Intense

The devil lives in all of us. That’s what my daddy used to say. He used to shout at us if we looked at the picture books. ‘Do something useful with your time kid’. And so we crept around mopping up dust and hiding ourselves under carpets. The house was full of feeling scared.

Daddy didn’t know many words. His favourite word was fuck. He said it over and over. The fucking dog. You fucking kids.

I knew how to avoid daddy. I screamed back and he sent me away to my room. In my room I learnt magic words. The nice stranger in the bookshop gave me special books. The pages smelt like bacon frazzles and they sat heavy in my tiny, grubby hands. I sounded out the words. ‘All bad things will disappear.’ ‘You can make anything a reality.’ I didn’t know what the words meant. We hadn’t learnt them in school. In school Dick and Jane were still going to the shop to buy milk. I liked Dick and Jane. Their mummy and daddy loved them and they wore sweaters.

I got good at the strange words. After a while I didn’t need the books to remember the words. In fact the books disappeared from the shopping bag under my bed. I checked the bag after school. In there was the broken recorder. I had it for my birthday. I loved it so much my hand was sweaty when I tried to clean it out and the mouthpiece split. I was too scared to tell mummy or daddy so I hid it. Like I hid myself. I didn’t tell mummy or daddy about the boys who threw stones at my feet as I walked home from school. I learnt to run and asked for boots when my feet grew.

After a while I no longer said the magic words. I just thought them. Then I didn’t need to think them. They were just inside me. They grew as wild as my hair grew. As I became a girl. Not the boy my daddy wanted. One day mummy was at work. I made tea for daddy and called him from the garage. Daddy shouted. He did not say thank you. He did not say well done for opening the pilchard tin my daughter. That made me sad. As I tried not to cry daddy disappeared. One minute he was in the alleyway. The next he was gone. At first my heart skipped. Then I looked at the stinking fish in the oven tin and smiled. I washed them away down the sink. As I did something strange left my lips. A song. A child’s song.

The house was nice and quiet and I went to my room and got my colouring pencils and my book and I drew and drew until the sky went dark. I loved my pictures. When it came to bed time I cleaned my teeth and got ready for bed. I got under the covers and the dog came and lay beside me. He sighed and nuzzled me. We slept a deep, deep sleep.

In the morning there was no shouting. I woke up and smiled. I already knew the next page in the book. I opened my bedroom door and the smell of toast and butter filled my nose. I tripped down the stairs. ‘Morning mummy. Morning daddy.’ And they said the best thing in the world. ‘Good morning Darling.’ Just like in Dick and Jane. And I just knew that I would never need any more strange words. Any more strange stories. This was the perfect ending and I was happy.