We soon settled into life in our new house.
Mum made friends with a woman who lived at the end of our street called Val.
I had never seen mum with a friend of her own and I loved to walk to school with both of them, hearing the housewifes gossip.

 

Val's youngest son David, soon became a firm friend. It wasn't hard being friends with a boy this time - David was as shy as me and we hit it off - making up our own versions of star wars, or hunting for lizards in the nearby woods.

 

Someone else at this point made an even bigger impact to my life.

We were living next door to a family of girls and I was soon introduced to them.
I had the impression their mother looked down on us, but one of the daughters - Victoria always made me feel welcome.
I cant ever remember being invited into their home, but we seemed to spend as much time as possible with each other. Walking to and from school, hanging out at the steps by our houses.

Those were times to look back on with fondness.

 

For some reason I was always jealous of Vicky. I didn't know enough about her family life to make comparisons with mine, so i wasn't envious of her upbringing. I can remember she always seemed to have things, so maybe I was jealous of that.

 

I don't remember pocket money, every now and again, mum would send me and my sister to the news-agent to buy chocolate, but this was put on our paper bill and I felt embarrassed not paying for my treats.

 

Peer pressure soon got the better of me and I started stealing from mum and dad. At first I would take a few 50pence pieces that were being saved for the gas and electric meters.
On my way to school, I would ask who ever I was with to pop into the news-agent and buy me sweets with the stolen money. I was too scared to buy them myself incase the shop owner told my parents.

I was never found out, and felt a sense of satisfaction that I had got one over on dad, but also a sense of guilt that I was stealing from my mum.

Getting away with this petty theft, I of course, grew more confident and began to steal more. I would go through dads pockets looking for loose change.

 

My theft soon turned to food.

There were certain things that we weren't allowed to eat. If I asked for a biscuit, dad would say they were to be looked at, not eaten. I never asked why he was allowed to  wolf down a packet at a time.
I discovered a way to open the biscuit barrel without making a noise and stuffed my pockets full.
It was the same story with breakfast cereals. I used to literally hunger for corn flakes, but couldn't have any.
Seeing as though I was allowed to make myself jam sandwiches - I concealed a thick layer of corn flakes in-between the jam and happily munched away.

On one of dads famous shopping trips he showed me how to steal. Ever so quickly he grabbed a big jar of expensive coffee off the shelf and stuck it inside my jacket. As we payed for our goods, I felt sick to hear his small talk with the cashier and couldn't believe I was walking out the shop a criminal.
For some reason, stealing from your parents was ok, but from a shop was a serious no no. As we walked home with dad laughing at our little scam, I felt used and ashamed and wished that he hadn't shown me yet another horrible side to his personality.

 

Dads abuse was still physical, but as I got older he used a lot of psychological tricks to get what he wanted.

There were threats of him telling my new friends - david and vicky what a nasty little boy I was and there was also the constant reminder that as soon as I reached sixteen he would throw me out the house and I would have to fend for myself. This, in itself was bad enough, but he would add in how terrible the world is and how I wouldn't be able to cope without him.

I would lay awake at night, suffering from insomnia thinking how much I wanted to get away, but also thinking dad was right, I would never be able to live without him, he would control me forever - even when I would be forced to leave at sixteen.

 

The new house didn't have a cupboard or a store room I could be locked into. But it did have an outside shed.
A grim looking, small brick building full of cobwebs, dust and mould.

I was to find myself locked up in there many  times. And each time, after dad had pushed me in, as he locked the door from the outside he would tell me how many spiders were in there with me.

Apparently there was also a child eating snake that would strike if I made a move. I spent my time in that dark shed, rooted to the spot, listening to the sounds of dad singing or tapping on the window to frighten me even further.

 

I hated him with a passion and I began to distance myself from my mum. I wondered why she never stepped in to save me.

I found out years later that she too was living with the fear.