When I turned fifteen, my parents decided they absolutely needed another child. The full weight of caring for my brother and keeping house fell to me. I scarcely had time for my schoolwork and was scolded for poor marks. But the worst was yet to come: Dont even think about boys until your brother finishes school! my father warned sternly. I knew then I had to make a drastic choice.
The year I turned fifteen, my parents resolved that another child was essential. So my brother arrived. Though everyone congratulated me and wished me well, I felt no joy in it. I seldom dwell on those days, but Ill share the tale with you now.
My mother was glad to have a daughternot out of love, but because I became an unpaid nursemaid. When my brother, Oliver, turned one, she stopped nursing him overnight and returned to full-time work. My grandmother would come in the mornings, but by the time I returned from school, shed either be napping or gone. Oliver was left in my care. He cried endlessly then, and nothing I did could soothe him.
There was no time left for myself. I changed his nappies, bathed and fed him, and made sure fresh meals were always ready. When my parents came home to dirty dishes or unironed clothes, theyd berate me for laziness, calling me a burden. Id sit down to my homework then, having had no chance earlier. School suffered for itteachers pitied me enough to give me Cs, but even those earned me scorn.
The washer cleans, the dishwasher washeswhat do you do all day? Fritter your time away?
My fathers shouts rang out while my mother nodded along. It was as if shed forgotten what it meant to spend even an hour with a restless child or tackle chores herself.
True, the washer did its jobbut someone still had to load it, hang the laundry, and press yesterdays clothes. I wasnt allowed to run the dishwasher by daytoo costly on the electric, they saidso I scrubbed Olivers dishes by hand. No one envied my endless mopping, either, with him crawling and toddling about.
Things eased slightly when Oliver started nursery. My parents insisted I fetch him and feed him once home, but at least I had a few afternoon hours to myself. I studied harder, scraping by without Cs in the end.
I dreamed of studying biologythe one subject that truly gripped mebut my parents refused to allow it.
The universitys in the city centrean hour and a half each way. When would you get back? Oliver needs collecting, and then youll have to tend to him. Dont even think about it!
They wouldnt budge, so my next step was chosen for me. Nearest to our flat was a vocational school for catering, where I trained as a pastry chef. That first term is a blurI was, as they say now, utterly downcast. But in time, I threw myself into it. I grew to love baking cakes, whipping up biscuits, and crafting desserts.
By the second year, I worked weekends at a café close to home. At first, my parents grumbled about my absence, but I held firmthose hours were mine. After graduation, I took the job full-time.
Soon after, a new head chef arrived at the café. We began meeting late after shifts, and the scolding started afresh. More than once, my father appeared after work to stop me walking out with my beau. Then came the family gathering.
They summoned Gran, Auntie, and her husband. They stood me in the middle of the room and told me to forget about courtship, strolls, or any sort of amusement.
Quit the café! Auntie ordered. Ive got you a job as a kitchen hand at Olivers school.
Best news all day! Mum crowed. Oliver will always have care, and youll be home straight after. Youll have time to help us properly.
Give up the café, where I was valued and paid, where things were going well, where my sweetheart worked? I pictured my futurea dreary school canteen with soggy cutlets and gluey pasta bakes, evenings swallowed by chores, a life bound to Oliver.
Until your brother leaves school, dont dream of lads, Dad said firmly.
The next day, I told my love everything, and we made a plan. Hed long wanted his own café, saving what he could, but it wasnt enough. A bank loan or investors were needed. At home, I claimed I had two weeks notice to work. They agreed to wait.
No loan came through, but another chance arose. A friend of his managed a grand restaurant and pitched a new venture opening in London. He went for an interview and persuaded the owner to speak with me by video call. As I spoke of my experience, my darling brought out desserts Id madecarried carefully in a chilled case.
On my last day, I left early. I hurried home while the flat was empty, shoved my things into a bag, took my papers and savings, and caught the train to London.
Now I lead my own lifeone Ill give to those I choose, not those forced upon me.
Yes, I love my brother, and I hope one day well have a true bond. I bear my parents no ill will, but I know this: had I stayed under their roofor even in their townId never have broken free. I wasnt strong enough to stand my ground. So I fled. Heres hoping this new city shapes a kinder fate, that happiness finds us at last.
