Free Wake Up, Mummy by Anna Lowe Page A

we’d say we’d been at our grandparents’ house all day. We were used to keeping secrets, and we knew what would happen if we upset our mother. And although the weekends were almost unbearably boring, at least we hadn’t been left alone with Carl, and I felt a small sense of satisfaction because I knew something he didn’t.
    One Saturday afternoon, when my grandparents were away for the weekend and Carl had arrived at their house to pick us up, he and my mother went into the living room to watch television and drink. They left the door slightly ajar, so that they could hear if Chris and I misbehaved in any way, and Carl told us to stay out of theroom. Then he dragged an armchair across the carpet, positioned it so that it blocked the doorway, and sat down with his can of beer.
    I was furious. It was one thing for my mother to tell me what to do, but how dare Carl think he could order me around in my grandparents’ house?
    Chris and I crept silently along the hallway and flattened ourselves against the wall beside the living-room door. Carl had already been drunk when he arrived at the house, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep. Just the top of his head was visible above the back of the chair, and I could see that if the door were to be pushed hard enough, it would hit him.
    I nudged my brother, pointed at Carl’s head and whispered, ‘Go on, I dare you.’ Then we both started to giggle, and almost fell over each other in our haste to get away from the open doorway before we burst into laughter.
    When we were safely in the kitchen, I hissed at Chris again, ‘I dare you. Just push the door, once, really hard.’
    ‘No! I dare you ,’ he answered, pushing me ahead of him back up the hallway towards the living room.
    We stood together for a moment looking at Carl’s thin grey hair, and then, suddenly, I grabbed the door handle with both hands and rammed it as hard as I could against the back of his head. There was a loud crack and Carlleapt out of his chair, clutching his head with both hands and swearing, as Chris and I ran back to the kitchen, frightened, but almost choking with laughter.
    I know we must have paid for our prank, although I can’t remember how. Whatever the price, though, it was worth it for the fleeting sensation of knowing that, if only in a small way, I’d got my own back on the man who was responsible for ending my happy life with my grandparents and for making every single day of my new life so miserable.
    I loved spending time with my grandparents. In contrast to the life I lived with Carl and my mother, everything in their house was clean, comfortable and well ordered, and every day spent with them followed a pattern I could understand and that made me feel secure, loved and accepted. Gradually, however, it began to feel as though something had changed. My grandmother and my aunts didn’t laugh any more, and on more than one occasion I’d been certain I’d heard my grandmother crying.
    Then, one day, I was watching television in the living room at my grandparents’ house when I decided to go into the kitchen to ask my grandmother for a drink. As I walked towards the open kitchen door, I heard my aunt say, ‘She knows something’s wrong. It isn’t fair, Mum. She needs to be told the truth.’
    I wondered what she was talking about and guessed itwas probably something to do with my mother – ‘wrong’ things usually were.
    ‘I don’t want her to know,’ my grandmother answered, her voice breaking as though she was suppressing a sob. ‘The poor child has enough problems to deal with.’
    I realised at that point that they were talking about me, and I began to feel afraid. I’d already learned that there are some things in life that, once you know them, can’t ever be un-known and can change everything. And some sixth sense told me that this was one of those things.
    ‘Please, Mother.’ My aunt was almost begging.
    For a moment, neither of them said anything, and I