‘I was 8 and I already knew I hated my family. Ever since I could remember I knew they were keeping something from me. However small I might have been, families don’t usually keep secrets from one another. I’m 9 now and it’s as if I don’t exist. Even my twin brother knows about it; and they say I’m the most trustful one.
My brother Sam had been locked in his bedroom yet again for forgetting to put the rubbish out in time for collection. He had great trouble doing this job, for the bin bag was the same size as him, if not bigger. Everyone else in this family would have had no trouble; we are all double his size. No one could understand why Sam was so different from the rest of us, I think we found him in a back alley but this makes me wonder why we look so much alike.
As Sammy (he doesn’t like being called Sammy) stood there, tears welling up inside his eyes, a dirty white van pulled up outside our family’s semi-detached house in Marlborough Road. Clive stormed out of the house, rage boiling up inside him.
“What are you doing here?” questioned Clive.
“There’s a … um … a delivery for you,” replied a stocky, bald man.
“I know what it is! What is it doing here?”
‘How did Clive know what that delivery was, and where it was meant to be?’ I wondered. Clive was my step-dad, and since the day we met, I’ve hated him since. Clive had stolen my mother from us and turned her against us.
That weekend, my mind was running in circles, trying to think what it could be. As I crept downstairs for breakfast, trying not to wake anyone, I heard people talking. Who was up that early? No one ever was. It was my mom and Clive, and they were arguing. It was probably about Sam. They only ever argued about him; but as I peered round the kitchen door, I figured it was a much worse than an average normal argument. I could see tears in my mother’s eyes, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I had a reason to hit Clive.
“My whole business could have been ruined!” Clive shouted. “There would have been no money for food or clothes. You would have had to work instead, because I would be banged up in some prison.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.” stuttered mother
Why would Clive have been put in prison? I wouldn’t mind. It would be like Christmas had come early. A smile swept briefly across my face.
The door opened slightly and I fell into the kitchen in front of Clive.
“What have you heard?” demanded Clive.
“Nothing. I’ve only just come downstairs,” I replied quickly leading into. “I promise.”
Clive was angry. Very angry. I began to regret listening to their conversation. I know how he reacts when he is angry, and didn’t want to know what was coming. Clive grabbed me by the ear and dragged me upstairs, banging my head on every step on the way up. I didn’t even get a chance to apologize; I tried to fidget as less as possible while clenching my fists to withstand the pain. Clive threw me to the floor outside my bedroom and kicked me inside, banging the door shut. All I could remember was hearing the key turning in the lock, before I fainted. Clive always got away with whatever did to me. He told Sam that I had to be taught a lesson, otherwise I would never learn. Anything Clive said, Sam believed.
Monday came all too quickly. Sam did not want to go back to school so soon. For one, I needed to find out more about Clive and his business that was always kept so secretive; and, secondly, I don’t want everyone asking me about the red twisted mark around my ear. ‘I will be ill today,’ I decided, and when mother called me for the third time, she arrived at the top of the stairs.
“Please can I not go to school? I’m feeling really ill and my head is really hot.” Coughing vigorously.
Mum trudged up the stairs and felt my forehead. What Sam did not know was that I had been lying with my head on the radiator for the past ten minutes. Eventually Sam gave in and allowed me to stay at home.
“You’re not to get in the way of your Dad. He’s very busy.”
“I won’t.” ‘I will just find out about his secret
I watched from my bedroom window as everyone left for school or work. It was just me and him now. It was so quiet; you would have been able to hear a pin drop. Just then the telephone rang and shattered the peaceful silence. Clive answered. He took the call inside his office and shut the door. I couldn’t make out what he was saying. I moved cautiously downstairs and pressed my ear up against the office door.
“What? … How could that have happened?” Clive paused. “How old was she? … SIX! … No, I didn’t get your e-mail. …This is such a mess. I better go, Clive put the phone down, and I raced for my life back up to my bedroom. Ten minutes later the phone rang again.
“I’m going out. Don’t tell your mother I left you or there will be consequences.” Before I could answer, Clive was out of the door and down the road.
I was in Clive’s office in a flash, rummaging around all his drawers. Seconds turned into minutes and I still found nothing. I fear Clive would be back soon and did not want to be caught. I could not even begin to imagine what he would do to me; if he found out I had been in his office.
Little hope was left, and I was about to give up when I noticed a sticky note on the wall. It read: Clive, we have a serious problem. One of the families brought over a six year old girl, who died en route. What shall I do? Call me as soon as you get this.
Everything was falling into place. There were some people in England that were not meant to be there, and now one had died, and Clive was going to get into trouble. I didn’t care. I would be happy if he was thrown into a prison cell for the rest of his life. Clive had ruined my life. He was only my step-dad, and had stolen my mother.
The secret phone calls, the lies, the conversations between him and mum. It finally made sense now. It fits together like a jigsaw puzzle.
When Clive arrived home, I wanted to kill him. He was like half a meter taller than me .I would never win. He went straight into his office and the instant he walked in could tell someone had been in there, he yelled me.
I walked downstairs, and was ready to face my punishment.
“Have you been in my office?” Clive asked, but he answered for me. “Of course you have. You couldn’t help yourself having a nose around, could you?”
I came out with it straight away; I replied confidently with a grin on my face “I know what you do. How could you? And now someone has died because you don’t care for them. She was only six”
The anger on Clive’s face was indescribable. I turned and ran. I sprinted as fast as my legs would go but I did not even get out of the door before Clive stopped me in my tracks.
“Didn’t I ever tell you it’s rude to go into someone else’s room without asking them?” He was so patronising. “Where did you think you would get to by running?”
I could not get a word out of my mouth however hard I tried. I did not want to be scared by Clive. “Urm…er…”
Clive grabbed me by my throat and hauled me into the living room. He threw me against the radiator which gashed the side of my face. Blood trickled down my cheek.
“I’m sorry.” I tried holding back the tears but it ran down my face. Bruises were already appearing on my arms and legs.
“You’re not sorry. You’ll never be sorry. The only way you would be sorry is if you’re not here.” Clive lifted me off the floor that my back touched the ceiling and he dropped me. Clive kicked me in the stomach again and again and again. Splatters of blood stained the carpet. I stood up with little energy I had left; I punched Clive in the stomach and fall backwards; my head smashing against the glass table, shattering it to pieces.
“Get up … Now;” commanded Clive, but nothing happened.
It was over. Never again would I have to see Clive’s evil face again,