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  Normally Adele would have stayed where she was but as she was getting older, she was becoming more concerned about her father’s behaviour and how it affected her mother. Adele continued waiting. She wanted to give her father a chance to calm down. Eventually she gathered her courage and made her way downstairs, tentatively, listening all the while. But it seemed that the only sound she could hear was her own pounding heartbeat.

  She drew nearer the bottom step, her hands leaving sweaty imprints on the banister. Once she was downstairs she peeped into the living room where she saw her father asleep in the armchair. Thank God, she thought, letting out a deep breath, which she had been subconsciously holding. The tension in her wired muscles also eased.

  Turning, she then made her way to the kitchen and stepped inside. Her relief was short-lived. The room was almost unrecognisable. Adele was used to living in a messy home but the sight before her surpassed even her dismal expectations.

  The table, which stood against the wall, was littered with broken crockery. Part of it was from the plate that had contained her father’s tea, but there was more, much more. Adele surveyed the damage. A variety of shapes, colours and sizes, and a broken cup handle attached to part of a cup, hovered precariously on the tabletop. The remainder was on the floor.

  Gravy flooded the table, spilling over the sides in a constant drip, drip, drip. It streamed down the wall, flowing past the slimy onions and lumps of potato, which clung to the outdated wallpaper. On the table, remnants of potato and cabbage sat amongst the gravy and formed unappetising clusters on the broken crockery.

  Most of the kitchen chairs were upended and scattered about the room, and the table itself had switched position. Amongst this devastation sat Adele’s mother, her head sunk low, grasping a ragged and bloody handkerchief to her face as she wept silent tears.

  Adele approached her, hesitantly.

  ‘Mam,’ she whispered.

  Her mother raised her head, but the sight of her bruised and bloodied face unsettled Adele, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say.

  Quickly recovering, she said, ‘He’s asleep.’

  Her mother didn’t reply. Instead she gazed at Adele, her eyes full of sadness.

  ‘I’ll help you clear up,’ Adele offered.

  ‘Thanks love, you’re a good girl,’ her mother said, her voice trembling, but she remained seated as though she had neither the energy nor the will to deal with the mess.

  Adele crept towards the pantry where the used newspapers were kept. Pulling out a few sheets of newspaper, she placed several on top of each other to form a thick layer then began to scoop broken crockery onto them. Her mother stayed still.

  Stopping to look at her mother, Adele asked, ‘Do you want me to get the flannel for your face?’

  Her words seemed to spur her mother into action. She rose from her chair, saying, ‘It’s all right, love; I’ll sort it out. You carry on doing what you’re doing, but be careful not to make too much noise. We don’t want him to wake up.’

  By the time Shirley had taken care of her face and rejoined her daughter, Adele had already cleared up most of the broken crockery and spilt food. Together they cleaned the wall and table, swept and mopped the floor and put the furniture back in place.

  ‘Thanks, love. Let’s get to bed now,’ said Shirley.

  Adele nodded then looked towards the living room.

  ‘We’ll leave him till the morning. He’ll sleep it off.’

  Adele wasn’t sure whether ‘it’ referred to his mood or the excessive amount of alcohol he had obviously consumed. She watched from the door as her mother tiptoed across the living room and switched off the TV before tiptoeing back again.

  ‘He won’t like it if it’s still on when he wakes up,’ she muttered. ‘He hates us wasting electricity.’

  Adele and her mother then went up to bed while Tommy lay sprawled in his armchair, snoring. She hoped he’d be in a better mood the next day, but there were no guarantees. None of them could ever predict what sort of mood her father would be in or how far he would go the next time he lost his temper.

  Chapter 6

  Following the fight with Anthony Hampson, Adele waited for her friend, Janet, to call for her, but she didn’t show. Perhaps Janet didn’t want to go around with her anymore or maybe she had gone out somewhere with her parents. Eventually, after two days of missing her best friend, and overcome by curiosity, Adele couldn’t wait any more. As soon as Mrs Hampson answered the door however, it was obvious to Adele she knew all about the fight.

  ‘Go away! We can do without your sort here. I never did approve of our Janet going around with the likes of you, and what you did to our Anthony proves I was right.’

  Feeling ashamed and humiliated, Adele turned away as Mrs Hampson continued to berate her, ‘Girls fighting in the street; it’s disgusting! Girls don’t fight. Not decent girls, anyway. I’ve a good mind to tell your parents if I thought it would do any good.’

  When Adele was a safe distance from the house, she peered up towards Janet’s bedroom to see if there was any sign of her. She spotted her at the window just before Janet gave her a scornful look then ducked out of sight.

  Adele returned home deflated. Mrs Hampson’s words had stung, and they confirmed what Adele had always felt; that the Hampsons thought she wasn’t good enough. She’d always felt that way. It was in the sly little comments she’d put up with over the years as Mrs Hampson had made unfavourable comparisons between Janet’s possessions and hers. ‘Don’t you have one of those at your house?’ ‘You should be wearing stouter shoes on a day like today, like the ones Janet has.’ ‘Don’t let Adele use your new brush and comb, Janet; she can use the old ones.’

  When she got back inside her own home, she told Peter what had happened. His view of things was different to hers.

  ‘I don’t know what you want to go around with her for, anyway,’ he said. ‘Those Hampsons are a load of snobs.’

  But Adele did want to go around with Janet. She missed her company, and Peter was partly to blame. His words irritated her. She might have other friends but none of them let her use their things like Janet did. And Janet had such lovely things, which Adele could only dream of owning.

  She might have fun and excitement with her brother but her friendship with Janet fed her desire for a better life. It fuelled her dreams that one day she would have nice things of her own. And now that friendship had been taken away from her.

  *

  The next day Adele was outside with Peter who was spending a lot of time with her since the local boys wouldn’t have anything to do with him.

  ‘I’m going to call for Wendy,’ said Adele.

  ‘No, don’t. You’ll only take off with her. Stay with me. We can go somewhere.’

  ‘It’s all right. You can still hang around with us,’ said Adele.

  Disappointingly, Wendy wasn’t at home.

  ‘She went to Janet’s,’ said Wendy’s mother who had no idea of the trouble that had taken place three days previously. ‘They’re probably still in the garden. I’m sure they won’t mind you joining them if you call round.’

  ‘Thanks,’ muttered Adele, her eyes downcast.

  ‘Ah well, where d’you fancy going?’ asked Peter.

  But Adele was undeterred. ‘I’m going to Janet’s to see if Wendy’s there.’

  ‘But what if Mrs Hampson’s there?’

  ‘I’m not calling for Janet. I just want to see if Wendy’s there. They can’t stop me standing outside.’

  Peter followed Adele up the street while she strode purposefully in the direction of the Hampsons’ back garden. As they approached, they could hear the sound of voices. Adele turned to Peter, giving him a knowing look.

  ‘You stay here while I walk up to the gate,’ she whispered, ‘just in case Anthony and his friends are there.’

  When Adele reached the gate, she saw that Anthony and his friends were indeed in the garden as well as Janet, Wendy and, another friend, Susan.
They all stopped what they were doing as soon as they saw Adele.

  After a few uncomfortable moments, Janet said, ‘My mum says I’m not to go around with you anymore.’

  ‘I’ve not called for you,’ said Adele, trying to mask her feelings of hurt and rejection. She then directed her gaze to Susan and Wendy, her eyes flitting from one to the other. ‘Are you coming out?’ she asked.

  They both lowered their heads. They’d already made their choice to stay with Janet but were nervous of Adele’s reaction.

  Before they got a chance to say anything, one of Anthony’s friends pointed at Adele’s chapped knees, ‘Ooh, look at her scabby knees,’ he shouted.

  ‘Scabby knees, scabby knees, Adele’s got scabby knees,’ sang the boys. Janet joined in while Susan and Wendy laughed until, feeling hurt and upset, Adele ran from the Hampsons’ home without saying another word. She passed Peter without stopping.

  ‘Hang on, Adele. Wait for me,’ he shouted before running after her.

  Adele continued to run until she was several streets away, but she couldn’t escape her inner turmoil. When her feet stopped pounding the pavements, she was still feeling upset and angry. She stared down at her blemished knees while troubling thoughts raced around inside her head. Why had her other friends sided with the Hampsons? Why had everyone turned against her? All she had done was try to protect her brother. Surely any of them would have done the same! Wouldn’t they?

  She watched in annoyance as Peter ran to catch up with her. This was all down to him but she didn’t want to pick a fight with her brother. At the moment, he was all she had. Instead, once he had reached her, she cursed the Hampsons and all the others who had sided with them. Peter joined her, equally furious that all their friends had supported Anthony.

  For several minutes they wandered aimlessly, unsure how to pass their time now they had no friends to hang around with. They looked a sorry sight; two forlorn youngsters, slumping their shoulders and dragging their feet. Their clothes were well-worn, and their dark hair luggy and unkempt. Adele’s attractive face bore a scowl and she kicked sulkily at clumps of grass while her mischievous-looking brother paused at intervals to pick up stones to hurl.

  They needed a diversion; something or someone to distract them from their boredom, anger and frustration. Ahead of them they saw another lonely figure: Shelley Tucker. Shelley was what was referred to as ‘backward’. Although she attended the same school as Adele and Peter, she struggled, not only with her classwork but making friends too. Other children homed in on her weaknesses and either avoided her or picked on her. Normally Adele left her alone; but Adele was used to being one of the popular girls, surrounded by friends who looked up to her. Today was different.

  Peter and Adele had found their diversion.

  ‘Come on,’ said Peter, growing excited. He was no longer dragging his feet but had become animated as he approached Shelley.

  ‘Hey Shelley, d’you wanna play?’ he shouted.

  Shelley smiled in response, flattered at his approach.

  Adele could have stopped him. Normally, she would have done. But not today. Today she was full of hurt and anger, and she needed to vent that anger on something or somebody. Unfortunately, poor Shelley had become the target.

  She could almost read Peter’s mind, trying to think of ways to use Shelley for his own amusement. He started by grasping the top of Shelley’s arm tightly and dragging her.

  ‘Ouch, that hurts,’ said Shelley, her lips trembling as she tried to back away.

  ‘It’s a game,’ said Peter. ‘I’m the master, and you’ve got to do everything I tell you. OK?’

  Shelley gazed at him, uncertain, then looked to Adele for reassurance. Adele nodded, curious to see what direction this game would take and relishing the feeling of power.

  ‘Right,’ said Peter, pausing while he decided what to do next. His indecisiveness intrigued Adele. ‘Right, we’re going ghost hunting. We’re going to the haunted house.’

  Adele guessed that he was probably referring to a house on a nearby street, which had stood empty for a while. The house, which was boarded up, had become increasingly run-down, and parents had warned their children to stay away from it. Janet said it was because, according to her mother, tramps went there at night to drink.

  Instead of deterring the children, the stern warnings had piqued their curiosity and started the rumours that the house might be haunted. Lots of the local kids wanted to discover whether the rumours were true, but they were all too frightened to investigate.

  As Peter led Shelley by the arm, Adele followed, keeping a step or two behind. They drew closer to the house, and Shelley stopped.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ she said. ‘Adele, tell him!’

  They both turned to Adele, Peter’s face full of determination while Shelley was beginning to whimper.

  ‘Don’t be so soft!’ said Peter. ‘There’s nothing there. Gary Healey’s been inside and he didn’t see anything.’ The deliberate lie tripped off his tongue easily.

  Adele knew she held the balance of power. ‘Peter’s right,’ she said. ‘We won’t come to no harm, but we can tell all the other kids that we saw the ghost.’

  ‘I don’t want to see the ghost,’ Shelley cried, the tears now streaming down her face.

  ‘There isn’t a ghost,’ said Adele. ‘We’re just going to pretend there is.’

  Once he had received Adele’s approval, Peter continued to drag Shelley by the arm in the direction of the empty house while Adele reassured her that everything would be fine.

  They arrived at the garden gate and Peter stopped to pick up a stick from the ground. ‘This is my weapon to fight the ghost with,’ he announced.

  ‘I thought you said there weren’t any ghosts,’ cried Shelley.

  ‘He’s only pretending,’ said Adele while Peter carried on dragging Shelley inside the gate.

  ‘No, no! I don’t want to go in,’ screamed Shelley. ‘I’m scared of ghosts.’

  She bent her knees so that her feet dragged behind her. Peter struggled to pull her into the garden so Adele rushed to his aid, grasping Shelley’s other arm to prop her up.

  Once they were inside the garden, Peter held the stick up. ‘Right, we’re here now. You’re gonna climb through that window and tell us what you find.’

  ‘No! Please, don’t make me,’ Shelley screamed, becoming hysterical.

  ‘You’re going or I’ll jab your eyes out with this stick,’ said Peter, thrusting the stick towards Shelley’s tear-stained face.

  Shelley spun her head away from him till she was facing Adele. Their eyes met. Shelley gazed beseechingly at her until Adele was forced to see the fear on the poor girl’s face. She’d seen that look before. On her mother’s face. Every time their father came home late from the pub. In that instant Adele was overcome by pity and self-loathing.

  ‘No, Peter!’ she ordered, letting go of Shelley’s arm. ‘Leave her alone.’

  Peter looked at her, confused.

  ‘She’s frightened, leave her alone. If she tells anyone, we’ll be in trouble.’ Then, as if suddenly realising the implications of what they had been about to do, she turned to Shelley. ‘We weren’t gonna hurt you, Shelley, honest. We just wanted to have a look inside. We would have come in with you, so don’t you go tellin’ anyone we were pickin’ on you.’

  ‘Yeah, you better hadn’t,’ said Peter, raising his stick again, ‘or I really will jab your eyes out.’ He let go of Shelley’s other arm and, without waiting to hear any more, the girl ran. ‘Spoilsport!’ Peter said to Adele as he watched Shelley race away.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Adele. ‘It was a stupid idea anyway. I’m going home.’

  She walked away, not caring whether Peter was behind her or not. By this time, her anger of earlier had gone, replaced by shame at her bad behaviour, which had been so out of character. She couldn’t understand why Peter wasn’t ashamed too. It didn’t seem to bother him, but maybe it was his way of hitting back at the wo
rld. Adele knew she would continue to feel guilty about frightening poor Shelley for several days afterwards.

  After a few minutes Adele arrived home. Her mother was the only person indoors. Remembering how the children had teased her about her knees, Adele told her mother about them.

  ‘My knees are sore, Mam.’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’

  Adele sat down, lifting each of her legs in turn so her mother could examine the broken red skin on the inner side of each knee.

  ‘Oh, they’re chapped again. You get it whenever it’s cold. A bit of ointment will soon sort it out. You’re best putting it on before you go to bed.’

  But when bedtime came, Shirley had forgotten all about Adele’s chapped knees and she had to remind her. Shirley couldn’t find any ointment in the cupboard where it was usually kept so Adele helped her to search the house. It was no use; there was no ointment to be found.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Shirley. ‘I’ll get some tomorrow. You’ll be all right.’

  But Adele knew that by tomorrow her mother would have forgotten about her knees; she’d have found something else to worry about. No, her mother wouldn’t do anything to rid Adele of the shame and ridicule. She couldn’t understand why, but her mother never seemed to do anything.

  Chapter 7

  A visit from Grandma Joyce on Sunday morning was just the tonic Adele needed. Her father was in bed so they had been careful not to make too much noise. But when her grandma arrived, Adele couldn’t resist rushing up to her, flinging her arms around her neck and letting out an excited squeal.

  ‘Hiya Grandma,’ she exclaimed while Peter vied for Joyce’s attention.

  ‘All right you two, settle down,’ she said, adding, ‘There’s nowt in there for you,’ when she spotted Peter’s eye on her handbag. ‘I haven’t brought any sweets today.’

  Peter shrugged and turned away. ‘Are you coming out, Adele?’ he asked.

  But Adele didn’t want to go out. ‘Not yet, in a bit,’ she said, and she continued to hover around her grandma, comforted by her presence.