My own mum kicked me out of the flat because she fancied my stepdad more!
I lived with my dad until I was five, and those were the golden days of my childhoodabsolute bliss, really. But after he died, Mum seemed to forget she even had a daughter. Suddenly, her whole life was about finding herself and, apparently, finding a man. By the time I was eight, she’d brought home a new bloke who insisted on running our house like Her Majestys navy. He set the rules, assigned all the chores, and by ‘all the chores’ I mean mine. As for him, hed sit about claiming he was shattered from work, which seemed to be his favourite activity.
Mum backed him up on everything, terrified of any hint of disagreement because, heaven forbid, the lovebirds would have a heated discussion. Meanwhile, I became the scullery maid, living to wait on the pair of them.
When I hit my teenage years, I started pushing back. Who wouldnt? I’d come home from school only to cook, hoover, clean the stepdads caranything else they could dream up, while the happy couple watched Corrie repeats in their dressing gowns. And if I so much as sighed, Id get a slap and a lecture about how ungrateful I was for the luxury of being treated like an underpaid housekeeper.
All I ever got in exchange was a roof over my head and the food I earned by scrubbing toilets and their precious Vauxhall. Forget pocket money for after-school classes or the gym. Theyd just laugh and tell me to earn a quid before learning to spend it. Once in a blue moon they’d buy me some new jeans, but that was the highlight of my year, and I heard about those jeans every day for weeks.
On my eighteenth birthdayfreshly out of sixth formMum informed me it was time to find my own place and forget about university. According to her, I didnt belong in those fancy lecture halls; I needed a job, sharpish, because they werent about to keep a grown woman.
The thing is, were from a sleepy little town where job prospects mostly involve chip shops or the post office. I still hoped theyd reconsider when they saw me studying hard (for once), but no luck. As Mums nagging reached Olympic levels, I ended up waitressing at this grim little cafe instead of revising for my A-Levels. I worked ridiculous hours for next to nothing, barely scraping together enough for two months rent. As for foodwell, lets just say baked beans on toast featured heavily.
Unsurprisingly, my grades took a nosedive, and Cambridge wasnt ringing my phone anytime soon. With no one to pay my tuition and nowhere to go, I quit my job that summer, hoping to land something less soul-destroying. Mum and my darling stepdad asked daily when Id finally vacate their precious living room, and before I knew it, they chucked me out for real.
I tried working at one of those shops that sells cleaning supplies. Poisoned myself within a week (classic me) and when I showed up again, Id been replaced by another girl. Turns out its hard to keep a roof over your head when every job pays in crumbs.
On top of it all, my birthday rolled aroundhottest July in yearsand my aunt came to visit. I hadnt told a soul what Id been going through, but when she asked how I was, I completely lost it, tears and all. That same day, she helped me pack my meagre belongings and whisked me off to her house, miles from the mum and stepdad show. For the first time in ages, I could breathe.
Auntie found me work in the local bookshopmy idea of heavenwhich meant I could actually study for my A-Levels this time and passed the second time round with flying colours. I earned myself a spot at a proper university, doing it all on my own. With every wobble and anxiety attack, Auntie was there with tea, biscuits, and a listening earunlike certain biological relatives who kept popping up just to remind me how ungrateful I was.
Years later, degree in hand and a proper job sorted, I still thank Auntie for saving me from a lifetime of stepping over stepdads dirty socks. Now I spoil her rotten: fancy holidays by the seaside, top-shelf giftsthe works. I might not have had the worlds best start, but at least I inherited Aunties stubbornnessand her taste for a properly made cup of tea.
