I can’t remember at what age I first saw my own reflection in the mirror, can you?
What’s my first memory? It’s a very uncomfortable little girl, barely walking, dressed in a blue knitted suit. When I say suit, I mean hand knitted pants, coat, gloves and hat. I think it’s my first memory because I was so uncomfortable. It was itchy and made me cry. I can see myself now (in my mind’s eye), hanging on to my mum’s hand as I learned to walk. Yes, that’s how far back I remember.
We lived in Shildon, County Durham. Our terraced ‘two up, two down’ house overlooked the greyhound track. The front garden was pretty, thanks to the roses my mum grew. At the back of the house was a yard. In England a yard doesn’t mean a garden, it means a nasty wet concrete yard, usually covered in moss because of the weather. It was slippery, cold and dark.
My biological father stood in that yard on occasions, challenging my brother’s, throwing a brick from hand to hand as he called their names. My mum and I huddled inside, terrified. My brothers would escape out of the front door and stay with friends until my dad went to the pub. My only living brother remembers nothing of this, strange, I do.
The back yard is where my first pet, a beautiful fluffy kitten with a pink nose, was mysteriously killed. I’ll never ever forget that.
I don’t remember looking in the mirror back then, maybe I was too afraid of what might be standing behind me if I did!
When you continue reading about me, you will realize where my stories come from, and why I have to write. Click on the book cover below to read my first novel. It’s me unleashed!!