Free A Cockney's Journey by Eddie Allen Page B

watching a pot boil on the gas stove.
    “You’re late again. Every time you go out, you’re always bloody late.”
    “Sorry, I missed the bus, Mum.”
    “I saved you a bit of dinner. It’s in the fridge.”
    “Cheers,” I said.
    “Lock the door, will you?” she muttered.
    I locked the back door and, while I was sliding the top bolt across, I heard him walk into the kitchen.
    “Still not on, is it? Bloody third power cut this month. I see you managed to get home,” he barked aggressively.
    “Yeah,” I replied quietly. I opened the fridge door and reached in for the dinner plate that was covered with salad and a boiled egg. I groaned to myself and promptly sat down and scoffed the lot.
    After I washed and dried my plate, I asked for a candle but was reliably informed that there were none spare. I bet that lot upstairs have got candles , I thought to myself, as I climbed the stairs in total darkness. My arms were outstretched while I blindly felt my way up towards the top of the house. Halfway up the second flight, I noticed that there were faint lights coming from under both the bedroom doors. I bloody knew it! Tiptoeing past their bedrooms, I could hear whispering and faint noises and then one of the doors opened and a head appeared.
    “What are you creeping about for?” she snapped, peering through the gap in the door. My sister was a complete plum.
    “Are you serious, you bloody idiot! I can’t see fuck all. That’s why I’m creeping about, you dickhead.”
    With that response she shut the door and I was plunged into darkness again. Halfway up the third flight, I tripped up the step and went flying forwards and my chin smashed down onto the banister handrail. Sod this. I’ll have to take a chance. I reached into my pocket and retrieved my petrol lighter. In an instant, the stairs were flooded with light. I quickly ran up to my bedroom. Once inside and sitting on my bed I snapped the lighter shut. He’s like a bloodhound. If he smells the petrol lighter, I’ve seriously had it. I cringed at the thought. I sat there freezing my nuts off! Only one fire in the house and that was downstairs in the living room; everywhere else was at the mercy of Jack Frost! I climbed into bed with my clothes on and drifted off to sleep, thinking of Ann.

    I suddenly awoke to a rustling noise in my bedroom. I was trying to focus my eyes on the direction of the noise, as I was aware of a presence in the room. Without warning, an immense pressure was put upon my chest.
    “Where is it, you bastard?” my dad screamed, maniacally.
    He put his hand around my throat and pressed down on my chest with his knee.
    “Whhhhat?” I cried.
    “You know very well what.”
    “I don’t, honest,” I gasped.
    “I can smell petrol on the stairs, you fucking liar.”
    His grip around my throat tightened and his breath stunk of booze as he dribbled onto my face. He’s been at the whisky again. God help me!
    “Tell me where it is,” he shouted angrily.
    He shook my neck violently. I couldn’t breathe properly, let alone answer him.
    “Answer me, you little shit or I’ll kill you, do ya hear me?”
    I was just about to pass out when my bedroom door flung open. All I could see were four candles sparkling in the dark.
    “What are you doing, Dad?” I heard and he let go his grip to turn around.
    “Nothing for you lot to worry about,” he said, in a soft caring voice. He pushed himself upright and walked towards the door. A sudden surge of air hit my lungs and I sat bolt upright coughing and spluttering, struggling to get my breath. I felt light-headed and sick. He ushered my brothers and sisters out of the room, shutting my bedroom door. That was the closest he’s come to killing me. I had to get away from him and this house before he did. I sat there