I’m what she cares about.
And he knows it.
That creep hurt his own kid to get a reaction from her.
To control her.
“Surprised he hasn't trashed my garden yet. Have to keep convincing him that it's a hardship for me to be out there, toiling away in the heat. Heaven forbid he finds out that it's the one place I feel happy.”
“You have a garden now, Mum?”
The only thing I’ve ever seen growing in the yard are weeds.
Lawnmowers are for rich people,she once told me.
When I was small, I desperately wanted one.
I’d drag a big stick through the weeds, making engine sounds.
Told myself we’d get one when dad hit the jackpot one day.
Maybe then I’d be rich enough to swim in the pool with the other kids.
I peer through the curtains to take a look.
“Not out there,” Mum says. “That mess is his problem. My little paradise is out the back.”
the thirty first chapter
MARCO
Our back door has always been this way.
Loosely guarded by a curtain of hideous vinyl fly strips.
A long outdated trend in gaudy retro colours.
The kind that keeps more flies in than out.
I got in trouble on more than one occasion for trying to swing on them.
And by trouble, I mean bruises from Dad.
When’s the last time Mum saw me without bruises, cuts or burns?
Has she ever?
No wonder it took her a moment to recognise me.
It wasn't just my height, I’d been almost five foot nine by the time I left.
Although I did have a growth spurt when Beth and Franko started feeding me properly.
My voice is a little deeper.
And no more country twang.
It wasn't the hint of stubble on my face either.
