The Drunken Father

By Scarlett Martha

The drunken father is a true story based on my own life as a child growing up in Northern Ireland, in the midst of domestic violence, sexual abuse and family secrets in the 1970’s / 1980’s. I felt I was the best person to write the autobiography as it is in my own words, living out the experiences I had from a child and into my 20’s. The writing is almost childlike as it begins when I was 7 years old. It can also be dark, gloomy and even morbid, but in the middle of all the horrendous times, there was also happiness and laughter. There are so many people out there who could relate to my story, and even though some parts of the book would be painful for some to read, I feel that reading it shows they are not alone. Even for some who didn’t /don’t have an unforgivable father, they would presumably find themselves engrossed in the story, as it can be shocking with the twists, turns and finally the outcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scarlett Martha
• Release date: Feb 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005801038

Scarlett Martha

Avid reader and writer. I like mostly 'real life stories', anything from memoirs to travel.

Book preview

The Drunken Father

by

Scarlett Martha

Published by Scarlett Martha at Smashwords

Copyright 2022 Scarlett Martha

Mum, this is for you. Thank you for keeping smiling through adversity.

Chapter 1

We peered out the window, from the darkness of the room on the second floor of the small two bed terraced house my granny Rose owned. Star-like snow crystals stuck to the window pane as I wiped the frosty glass with my hand, rubbing the cold wet residue onto the net curtain. Granny Rose, in bed sick, was oblivious to the mayhem as the sleeping pills he gave her earlier had knocked her out. I heard her breathing heavily in the next room, noisy snores grumbling like a freight train throughout the house, until she rolled over on her side. The smell of her snuff scented the whole house and it got so strong that sometimes I would pull my jumper over my face to smell anything else but it.

I felt my two nieces, Ella and Grace, beside me shake, both grabbing my sister Isobella’s hand. Their faces ghostly and terrified. They were only aged one and three and I felt as the oldest, at aged seven, I had to look out for them. Their little bodies trembled so much I thought I heard their bones rattle. Fear filled the room as the night got thick and blacker, leaving a frightful gloom lurking in the shadows. It was as if the world stood still. My mum and Isabella stood petrified, contemplating their next move. All our faces looked down from the window to the small, narrow backyard. There was a small brown shed to the left that connected with the house for electricity. The dog was whimpering, as if she sensed her fate. Judy was a magnificent short haired alsatian, kept as a guard dog by my father, but even she was terrified of her master. My father looked up at us laughing, his face contorted, his smile menacing.

He made his way to the shed door in the yard, unlocking the rusty padlock with the key he always kept on his person.

I’m plugging this fucking drill in, and i’m gonna drill this fucking dogs head off!, he raised his fist at us while tripping over the step into the shed, holding his balance, he pulled at the lead of the drill so he could plug in.

No, leave her alone!, I screamed out, feeling helpless.

Mum please do something?, I begged as I battered the window at him.

Judy looked up at us confused, her tail still wagging, as if it was all a game.

We need to get out of here, mum told us breathlessly.

Or he’ll kill us all.

We can't leave Judy!, I stressed. Don't let him touch her!.

My legs were like jelly, for a moment I didn't think I could put one foot in front of the other. But adrenaline kicked in and I followed the others as we made our way down the narrow passage of the rickety staircase.

He’s going to get us!, I shrieked hysterically.

Ella and Grace copied my screams as they still held tightly onto Isabella’s hand. Isabella looked white and fatigued, her face uncertain we would all get out of the house.

I heard a thud and a kick of the back yard door. He must have locked himself out.

Let me fucking in, he demanded, booting the door again.

My heart was in my mouth, but adrenaline pushed me on.

Going down the staircase felt like hours rather than seconds. We could meet him in the hallway at any moment.

On tenterhooks, we unlocked the front door and hurried outside. Our bare feet hit the grey pavement. It was icy and our toes numbed as we touched it. We started running, our thin blue and lemon floral pyjamas flapping in the wind.

We didn't dare look behind us.

He’s coming, I screamed.

Run, he’s going to get us!

Everyone's breath seemed heavy and panicky, eager to get as far away as possible.

The December winter streets were deathly quiet. The street lamps give off an orange glow to the pavement, lightening up the stoney ground so we were careful not to stand on any sharp pieces of debris. Christmas tree lights of green, red, pink and purple twinkled at us from behind windows while sparkly tinsel adorned the ledge. An ornamental rotating Santa Claus winked at us from someones over the top decorated Christmas garden. His red suit jacket gathering icey droplets from the chill.

Ella and Grace’s faces looked back at him curiously and I could tell they were thinking how long it was until he came down their chimney.

No-one said. But we all knew where we were running to, as if the terror had made us all telepathic.

I could see the large brown brick building in the distance now, it looked intimidating, but a safe house for where we needed to be. I felt my panic subsiding slightly.

We are going to be alright.

We still ran though, even sprinted, we weren't out of danger yet.

My mum lagged behind, groaning with exhaustion, her hand on her already weak heart. At the age of 47 I feared she was going to have another heart attack. With concern, I ran back to her, as Isabella put her arm around her and helped her on.

The police station looked dark and gloomy, a fortress of brick and corrongated iron, turreted with a lookout tower. We peered up through the bullet proof windows at the hut where a policeman sat on duty. He instinctively knew to open the doors to us straight away. The gate clattered open on its rollers. We kept to the side as an armoured land rover moved out on patrol and another officer ushered us into the compound. Barefooted we all barged in frantically.

Help us, my mum whimpered anxiously.

He's going to kill us.

Two policemen ushered mum and Isabella to another room, while myself, Ella and Grace sat on the high wooden bench, our cut, bloody filthy feet dangling, too small to touch the floor. Our faces were tear stained and blotchy, our noses runny from the cold. We stared around us wide-eyed, in relief and also anticipation. A bare yellow light bulb hung above us, the only decoration in the small room, bar the large mahogany reception desk.

A policeman towered over us. He was gigantic. His shoulders that of a rugby player, and his hands as big as spades. Though he wasn't like my father. He had a kind face and gentle blue eyes. To distract us he talked to us about school.

He even gave us hot chocolate in a thin paper cup, it warmed our hands like mittens and for a moment we forgot what had happened or where we were. But not for long.

Mum and Isabella came back into the reception area. They both looked broken and for the first time I noticed mum had a shiny raccoon type black eye. It was all swollen, with dried blood. She did her best to mop it up with a tissue a police woman had given her, but the blood still remained, stuck to her face, caked and congealed as a mark of the cruelty that happened a couple of hours before.

I couldn't hear what they were saying as they all spoke in hushed tones. I tried to lip read, but it was no use. I saw Isabella wipe her eyes, and nod in agreement with the policeman. Before we knew it, we were in one of the armoured land rovers, driving towards home. I knew the area well, and we passed our favourite newsagents, where we got our pick n mix of Mrs Thompson. My favourite were the Bon Bons, all different colours, sweet and sticky, and I thought once everything had calmed down, maybe we could get some tomorrow morning when mum got her paper.

We had never been in a landrover before. One policeman was driving in the front, there were bars between him and us in the back, while another policeman sat beside us on the long leather seats. He told us we were not criminals and he never usually sat in the back. He laughed. Then we laughed. It wasn't the same man with the kind face but he seemed ok too.

The Land Rover pulled up at our house and the policeman driving got out and opened up the back for us. Mum and Isabella got out of the van, but Ella, Grace and I sat frozen.

What if he was back home from granny’s?

Come on girls, it’s fine, you're safe. The policeman held his hand out to us, and each of us clambered as the policeman helped us out from the height of the land rover.

The light shone through the venetian blinds, and I realised I must have fallen asleep in my own bed, and now it was day time and everything didn't seem so bad in the morning. I rolled over and yawned.

I heard them all in the kitchen. The smell of toast and coffee were on the go. Everything seemed normal, and you wouldnt of thought we were all running in our barefeet to a police station just hours before. I stumbled out of bed in the same pyjamas I was in the night before and tiptoed into the hallway. I listened out to see if I could hear my father but there were no male voices present so I shuffled on in with the rest of them to grab some breakfast. I was so hungry.

Ella and Grace sat at the breakfast table munching away on cereal. Their fair hair was unbrushed and they rubbed sleep from their eyes. Mum and Isabella sat in the open planned living room, watching. They were talking in serious hushed tones when I came in. They stopped in their tracks when they saw me. Mum smiled and asked me if I would like some toast as she made her way to the kitchen.

I could still feel it in the air, nothing was really normal, no matter how mum and Isabella tried to pretend otherwise. I was glad he wasn't home. I didn't care where he was or what he was doing, I just wished hard that he would stay away and leave us alone.

Later that afternoon Ella, Grace and Isabella went back home to their house up the hill. Their house was in the distance but we could actually see their bedroom window from ours. Sometimes we’d wave to one another, not sure if we’d seen each other or not. Or on evenings when they worked, we’d use the walkie talkies we all got the Christmas before.

Over and out, we’d say when we got too tired from all the idle chat and succumbed to slumber. Our 1980’s precursor to mobile phones, texting and apps.

That night I awoke from a deep sleep when I heard a key in the front door. My heart thumped through my chest as I pulled the covers up to my chin and lay motionless. My alarm clock on my bedside table told me it was midnight.

I heard him stumble in the hallway. I knew it was him as I heard his smokers cough. I heard mum whisper to be quiet or he would wake me up. I don’t know what happened after that as it went deadly silent and I must have drifted off again.

The morning came again and I was hoping it was just a nightmare I had that he was back. Mum knocked on my door, reminding me it was a Monday and I had to get ready for school. She went back to bed after she had taken her pain killers for her arthritis and her heart medication as I shuffled to the bathroom blurry eyed.

Goodmorning Scarlett, he said cheerily as he popped his head out of the kitchen. I jumped with fright and glared at him.

I felt like saying,‘Is it?, but I gave a slight unmeaningful smile, hurried on into the bathroom, and poured the whole bottle of bubble bath into the tub.

I sank into the hot soapy water of the bath, bubbles emptied out onto the floor as my weight filled it, I lay there numb, dreading the day ahead. I was tired after tossing and turning all night and school was the last thing on my mind. I didn't feel like pretending to smile with my classmates, and certainly could not be bothered with the double maths period with Mr Huston. I wiped the steam off the tiled mirrors at the side of the bath. I looked pale and felt nauseous. I heaved myself out of the tub and after wrapping a towel around myself I lay on the floor for a few minutes and closed my eyes. I heard him rattle around