What on earth is this about? A care home? Absolutely not! Im not going anywhere! This is my house! Lizzies father hurled his mug at her, aiming for her head with surprising accuracy. She dodged it, all too used to his sudden outbursts.
She knew things simply couldnt go on like this. Sooner or later, hed find a way to hurt her, and shed never see it coming. Even as she filled out the paperwork for his move into the care home, though, guilt gnawed at her all the same. A part of her wondered if she owed him anything at all, considering how hed always treated her.
Her father was bundled into the car, shouting, cursing, kicking off at everyone involved in his removal from home.
Lizzie stood at the window, watching the car as it disappeared down the road. It wasnt the first time shed watched someone important leave her life, but the last time shed been only a little girl, with no real sense of what her future might look like.
Lizzie was an only child. Her mother, Mary, never dared have another her husband was a tyrant, determined to twist home life into misery for everyone. Lizzies dad, John Thompson, had been well into his forties when she arrived. He married for all the wrong reasons mainly, it was good for his career. Love and family werent on the agenda, but appearance mattered. He needed to play the part of the upstanding family man. And so he chose Mary, a bright, delicate young woman from a working-class family. For her family, marrying into someone of Johns status was a big deal. Nobody asked Mary what she thought about it it was all settled above her head.
The wedding was grand and showy Marys parents werent even invited, viewed as beneath Johns circle.
After moving into his house, Mary quickly found herself subject to strict training. An old family friend was tasked with schooling her in etiquette, poise, and the English art of turning a blind eye when told to.
So, hows your day been? John would ask, dropping into his favourite armchair when he returned from work.
All fine. Ive learnt how to set the table properly and started my English lessons, Mary would reply, careful not to give him a reason to complain.
Thats it? Who was looking after the house in the meantime?
I did, with the cooks help we sorted the menu for the week, and I bought the groceries myself, tidied up too.
Alright then. Not bad for today. Just remember, keep your hands clean, look presentable, no scruffy farmers wife look under my roof. Behave well and Ill hire you a driver and maybe a maid. But not just yet youve got to earn it.
Despite Marys efforts, peaceful days were rare. Most evenings, John would return late, irritable and wound up. His wife provided the perfect target. He could hardly vent at the staff theyd simply leave or start gossiping. But Mary had nowhere to go and no one to confide in.
Just a month after their wedding, John hit Mary for the first time. Not for any great wrongdoing just as a warning, to let her know who was boss and what could happen if she disobeyed him.
The violence quickly escalated. John was clever with it, leaving no visible bruises, nothing to disrupt Marys carefully constructed exterior. Underneath her clothes, she hid the marks well and managed a convincing smile for Johns friends and colleagues, who frequently visited.
A year slipped by. Now, everyone seemed to expect a baby. Johns mates started ribbing him.
John, youre a fit bloke! Why isnt your young wife pregnant yet? You sure its not you? Maybe she needs to see a doctor. Cant be wasting time, mate. Got to have kids to set a good example!
We werent planning on it yet. Marys finishing her college course, John would reply, teeth gritted.
College? Waste of time for women, John. Kids, home, husband thats all she needs. She should pack it in and get down the doctors. My wifell recommend someone. Youve got to have children, mate, otherwise whats the point of marrying at all?
From then on, Marys life included endless medical appointments. John eased off on the violence so doctors wouldnt see suspicious marks. Months passed no issues found. Mary was healthy, ready to be a mother. The problem, quietly hinted by a doctor, seemed to be Johns side.
Me? Are you joking? I make a call and youll be left treating sheep in some backwater surgery! he exploded at the doctor, who simply shrugged.
You can threaten my job, but it wont fix your problem, the doctor calmly replied.
Unhappily, John complied with the tests. The results were exactly what he didnt want to hear fatherhood was unlikely. All he could do was hope for a miracle.
Johns frustration grew daily as everyone he knew kept dropping hints, and Mary remained bright and healthy. Beating her had become pointless; she barely reacted anymore. Shed long ago mastered the art of shutting down, turning to stone when violence came her way.
So John found himself a mistress, briefly distracting himself.
Two and a half years later, the miracle happened Mary became pregnant. Lizzie was born, looking unmistakably like her father. But John took no interest. The baby was cared for by her mum and the nanny. Hed happily go weeks without seeing his daughter.
As Lizzie grew older, John found her increasingly irritating and harder to ignore. The first time he hit her, she was five and acting up. John, just back from a rough meeting, was in no mood. Lizzie stomped her foot, pestering for something, and he flung her across the room so hard she crashed into the wall. She was too frightened to even cry, while John calmly turned on the telly.
From then on, Lizzie did everything possible to avoid upsetting her father. Yet after that first time, John made no effort to hold back shouting, slapping, humiliating her, even with guests in the house. Johns star had risen at work; he no longer needed to play the model family man for his career. Hed even mock Lizzie in front of visitors, grinning as she flushed and tried to hold back tears.
I hear your Lizzies a violin prodigy! Might she play us something? a guest once asked.
A violinist? Shes lucky she can hold the thing the right way up! Ask if you want, but dont blame me for the racket! Betsy, didnt you hear? Go fetch your fiddle and give our guests a show!
Bright red with shame, Lizzie would go fetch her instrument. She dreaded playing for anyone, but feared her fathers anger more.
That terror stuck with Lizzie her whole life, crushing her dreams of a proper music career. After finishing music school, she never picked up her violin again.
She grew up in that house, unsure if every family was like hers. She saw photos of smiling, loving families in books and wondered why shed been unlucky enough to grow up with a father who seemed to hate everyone especially her.
Mary, meanwhile, was no model wife or mother. She simply couldnt find love for a child from a man she never chose. When Lizzie was thirteen, her mother died in a car accident officially. What actually happened, nobody knew. Lizzie withdrew further into herself from that point onwards.
After school, Lizzie enrolled at university, in a subject her father chose. It was one of the last decisions he made on her behalf. By then, his own career was collapsing under the weight of scandal. He squandered most of his savings protecting himself from prosecution for things hed done in his high-powered days. Somehow, John managed to slip quietly into retirement, hiding away in a bungalow. Lizzie kept her distance, wanting nothing to do with his abuse.
Alone at last, John lost his grip. Neighbours started calling Lizzie, worried about his odd behaviour. She gritted her teeth and did what she thought was right she brought her father to live with her.
Able to torment his daughter daily again, John seemed to perk up dramatically. He screamed, threw things, broke her stuff on and on. Eventually, Lizzie confined him to one room with a lock. But his dementia got worse, and, heart pounding, Lizzie had to make yet another hard decision: she arranged for him to move into a care home.
She never married, never built a family of her own. Her confidence shattered, she found it hard to trust or talk to people. At work, she kept to herself, making no friends, always on the sidelines. Still, when it came time to move her father to the care home, guilt gnawed at her.
He was a danger to her, especially with the onset of dementia; doctors confirmed it. Even when John stopped recognising her, the old bitterness and spite remained.
Lizzie toured every home in the area searching for the right one, finally settling on a friendly but expensive option. Most of her pay went straight into the care fees she picked up extra hours just to keep afloat.
In the days after he left, Lizzie was left reeling, haunted by memories of that day long ago she and her mum tried to leave, only for John to bring them back. Not long after, Mary died.
But even so, Lizzie visited her father and always left in tears, sick with guilt. It felt as if guilt and sadness were the only emotions her childhood had allowed her to feel.
Alongside all this, Lizzies health began to struggle under the weight of those old sorrows.
