When my mother was pregnant with me, she dreamt of having a blonde beauty; she told me so herself. For the first few months after I was born, Mum kept waiting for my features to change. Eventually, she realised I favoured my late grandmother, hardly a stunner.
My childhood memories are clouded by Mums biting compliments about my appearance. My hair was never tidy, my nose crooked, I couldnt smile properly, and my ears too big I always believed I was destined to grow up plain. If even my own mother couldnt stand the sight of me, what hope was there for anyone else?
Mum, on the other hand, adored herself. She spent ages on beauty treatments, spent heaps of pounds, and dreaded the idea of looking older than her age.
Eventually, just to prove she was still youthful and gorgeous, Mum began seeing a man seven years her junior. The result was inevitable divorce. Mum, half-joking, suggested, Maybe you could come live with me? That maybe really annoyed me, and I promptly replied, No, Im staying at home with Dad. Mum hummed under her breath, clearly counting on that response, and then disappeared from our lives.
Dad and I got along well, but after a while, he decided a man needed a woman. I was already in secondary school, and I understood why Dad asked me to spend the night at friends houses, even though the pain of being pushed out of my own home lingered.
I patiently tolerated Dads hobbies, though he sometimes crossed the line, like on his birthday. For two months, I saved up my pocket money to buy a cake and a little gift for him. Yet, when I rang the doorbell after school, feeling cheerful, Dad opened the door in a hastily discarded dressing gown. He smiled sheepishly and once again asked me not to stay overnight.
He slammed the door shut, so I tied the present to the handle and headed to my trusty school friend, Emily. Her mum poured us tea and served cake; I cried a little, and they soothed me Thankfully, after finishing school, Tom came into my life.
I never understood why Tom noticed me, but as he headed off to the army, he asked me to wait for him. And of course, I did. I wrote him many letters; hed visit on leave, and eventually proposed.
We have a wonderful family now two children, nothing wanting, full of love and respect. For years, my parents barely paid me any attention, and I made no effort to contact them. Once, I promised myself not to call them for a whole year; did either of them ring? Not once.
Then, not long ago, Mum called out to me on the street. I might not have recognised her, but the pushiness in her voice was instantly familiar.
Oh, you still cant dress decently, can you? Will you look after your mother in her old age? Ive heard (where from?) that youre doing well for yourself. You left me behind, chose to live with your father So where is your dear Dad now? Will you invite me round? I replied that Id have to discuss it with my husband first and call her later. Mum smiled, as if she expected nothing less.
A week later, coming home from work, I nearly tripped, stumbling over someones leg. Alarmed, thinking the person was ill, I shone my phone and saw Dad. He was drunk, but when I woke him, he opened his eyes.
Spare a few quid for me, will you?
I rang my husband, and together we dragged Dad back to his flat. I left a few pounds on his bedside table by the front door and left After these memorable reunions, I never saw my parents again, nor do I wish to.
