Dragons and Butterflies 2: War With Her Father

By Marie Jensen

Get your hankies out! Here's the second in the Jean Ridgeway biographical series from Marie Jensen.

'War With Her Father' is the second in a series of six books, charting Jean's colourful life. Jean is an abused child who survives. A victim to start with, she worked through her issues. Her past haunted her for many years. Time is a great healer. Pain and suffering can give you inner strength, or break you.

Each book in the series covers a stage in Jean’s life, one girl’s story. This book covers her adolescent years. Once you have read Jean’s story, you will understand more about courage and cowardice.

'In this brilliant second book of a six-part series, Jean Ridgeway's ongoing battle with her domestic abuser develops into a psychological, and sometimes physical war. But as Jean reaches adolescence, she also has to deal with evolving family relationships, boyfriend troubles, school issues, deceit, jealously, heartbreak and tragedy.

'In the central conflict between Jean and her abuser, there can only be one winner. Jean strives for her goals of happiness and safety, but in the end, her very physical and mental well-being come under threat, as her visions of the future become as heart-wrenching, as her experiences of the past and present....

''War With Her Father' is a hugely compelling study of family relationships at their most dysfunctional. The book also serves as a fascinating dissertation on adolescent mental health, made all the more engaging, by the fact that it is based on a true story.' STEVE STONE

Other books in this series;
'Just Like Her Father' (Book 1)
'A Strong Woman' (Book 3)

• Language: English
• Publisher: SDS Publishing
• Release date: Jun 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476443577

Marie Jensen

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Book preview

FOREWORD

This is the second in a series of six novels, charting the life of Jean Ridgeway. Jean is an abused child who survives. A victim to start with, she worked through her issues. Her past haunted her for many years. Time is a great healer. Pain and suffering can give you inner strength, or break you.

Each novel in the series is a stage in Jean’s life, one girl’s story. This book covers her adolescent years. Once you have read Jean’s story, you will understand more about courage and cowardice.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, objects and places are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to other works of fiction is unintentional and coincidental.

Previously in the Jean Ridgeway series;

Volume One: Just Like Her Father

Forthcoming books in the series;

Volume Three: Worse Than Her Father

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CONTENTS

Prologue: Taxi to Doncaster

One: The Miserable House

Two: Hidden Memories

Three: A New Beginning

Four: Comprehensively Better

Five: The Youth Club

Six: The Secret Banker

Seven: Chips on her Shoulder

Eight: Barbury Castle

Nine: Tugged off her Feet

Ten: The Pictures

Eleven: The Wild Bike Ride

Twelve: The Party

Thirteen: The Deadly Secrets

Fourteen: The Short Goodbye

Fifteen: Return to the Valleys

Sixteen: For Whom the Bells Toll

Seventeen: The Long Goodbye

Eighteen: Fighting Back

Nineteen: The Helpful Hippie

Twenty: The Big Dilemma

Twenty-One: Time at the Bar

Twenty-Two: The Camera Never Lies

Twenty-Three: The Call of the Sea

Twenty-Four: The Dating Game

Twenty-Five: The Pallbearer

Twenty-Six: The Torch Bearer

Twenty-Seven: The Marriage Proposal

Twenty-Eight: A Message from Home

Twenty-Nine: Jealous Guy

Thirty: The Ultimatum

Thirty-One: A Fabulous Christmas

Thirty-Two: A Friend in Need

Thirty-Three: The Slapper

Thirty-Four: The Festival

Thirty-Five: The Raid

Epilogue: Barry Island

PROLOGUE: TAXI TO DONCASTER

Frightened but surprisingly resolute, exhausted but incredibly alert, eight-year-old Jean Ridgeway sat in the back of a taxi, somewhere between Sheffield and Doncaster.

Apart from the taxi driver, everyone else in the cab was fast asleep. She hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep too, or they would all be in big trouble.

To the right of Jean, her mother was snoring very slightly, and on Jean’s left, her five-year-old brother, John, was away with the faeries.

Jean’s father, Colston, sat beside the driver at the front. His bulging wallet lay open on his lap, ignored by the driver, whom he had already paid for the trip.

Jean looked out of the window, at some impossibly tall grey smokestacks in the distance. She decided that as a person, her father was as unclean and dirty as they were. It was a Sunday afternoon, and they were heading to her father’s newest and latest Royal Air Force camp a day early, because they had been kicked out of his family’s house in Sheffield.

Except ‘kicked out’ wasn’t quite accurate, was it? Within one day of arriving, Colston had drunkenly beaten up his Sheffield family, after arriving back too late from the pub for dinner. He had wrenched Jean, John and their mother out of the house with their cases, after beating his own brother Bernard. He had slapped his own sister, Rose, to the ground, after she had tried to intervene, and he had beaten his brother-in-law, Ray, Rose’s husband. Jean’s father had even given Rose’s 11-year-old son, Paul, a little slap for kicking him in the leg. The only surprise was that Colston hadn’t turned on his grandfather, Pops, content just to give the old man the mother of all mouthfuls. The fighting had been over by then, of course, Colston all cocky for emerging victorious.

It had all been down to Colston’s drinking, of course, and came as no real surprise to Jean. She had become used to his violence, over the years.

Jean’s father had first beaten her with his belt, after she was late back from her first school in Wales. Her father hadn’t been in the Air Force then, but she soon learnt at school that he had a murky past. She hadn’t even known what late meant, because she had been too young to tell the time.

The next beating, more savage than the first, had come in Singapore, after Jean had screamed at her father for drowning her puppies. She had loved the puppies’ mother, Titch, who her father had later killed at the vet, after the dog became ill. Her father had taken Jean, John and their mother to the house in Singapore, after joining the RAF.

More beatings for Jean had followed in Singapore. Her father also tore the arms, legs and head off her favourite doll, and smashed a guitar she had loved. He took her sweets away, and destroyed just about every Christmas present she ever had, as part of his evil punishments. Yet he always acted the perfect parent, in front of his Air Force friends.

She always had about a week off school, after a beating. She used to think she was kept off school, because she was ill. After all, that’s what her mother told everyone. It was only in later years, that Jean realised it was because her mother couldn’t hide her bruises and scratches, until they healed up a bit.

Jean particularly remembered the beating she had received, after telling a big RAF squadron boss that she wanted to be prostitute, when she grew up. He had asked her at a party for the squadron. She had been lost for words, didn’t know what to say, before remembering a pretty lady she had seen at a Chinese market. Only later, had Jean learnt from her mother that prostitutes were bad.

But Jean wasn’t the only one that her father beat up on. Her mother had often been the vent of his fury. Only little John had escaped his wrath, so far. Jean looked across at John, still fast asleep, missing all of the new sights flashing by. It was small wonder that he was such a quiet, timid child.

The problems with her father had become worse, in the last few months in Singapore, once he started drinking more of the time with his RAF buddies. Eventually, he had been caught driving whilst drunk by police, and couldn’t drive any more, which was a shame, because he drove for a living with the Air Force. They all wondered if he would be kicked out of the RAF, but it had eventually been decided that he would retrain as a chef in Doncaster.

So her father’s drinking had also cost her the continuation of her Singapore experience. She had loved the sunshine, her school there, the rolling open fields, the swimming pool and the sea. In fact, the only really bad thing about it had been her father.

And when they had to move back to England, she had also lost touch with her best friends ever, Max and Tai. Max was the English son of her father’s immediate RAF boss in Singapore. Tai was a lovely local Chinese boy. Max and Tai hadn’t known Jean’s secrets, and would never know how very much they had helped her to get through it all. She hoped that she would see them again, one day, and spend a lot of time with them. But they were thousands of miles away now.

She looked down at a plastic ring on her finger. It had been given to her by Paul, and had an imitation ruby at its centre. She had become very friendly with Paul, and had experienced a strange attraction to him, she had never felt before. The whole experience in Sheffield had been a good one, and had felt like a holiday, before the new RAF house in Doncaster could be made ready. Her father’s Sheffield family had been loud, with Rose dominant over everyone. But they hadn’t really been like him at all.

But her father had, of course, wrecked Sheffield too, returning late from Singapore, after finishing his job there. So she had lost Paul now, as well as Max and Tai. She would never see her Sheffield family again. Her rotten father had cost her all of her friends, and her life in Singapore. He drank beer, and beat Jean and her mother, more than Jean could even remember, and he was to blame for John being so withdrawn. She hated her father, hated him. He was the most horrible, horriblest, nasty mean man she had ever known. Max and Tai would never know, that one day in Singapore, she had tried to kill herself by jumping off a cliff, at the top of the most wonderful cove in the world, which was a secret place of sanctuary, she had shared with her friends. The same cliff she wished her father would have fallen from.

But she hadn’t even managed that simplest of things, committing suicide, even though the voices from the sea had told her to do it, to escape from her father. The voices had visited her in her bedroom, some nights later, but she had ignored them.

Everything was her fault. It was all her fault, because just like her father, she was always getting into trouble.

CHAPTER ONE: THE MISERABLE HOUSE

Jean stayed with her mother, father and John, in a bed-and-breakfast that Sunday night. Her father had boasted that it would be a hotel, after beating his Sheffield family up. Just his style, Jean thought, even though he had money to burn at the moment, what with his monthly pay from the Air Force, and a big win on the horses. Shame he couldn’t have sent some of the money to her mother, who had struggled financially in Sheffield, forced to borrow from Rose.

At least Jean and John had their own room at the bed-and-breakfast. Having whispered about the subject briefly in the taxi, before John fell asleep, they talked again about their time in Sheffield. Jean had really liked Paul, but John had gotten along better with Paul’s brother, Peter. They agreed that they had liked their Sheffield family, and had eventually hoped that they could stay there forever, instead of going to the new RAF camp with their father. But it was all for nothing now, of course.

They agreed that their father was horrible. Jean had been surprised in recent months, about how much secret resentment John held for their father. In Singapore, she had deliberately tried not to cry out, during beatings by her father, because she didn’t want John to find out and become upset, didn’t want him to know her shame, or simply didn’t want to wake him. John had been too young to remember in Wales, of course. She also thought she had done a good job of hiding her mother’s beatings, at the hands of her father. But John had shocked Jean, by blurting out in Sheffield that he knew all about it.

Jean looked down at her beautiful ring again, and promised herself that she would move home, move away from her father as soon as she could, but she didn’t know how long it would be, before she could do that. She wondered what would become of John, when that day finally came.

As she watched John drift off to sleep, she thought about how other children’s fathers were so different from theirs. She couldn’t make up her mind if she liked Max’s dad more than Ray, if she could pick a father for herself. She decided it would have to be Ray. He was kind, gentle, and so loving. It made her fall asleep, thinking of the kind of father her little heart desired.

In the morning, her mother came into their room. ‘Your father has gone to the camp, to sort out the house. A driver will come and pick us up, around lunchtime.’

Jean was happy, not to have to look at her father, that morning. ‘Can we still visit Peter and Paul?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.

‘No,’ her mother confirmed, ‘I don’t think so. Your father is still angry, with the way Rose is.’

‘Why is he angry with Rose?’ Jean asked her mother.

‘Rose is a dominant woman, and she clashes with your father.’ That just didn’t make sense to Jean. ‘I’m so glad to be out of that house,’ her mother continued. ‘It was too much for me.’

‘We loved it there,’ said John.

‘Yes, I know you did, John,’ his mother told him. ‘You were both spoilt rotten, and got away with murder. But it will be back to normal, from now on.’

John looked down. Jean could see he didn’t like ‘normal’. No more Sheffield sweets or fizzy drinks. The kids there had loads of them. No more nights down the working men’s club, with Ray and Rose. ‘No more pubs,’ her mother continued, ‘and early to bed, as you’ll both need your sleep, ready for school.

‘And all that food Rose cooked. I am surprised you two are not fat kids. You would have been, if we had stayed much longer. And funnily enough, the headaches I had in Sheffield have gone.’

Jean tried to ignore her mother’s endless complaining. Both Jean and John wanted to say that their father had walked in, and ruined their fantastic holiday, but both knew not to say anything.

The next few weeks were quite ordinary. The house in Singapore had been big and luxurious, but had only had two bedrooms. The house on the camp at Doncaster was smaller, but had three. So John had his own bedroom now. There was a gas fire, stuck on the living room wall, but it didn’t work, so the house was cold, in sharp contrast to the blazing heat of Singapore. It took two days for a repair man to come out, and fix the fire.

To retrain as a chef, Jean’s father had to go to some college, 70 miles away, and only came back on weekends. He had given her mother only two weeks’ money to last a month, and told her she would need to get a job quickly, as he was taking half of the money with him.

Jean’s mother did not tell him that she had an extra five pounds tucked away, that Rose had given to her as a parting gift. If she had, he would have given her less money to live on.

Jean’s new school was pretty quiet. The school holidays were over, and the new school had already started, but it was a few days into the term, before Jean and John began to attend.

She wasn’t sure if she liked the new school. It was just OK. He didn’t like his class, and for a full week, he cried all the way to school. But he made a friend, so by the second week, he was fine with it. Jean missed her brother, not sharing the same bedroom as her. But she eventually got used to it. While Jean and John were at school, their mother began to look for a part-time job.

In the house in Singapore, the family had a maid called Mai Lin, who did most of the cooking. But in Doncaster, breakfast was just toast. At least school dinners were hot and cooked, so John and Jean loved them. When they got home from school each day, it would just be beans on toast, then straight to bed. Their mother cooked proper dinner, only on Sundays, but there were none of Rose’s Yorkshire puddings. No sweets, crisps or biscuits, and definitely no pubs.

Jean had received a dollar per week pocket money in Singapore. But she was originally told that there would be no pocket money in Doncaster. So every day after school, she asked her mother if she had found a job yet, and was very pleased, when her mother announced that she was to start working, in the camp mess. As soon as Jean heard, she ran to collect John. ‘We can both earn pocket money,’ she told her mother, ‘if we do our chores now.’

‘How much will I get?’ John asked.

‘Well,’ his mother told him, ‘as you only ever put the rubbish out, John, I think three pence a week will be enough.’

‘How much will I get?’ Jean asked, hoping it was going to be more. But she would have settled for three pence to begin with, as it had been three whole weeks, since she had last tasted a sweet.

‘You can have sixpence, Jean, but you must change the sheets, wash all the floors, and do the polishing.’

‘Do the boots,’ clarified Jean. From just five or six years old, it had been one of her regular chores in Singapore, along with all the others.

‘That’s what I meant by polishing,’ her mother confirmed. Jean smiled, excited to hear that she was soon to get pocket money. ‘But I don’t start work until next Monday,’ continued her mother, ‘and I won’t get paid until next Friday.’ Jean sighed. She had been hoping to get some pocket money, there and then. ‘Let me finish, child,’ her mother went on, ‘stop sighing. As I know I am going to get paid, I can spend some of the money I have. So you can both have your pocket money today.’

‘Hooray,’ shouted Jean, so excited to take her sixpence. ‘Can I take John to the shop?’ she begged.

‘Yes, Jean,’ her mother told her. ‘Go to the shop, and spend your money, before it burns a big hole in your pocket.’

‘Will it?’ Jean asked.

‘Oh, shut up, Jean,’ her mother said, smiling.

Jean dressed John up warm, and they set off to buy sweets. Outside the camp shop, she bumped into a little girl in her school class. The girl was called Linda Green, but Jean hardly knew her. After buying sweets in the shop, Jean saw Linda’s mother, chatting to another woman. Linda looked really bored.

‘Is there a park?’ Jean asked Linda.

‘Yes, do you want to go play there?’

‘Where is it?’ asked Jean. ‘I need to go home first, and ask my mother’s permission.’

Linda’s mother looked down from her conversation, and smiled. ‘Now that is what I call a good child. Not going anywhere, until she checks it is OK.’ She pointed a finger down the road. ‘Linda will be setting off for the park over there, in a little while. She will be there until six p.m.’

Like John, Jean now had a friend too. When she arrived home with John, she asked her mother for permission to meet Linda. ‘OK,’ her mother began, ‘you can take John to the park, but make sure you come in, before it gets dark. You are not in Sheffield now.’

Jean didn’t appreciate her mother reminding her about that wonderful place, they could never go back to. Jean had been allowed to stay out much later in Sheffield.

Linda’s mother was with her at the park. They waved for Jean and John to come over. Whilst Jean played, she asked Linda where she lived. Linda’s house was on the camp, just two streets away.

Linda’s mother made a point of walking Jean and John home, and asked Jean about her family, before taking Linda home.

The weekdays became all good. Jean’s mother began her job, nine a.m. to three p.m., whilst Jean and John were at school. After tea, Jean always played in the park with Linda and John.

But the weekends weren’t so good. Jean’s father was there, always grumpy or horrible. The house was miserable at the best of times, but the mood totally changed on weekends.

He was there from Saturday lunchtime, until after Sunday dinner, sleeping over for just one night. But it felt like forever to Jean and John, especially Jean, because her father liked to pick on her, doing and saying stupid things.

He would shout at the top of his lungs, asking who left the lid off the toothpaste. John would panic, almost to the point of fainting, so Jean always took the blame, getting a slap around the head for her trouble.

Or her father would kneel down on the living room rug, and ask her to hit him, as hard as she liked. She didn’t want to play games with him, but he would go on and on, so when she could see he was starting to get annoyed, she would hit him gently. He would tell her what a wimp she was, just like he had said to Ray, after Ray had hit him.

One Saturday, after he had come back from the pub, she decided enough was enough. Thinking she was far too weak to hurt him, she kicked him hard. She meant to kick him in the knee, but hit his balls. He buckled over in agony. She was petrified what he might do. After a while, he got up, and pushed his thumb into her nose, making it bleed. The blood gushed out, all over her dress, like someone had poured a glass of it over her.

He dragged her upstairs, and told her to change her dress. He started to walk away, but changed his mind. He bent her over, and slapped her hard, four or five times, telling her that she was lucky he didn’t have his belt with him.

Her mother ran up the stairs, in protest. He had asked Jean to hit him. But he smacked her mother across the face. John ran into his bedroom, and hid under the bed. ‘Don’t hit me in front of the children,’ his mother begged.

But he hit her again. ‘Don’t tell me what to do. My name isn’t Raymond.’

One other Saturday, he spent the afternoon, watching horse racing on the television. His horse won. He was so thrilled, he pushed back in his chair, and it overbalanced, so he banged his head on the floor. It was all Jean could do, not to laugh, the scene reminding her of when he was agonisingly spiked on the hand, by a dangerous puffer fish in Singapore.

He got up, and declared that he was going out, to collect his £300 winnings. On his return, he gave her mother £50, telling her that she could now buy a dining room table, instead of them all squeezing into the tiny kitchen to eat.

Her mother seemed happy with the £50, but privately talked to Jean about it, later. ‘He’ll spend the other £250, on his friends down the pub.’

‘What, in one night?’Jean asked, alarmed.

‘No, over the time he is away. He goes down the pub every night, womanising.’

Jean didn’t quite appreciate the value of money, but thought it was an awful lot to spend on beer for his friends, who unlike his friends in Singapore, were still strangers. She understood that her mother struggled every week, to pay the bills. Her mother never stopped complaining about money.

Jean knew that her father liked beer, and was a bit of a gambler. What she didn’t realise was that he was a big drinker, and a compulsive gambler. He would spend all his monthly wages in one week, and then turn to her mother for money. Her mother used her remaining money to pay the bills, so hardly ever had any cash spare. But she knew that if she didn’t give him her money, he would beat her. The family were very poor because of it, Jean’s mother keeping them all on a