“What were you doing in my laptop?” Alex snapped, towering over Eleanor. She had never seen him like this before…
Eleanor had just come home from school when the heavy stench of alcohol hit her in the hallway. The sound of loud snoring echoed from the living room. Her father was drunk again. She walked straight past, into the kitchen.
Her mother stood at the sink, peeling potatoes. Hearing footsteps, she turned. Eleanors sharp eyes immediately caught the red, swollen bruise on her cheek.
“Mum, lets get away from him. How much longer can we take this? Hell kill you one day,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling with anger.
“Where would we go? Who would take us in? We dont have the money for rent. Dont worry, he wont kill me. Hes a coward. Only dares to take it out on me.”
The next morning, Eleanor woke to strange noises. She crept into the kitchen and saw her father at the stove, his head tilted back as he drank straight from the kettle. She watched, mesmerised, as his Adams apple bobbed up and down, listening to the liquid gurgling down his throat. *Drown, please, just drown,* she thought bitterly.
But he didnt. He set the kettle down with a satisfied sigh, gave her a bleary stare, then shuffled past her to the bathroom.
Eleanor grimaced, knowing her mother would refill the kettle without washing away the stale taste of his mouth. She scrubbed it furiously with a brush, vowing never to drink from it without cleaning it first.
That winter, Eleanor went on a school trip to York. When she returned, her mother was in hospital.
“Did he do this?” she demanded, staring at the bandages wrapped around her mothers head.
“No, love. I slipped on the ice.”
But Eleanor knew she was lying.
The beatings had left her mother with high blood pressure. Six months later, she suffered a stroke and died. At the wake, her father wept drunken tears, sometimes mourning his beloved Margaret, other times cursing her for leaving him.
He told Eleanor she was just like her mother, threatening that if she ever tried to leave, shed end up the same. Eleanor counted the days until she finished school. She skipped prom, collecting her diploma in secret the next day. While her father was at work, she packed her things and fled.
He had given her money for food, and Eleanor had saved every penny. Sometimes, she even took some from his pocket while he slept. It wasnt much, but it was enough to start over. She had decided long agoshe would work, study part-time, and never look back.
She wasnt afraid hed come looking for her. Everyone in the neighbourhood knew his temper; no one would help him find her. She moved to London, rented a cheap flat on the outskirts, and got a job at a fast-food chain. They helped her with paperwork, even gave her free meals.
She enrolled in a vocational school for accounting. When her bosses found out, they put her on the till.
The lads at work tried to flirt. “Theyre all sweet at first,” her mother had often warned. “Then they start drinking, or cheating. I dont know which is worse. Dont fall for their pretty words, love. I was beautiful once too. Your father didnt drink when we met. We were happy. What happened? What changed him?”
Eleanor remembered those words and ignored the boys advances. She had seen where that road led.
Her mother had once stretched their meagre budgetflour, sugar, tins, and oatsto last. Her father drank his wages, but there was always food, plain as it was. Now, Eleanor did the same.
One evening, struggling with a heavy bag of groceries, she nearly collided with a distracted boy on his phone.
“Sorry,” he said, looking up.
She meant to snap but caught his warm, interested gaze and faltered.
“Its fine. I wasnt looking either,” she said, forcing a smile.
He offered to help. Hesitant, she let him carry the bag. Someone with a smile like that couldnt be all bad. They talked. His name was Alex. He walked her home, though she wouldnt let him to the door.
The next day, he turned up at the fast-food place. “Just passing by,” he claimed, but Eleanor knew better. They started seeing each other.
Alex admitted he was divorced, that he adored his little girl. Hed left the flat to his ex and was staying with a mate. “We married too young. We had nothing in common. Sometimes wed go days without speaking.”
He talked endlessly about his daughter. Eleanor thought maybe she could trust a man who loved his child. After a month, Alex suggested moving in together.
“Lets get a nicer place, closer to town. Its easier with two.”
Eleanor agreed. She was over the moon. A proper family at last. They found a spacious flat, celebrated their new life simply. She didnt dream of weddingsAlex did, talking of two children: a boy and a girl. And Eleanor believed him.
He paid two months rent upfront. By the third, with an apologetic sigh, he
Eleanor took one last look at the flat where she had hoped to find happiness, then shut the door firmly, whispering a promise to her son waiting in the incubator: *”Well be alright, sweetheart. Well be far away from all this.”*
