one of the reasons she was with someone so much older than her was that she was able to have her own way with Reg.

      In the first year we live with Reg he never seems to drink much and then after that he stops drinking altogether. I don’t know if this is so that he can help Mum when she’s drinking and unable to look after herself or if he’s just decided to stop of his own accord. In any case, he isn’t the kind of man to spend time in a pub chatting with his mates so I don’t think it’s an issue for him or that he misses it. For whatever reason he doesn’t drink like Mum, though, and I’m grateful for the fact.

      On the second night at the hotel, however, Mum does get drunk and it marks a turning point in my life.

      * * *

      I have been in bed for some time when she comes into my hotel bedroom. She’s plainly drunk as she staggers in, switches on the light and sits at the end of my bed.

      ‘David,’ she says, in a whisper.

      I don’t wake up.

      ‘David!’ she says more loudly.

      I wake up with a start, wondering what’s going on. I don’t know what time it is but going by Mum’s drinking pattern, it must be around 10 pm.

      ‘What’s happening, Mum?’ I ask, blinking in the light and rubbing my eyes.

      ‘Nothing, David,’ she says. ‘I just want to know if you love me.’

      ‘Yes, Mum,’ I say, just wanting to roll over and go back to sleep.

      ‘Well, give me a kiss then.’

      ‘Aw, Mum, do I have to?’

      ‘Yes. Go on. Give me a kiss, on the lips.’

      She is reeking of alcohol and as she leans her open mouth towards me I start to feel sick. She tries to kiss me with her open mouth and for a moment I get a sensation of her tongue on mine. It feels odd and furry and strange and I want to recoil from it, but I know that the most important thing I can do is to satisfy her so I give her the kiss she wants. All I want to do is go back to sleep and forget about it.

      I wipe my lips clean and she doesn’t even notice me doing so as she has climbed on to my bed and is pulling my hand towards her.

      ‘Play with me, David, play with your mummy. Mummy wants you to play with her.’

      She’s making me rub her down there and she’s starting to moan and as usual I do what she wants me to do.

      At last I can tell that she’s got what she needs. Without another word she gets off the bed and leaves my hotel bedroom, turning the light off as she goes.

      * * *

      What is so different about this incident from what went on at Calder Bridge before we moved to Ludden Vale is that there has been an interval where she has left me alone. In these few months I have changed. I now know for sure that what she wants from me is wrong and yet, now more than ever, I know that I must please her and satisfy her, because I’m frightened of consequences of not doing so far more than before.

      As the days and weeks and months go on, so does Mum’s drinking – as well as her growing control over Reg. It’s obvious to me that he is so grateful to be with an attractive woman 35 years his junior that he is prepared to put up with anything. It never fails to amaze me how pliable Reg is in Mum’s hands and how much she dominates him. To the vast majority of men it might be seen as unacceptable behaviour but Reg is quite prepared to put up with it just to be with my mother. He has retired from the mill and is effectively a househusband, looking after me when I come home from school and doing household chores – not easy for a man of his age.

      Every evening Reg will open the garage for Mum. It’s a short distance from the house up a steep lane. When she comes past the house going up the lane she beeps her horn; he then has to drop whatever he is doing and dash up to the garage. She turns the car round and he has to have the garage doors open by the time she is ready to drive in. Even though by now I am eight years old I can never work out why Reg has to run out and open the garage doors for her and why she doesn’t do it herself. Once in the house, he has to make her a cup of tea and sit at the table with her while she relates the day’s events. For Mum, this inevitably means bitching about someone at work.

      With family or friends, at the vets or other social areas Mum is happy to mix with others and will talk the hind legs off a donkey. But she seems to find it difficult at work. She often comes home and complains about the other girls in the office. I get the feeling she’s on the outside looking in. I don’t think she goes for a drink after work or joins her work colleagues in social events and I think she finds working with other people quite stressful.

      At home, even small things can cause a major row. Reg is old and often seems to float around in a world of his own. One thing he regularly does is leave the door open. Mum will go ballistic, especially if he doesn’t jump up to shut it immediately.

      ‘Reg, you’ve left the door open.’

      ‘OK, well you’re stood there. Please shut it.’

      ‘Why the hell should I shut the door for you? You left it open.’

      ‘But, Carol, you’re stood there. Just shut the door.’

      ‘I’m not shutting the door for you. You’re the one who left it open, as always.’

      ‘But I’m sat down now. Please shut the door, Carol.’

      By now, she is incandescent with rage. ‘Reg! Get up and shut this door right now!’

      At this point, Reg has lost the will to live, let alone fight about the open door so he’ll get up, glare darkly at Mum and slam the door shut.

      She needs to be in control in every area of our lives – of Reg as much as of me – even when sober. She dictates when to go shopping, planning holidays, what to buy for the house, what to watch on television and even what time she and Reg go to bed. He just falls into line. Later in my life I realize that most men wouldn’t have put up with it but Reg does and manages it well.

      For me, there is the same pressure to do exactly what she says. Mostly, this means doing chores and keeping time. When playing out I often go to Andrew’s and even venture as far as the estate. Mum isn’t too bothered where I go as long as I am back on time. If I am close to returning even slightly late, I panic and get really stressed out. I would rather run until my СКАЧАТЬ