Surviving Bleak House

By Lal Kelly

From a young age, Lal always wanted a typical 2.4 nuclear family, not even realising that she was being abused by the man who claimed to love her.

Once the realisation hit, her life crumbled and her hopes and dreams were lost. Lal had to run away in the night with her small children to a women's aid refuge, where she lived for over a year before finding a place to call home. 

The story follows the relationships with the other women and children, the ups and downs of living with so many displaced characters with severe issues. When put into such a situation, Lal has to learn to fit in quickly. Lal's journey is about barely clinging onto her sanity and battling her thoughts to come out the other side as a strong survivor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lal Kelly
• Release date: Dec 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9798215975275

Book preview

DEDICATION

I would like to take this moment to thank you for picking this book to read.

This book is dedicated to survivors of abuse everywhere in the world, you are not alone.

And to my family, thanks for seeing me through the dark times, I love you.

introduction

Iknow not all women dream of happy-ever-afters, and knights on horseback to rescue them from the mundane, or for a life of married bliss for eternity.  I didn't either. I just wanted to marry a nice average bloke, have two children, buy a house and spend the rest of my life pulling each other up and having fun.  I wanted to raise my family, the stereotypical two-point-four nuclear way.  I wanted film nights, board games, good food, annual holidays, and most of all, I wanted my children to feel safe and loved.  I didn't think that was a far stretch.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. You don't always get what you want, I learned that the hard way.  It was a long lesson, one that still affects me to this day.

I was just sixteen when I met that man. He was eighteen-years-old.  Our encounter occurred when a friend wanted me to join her in hooking up with his friend, wing-woman stuff. That man had a car, quite unusual for the time and he could also get booze.

The four of us often went driving around.  My friend and her man in the back seat, and me keeping company with the other in the front.  It was fine, I didn't mind it.  Then one day he turned up outside my house alone, wanting to go for a drive.  I said no the first few times, but he persisted until I agreed and slowly, we became a thing. 

I can't quite say what I liked about him.  I think it was the attention.  He really did know how to compliment me and make me feel wanted.  If I had to pick a feature, it would be his intense blue eyes, which drew me in.  Looking back, there was nothing remotely special about him.  But he seemed to adore me, and that was how we came to be.  We got engaged after a year with a twenty-pound ring from Argos and married three years later when I became pregnant. 

The wedding was basic, a cheap dress from the market, a quick registry office 'I do', a handful of family, and my mum made some butties back at the house.  I mean, not quite my dream wedding, but we were married on a budget.

My married life was not the happy experience that I thought it would be.  I can't say that we constantly fought because we didn't.  But he had no interest in helping with the kids.  He was out a lot, and I realised I was raising them by myself.  We had a life on benefits as he just didn't seem interested in working.  As for me, his stance was clear; wives should be at home raising the kids and keeping house. 

I began studying, doing voluntary work and learned to drive.  He made all of these very difficult for me until I abandoned everything.  He could do what he wanted, but I was very limited.  We didn't have holidays or day trips.  Our life was pretty bland.

The biggest thing for me was that he had one side for me and another for everyone else.  He would generally talk to me like shit but was absolutely lovely in front of other people, which is why it was so hard to get support when we split up.  No one was willing to believe he was that bad.  The hardest part of breaking up was losing friends.  He would tell anyone who would listen that I was making things up because I was a nasty, bitter bitch that wanted to hurt him. I was shocked to find out that people believed him.  That was hard, but the worst was yet to come. 

I tried to stay in the house, but he made it impossible with his constant harassment and threats.  In the end, I had no other option but to move to the Women's Aid refuge far away.

'Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of

the overcoming of it.'

~ Helen Keller

CHAPTER one

AUGUST

MICKAAAAAAAY, WILL you get here now, you little shit. 

I stepped out of my brother’s car and stared at the red brick building that was to be my new home.  A woman stood outside the doorway. Looking at her, I would say she was about thirty-five years old.  She had long, brown, curly hair, half-scraped back like it had been styled in a hurry.  She wore no make-up and looked a bit pestered with a frown upon her freckled face.

Hiya.  Welcome to the madhouse.  I’m Vic.  Micky, will you fucking stop it!  Sorry, nice to meet you.  Let’s go before you drive me mad. Vic walked off hastily, pushing a pram, and dragging a boy of around eight-years-old along at her side.

I continued to stare at this building as my brother took two bin bags out of the boot of the car.  The brick walls were not homely.  It looked like some sort of clinic or office building.  Except there were bars on the windows. 

Here we are then, Lal.  Grab the bab, and I’ll take these in for you. 

I took my nineteen-month-old baby out of the car, and my two young girls, who were aged five and six.  They climbed out and followed me to the door.  The solid wood door was dark and uninviting.  But I was here for a reason and had to press the bell.  A voice piped up on the intercom.

Hello?

Erm, hi.  It’s Lal Kelly.  You had a phone call.  I was told to come here today.

All right, come in. 

The door buzzed, and my brother walked in with my bags to the sound of a booming and gruff voice. 

No men inside the building, please leave.  I was startled.  The voice came from behind a glass window, and a surly, old-ish woman sat there with a yellowing perm and heavy glasses.  We were in a small corridor which was blocked off to the building by a security door. It was a small space, especially with me, three children, my brother and two bin bags in there. 

OK, Sis. I’ll leave you to it.  See ya soon.  Take care.  I hugged him tightly. 

Thanks, G.  Once my brother left, the reality of the situation hit me.  I had a sinking feeling. This building with its hard floors and bland walls was my new home, my escape from my previous life and the person who had forced me to make the drastic decision to abandon everything and move to this godforsaken place.  All I could do to keep myself on track to a better future was to keep telling myself that this was the way out.  The light at the end of the tunnel.  The solution.

I’ll buzz you in.  Leave your bags there, the voice boomed.

I went into a small office.  There was nothing exceptional about it.  It was practical with file-littered desks and a computer and telephone that looked like they had been installed in the nineteen-eighties.  The decor had seen better days too, come to think of it.  So had this woman, who was scrabbling about for forms and a pen.

I’ll call through for Sandy from the crèche to come and take the children for the rest of the session.  We have children’s sessions three mornings a week from nine until twelve.  It gives you mums a break.  Sandy soon came and ushered the kids away.  Right then, let me see. I’m Pam, and you’re Lal?  I had told her my name, but I think she needed confirmation.  I nodded.  I will give you some time to fill these forms in, basic procedure, personal details and the like.  Then I will tell you about our service and explain to you the rules.  How does that sound?

I didn’t actually think she wanted an answer.  It was more of a directive, so I didn’t feel the need to OK it.  I just began filling in the details, while Pam sparked up a cigarette.  That explained the yellow hair then.  I smoked myself, so I didn’t mind so much.

Right then, let’s see if that’s in order.  You will need to get yourself a doctor and a dentist, for you and the children.  Then you will need to give me the details.

Um, OK.  Do you know where I should register for these?  Do you have names of dentists and doctors?  What she said next did surprise me a little and didn’t do well for first impressions.

You have been told how to do everything for years.  You need to learn to do things by yourself now. 

I was a little taken aback.  I went on to explain to her that I had been living alone for a year, and had to move because of the constant threats and harassment that I had received from my ex-husband and that I was more than capable of doing things myself, thank you very much.  To which Pam simply replied, Oh.  Pam informed me that they had yellow pages available when I needed them.

The rules were simple.  I had a curfew of ten o’clock, and I couldn’t stay out for more than two nights a week.  I had to be considerate of other residents, and I had to carry out cleaning chores every day.  The chore would be dependent on the room allocated to me.  If I didn’t clean three times, I would be evicted.

Pam showed me to my room. It was quite large, and it housed two sets of bunk beds, a cot, a single bed, and a sink.  It had no carpet or curtains.  There were just plastic blinds and visible bars on the window.  Pam must have noticed me staring.

The bars are to keep men out, and not just exes. Women have tried to sneak men in here before. You will meet Linda later.  She will give you bedding.

I then followed Pam as she showed me the shared bathroom, with the warning to always wash the bathtub before use, then the lounge and playroom, which were very bare.  Next came the kitchen, and, oh dear, another eighties installation.

There are two kitchens.  You are in this one because each room is allocated a kitchen.  You have a cupboard with plates and cups. You also have this fridge.

There were a couple of women sat at the table, fags in hand, drinking coffee.  They didn’t raise an eyebrow.  I imagined that they probably saw this a lot.  I felt like the new girl at school, except that no one seemed interested in me.  Pam continued to show me the garden and laundry room.

The kids finish in twenty minutes, so I will show you where to get them from. I will give you a grocery pack and leave you to it. I will ask Linda to sort your bedding out when she comes in.  Anything else you will learn as you go along.

The first thing I noticed in my grocery pack was a small jar of coffee, which was heaven-sent right now.  After dropping off my bags, I went to the kitchen for a brew and a fag.  It was now empty, so I spent fifteen minutes contemplating my life.  How had my life come to this?  Two hours ago I was in my home, close to family and friends.  Two days before, I believed that my life would be spent in my house.  It wasn’t much; it was a council property.  But it was in a good area, by a good school, and it had my heart in it.  I had decorated it, furnished it, and given it love.  Then, out of absolute desperation, I contacted the local Women’s Aid, and my life changed almost immediately. I had a meeting with them one day, and by the next, they had a room waiting for me. 

They strongly advised me, urged me even, to take this room.  It was in the Women’s Aid refuge about forty miles away.  I would lose everything but would gain my freedom.  So, I grabbed the bull by the horns, and I felt like William Wallace.

THE CHILDREN HAD BEEN asleep for a good hour when I decided to get ready for bed.  I stared at myself in the mirror.  I looked a little soul-less.  My eyes didn’t sparkle anymore, and I was almost a shadow of myself.  I had little wisps of long, auburn-brown hair covering some of my face.  It was a little frizzy, but I didn’t care too much for my appearance.  As long as it went into a ponytail, I was happy with it. 

In the summer, my freckles come out, and with my olive skin, I looked almost Italian.  I had an awful sense of style, this I knew.  I didn’t wear make-up, it was too much effort, and I would cover myself up with clothes.  I hadn’t shown flesh above the knee or below the collarbone since I was fifteen as my ex-husband didn’t approve.  I had an amazing figure then with curves where they should be. He knew this and didn’t want me to get any male attention. 

Now, however, I was a little overweight. Three kids will do that.  I didn’t like to look at my body.  I hated long mirrors and avoided changing rooms.  I just bought oversized jumpers and hid behind my weight.  I knew that I was using my weight as a barrier.  It kept the attention of men away, and I didn’t want to encourage anyone to desire me.  I would have liked it to be one less worry, but he found other ways of using my looks to find fault. 

I looked in the mirror and, just for a moment, I felt free from all that shit.  Then the reality hit, that by now he had probably discovered that I had fled my house and he would be enraged.  This made me anxious, a little terrified even.  But it was done.  Now I just had to wait for the fallout.

As I prepared for bed, I stood over the sink, and as I took out my single diamond earring, it fell down the plughole.  I let out a whimper as this was not just any earring, this was given to me by my best friend, Zara.  We both had an upper ear piercing, and we were both to wear an earring each. Zara had given me this earring just the day before because she was so upset that I was leaving. She had wanted to give me something special and look what I had done with her gift.  Maybe HE was right. Perhaps I didn’t deserve nice things. 

Zara was utterly lost when I left.  Her father was terminally ill with brain cancer, and she needed me.  In fact, being