Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [61]
Something had to give though. There wasn’t enough time in the day to cram everything in, so decisions had to be made. I couldn’t quit work because I needed the money to escape. I couldn’t stop my new fun socializing because I’d never been happier. Which only left school.
Almost overnight, I just switched off. School held no interest for me anymore. That part of my life was over. I was fourteen years old. Exactly the same age my mother had been when her life of troubles had begun.
Of course, I only discovered that later. Back then, in 1984, the only thing on my mind was escaping. I informed Grandpa that I would be leaving his home the day I turned sixteen.
‘You will not,’ he insisted. ‘You have to at least sit your O levels.’
‘You can’t tell me what to do.’
‘While I am your legal guardian, Wilson, I can.’
He always called me ‘Wilson’ when he was angry with me. Partly it was a return to his days commanding the troops. It was also a reminder to us both that I shouldn’t have even been there. I wasn’t a Beavis.
We argued for hours, but in the end I relented, even though his legal responsibilities would end on the day I turned sixteen.
In Grandpa’s defence, he’d already seen Mum married on her sixteenth birthday, having thrown her life away – as he saw it – when she was the age I was then. I didn’t know this. They kept it from me. But it was another parallel with the life of the woman I’d barely known.
Longhill let me take a few exams a year early, which I passed easily. What I really should have done, though, is sit them all then, while I still had some interest. By the time my proper exams came round, I had been doing very little schoolwork for a year. It was no surprise when the straight-A girl came home with Bs and Cs.
It’s only looking back that I realize how upsetting this must all have been for my grandparents. They’d seen their daughter unable to avoid the slippery slope. Now history was repeating itself. I was making a lot of the same mistakes.
It was with history in mind that I approached Granny one morning and said, ‘I’d like to contact my dad.’
I knew her feelings about him, so it was to her credit that she only put up a token fight.
‘Are you sure, dear? Are you really ready? You know what he did to you and your mother?’
I’d heard it all before, but that didn’t change the fact that I wanted to see him. In my mind, I needed to give my dad the opportunity to explain to my face why he’d abandoned me, as I saw it. I needed to hear him say it was all a big mistake and that he’d been searching tirelessly for me for thirteen years. That’s not how it worked out.
I should have guessed that my father would not live up to my dreams when he suggested our meeting place. He knew a pub in Rottingdean, the White Lion, and thought we should meet there.
He was already seated when I arrived. I think we shook hands, possibly there was a hug. No kisses though. Not yet. I can’t remember a single topic we spoke about for the simple reason that we didn’t discuss anything important. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t exactly rush to explain why he’d left Mum all those years ago or why he’d stayed out of my life for so long. And I had no desire whatsoever to ask him if he really had planned to put me into care.
There’s plenty of time for that one . . .
In the meantime, we broke the ice with the standard uninteresting probes.
‘How’s school?’
‘Fine.’
‘How’s your grandmother?’
‘Fine.’
‘And your grandfather?’
‘Scary. What’s your job?’
‘I run a holiday resort in France. Have you got a boyfriend?’
And so on and so on.
One awkward hour later, we parted with the vague promise to see each other again soon. I was in no hurry to do it again and from what I could tell, neither was he. Only years later did I question why Dad thought it would be appropriate to meet a fourteen-year-old girl in a pub!
Granny wasn’t happy when I reported