Free Soul Protector by Amanda Leigh Cowley Page B

she spent so much time nurturing. With the table and
chairs crammed around the rectangle table, there was barely enough
room left to squeeze into your chair, but once you were seated, it
was very comfortable.
    Mum and Terry brought in
serving dishes of steaming food, and set them down in the middle of
the table. After helping myself to way too much, I began tucking
in, drifting in and out of their easy conversation.
    A picture on the wall caught my
eye. It was of Michelle and me when we were small, standing outside
the back door of our old house. I was once again transported back
to my childhood, to the time when we lived with Dad. I could still
remember having the picture taken. It was one of those spur of the
moment, natural shots. We’d been out playing in the garden and came
running up to the house to clean up before tea. I can’t even
remember what we’d been laughing about, but it must have been funny
because Mum heard us from inside the kitchen and rushed to get her
camera. That picture of us, all wild hair and grubby knees, was her
favourite. To a perfect stranger it looked like we were happy kids
from a normal happy family. But things couldn’t have been further
from the truth.
    That picture was taken around
the time Mum used to try and hide her bruises and pretend
everything was okay, the time when we lived in fear of Dad and
whatever he would do next.
    When he was sober, he was full
of remorse and tried to compensate for all the hurt he’d caused.
But the sober times were few and far between. And when he was
drunk, he was violent. I even heard him attacking Mum sometimes,
and as desperate as we were to help, Michelle and I used to stay in
our bedroom, too terrified to move.
    I absentmindedly stroked the
scar high up on my left cheekbone. One Saturday lunchtime when I
was about seven, Dad had asked me to find his other shoe. He wanted
to go down the pub because he’d drunk every last drop of alcohol in
the house. I’d frantically searched everywhere, but after drawing a
blank, I’d asked Michelle to help. Aware of the consequences, even
at that young age, she’d desperately checked every cubby hole and
dark corner for me, but the shoe couldn’t be found and we’d had to
concede defeat. Michelle came and stood next to me as, shaking, I
had to tell Dad I’d failed. True to form he’d gone bright red with
rage and, eyes blazing, he chucked the other shoe at my head.
    “Stupid girl tripped and
knocked herself on the fire surround,” he roared when Mum came
running in to see what the commotion was.
    We knew better than to
contradict him. As Mum leant down to study my cut, he turned the
full force of his rage onto her and launched into another beating.
I’d felt guilty for a long time over that one.
     
    I heard the distinctive noise
of a cork being extracted from a bottle of wine, and snapped out of
my daydream.
    “One for you?” Terry asked,
waving a bottle of Merlot in my direction.
    “Erm, no thanks, I’m driving.
So, how’s the house renovation going, Terry?”
    “Oh, the usual,” he said,
topping up Mum’s glass. “There’s plaster dust everywhere. I even
found some in the butter dish yesterday!”
    “No wonder you like spending so
much time over here,” I said, laughing.
    “I just hope she doesn’t get
fed up with me.” He turned to Mum and gave her a sincere look.
    “Never,” she said and smiled
shyly before leaning across to give him a quick kiss on the
lips.
    “Eww, guys do you have to?”
    “Sorry,” said Mum, “but he’s
irresistible.”
    I pulled a face at them both,
but deep down it made me happy to see his affection for her.
     
    During her time with Dad, Mum
frequently had to go to hospital for medical attention, while he
either legged it, or was taken into police custody for questioning.
On those occasions we stayed with Nancy, our next-door neighbour. A
sweet widow, her children had long flown the nest. She used to take
us in and we would bake cakes or read stories