This is one of mine rescued and edited from another place, which I am doing when I have time between all the new stuff in my tiny deranged brain. It was penned years back, when smoking was normal.
*****
"Oh go fuck yourself," I heard Dad shout and the front door slammed.
I sobbed in my room, the row had lasted for a good hour and was just the latest in many since Christmas. My tears splattered my books. I was trying to revise for exams and couldn't because of the upheaval in the family. I heard footsteps on the path and looked out of the window. Mum was marching off down the street, her head high and arms swinging, but I knew she was hurting inside. She had told me countless times, that she wanted her own space, but couldn't find the way to tell Dad.
Why she told me I don't know, but being the only child and female, I suppose I was a shoulder to cry on, but she hurt me too. Why space? What was I supposed to do, didn't she like me either? I knew she and Dad had grown apart since she had got a job and he was still unemployed and he was very proud was my Dad. Of Northern stock and a tradesman, it stung him to see Mum bringing in a comfortable wage. She was glad to be able to support us, we weren't a high living family, living modestly and within the budget apparently. Mum confided all this, not that I cared. At eighteen, I cared about Jem my boyfriend and BB my boxer dog. As long as food was on the table - whoever bought it and I could get out and see my mates and sneak the odd cigarette and have quick sex with Jem to keep him happy, I was happy.
Christmas had been dreadful and I'd spent more time with Jem's family than mine. His Dad was a greasy old git who stared at me all the time and rubbed his crotch Ugh! Paul, Jem's brother was no better and manageable and the mysterious Uncle Ralph who always seemed to be there, spent most of his time either hugging or slapping Marge's fat bum; she's Jem's Mum. Marge was a brick and funny to be around. She had funds of sly dirty jokes, that she whispered to me. Half the time I hadn't a clue what they meant, but I laughed with her because her trilling giggles echoed through the dingy house, lightening the heavy dark moods pervading it.
Jem hated her confiding in me, but it wasn't confiding, just companionship, but as long as he was allowed to feel my fanny as often as practical and fuck me when I fancied it, he was no trouble. He wanted to fuck me all the time and I wouldn't let him. I would tell him I wasn't that easy and was quite happy with gropes and fumbles. I could suck him off easily anyway and that always took the heat off. The fact that I hadn't experienced orgasm yet didn't bother me. Whatever it was like, Mum's opinion was that it wasn't much to write home about.
Fighting back the tears, I tried to concentrate on my text book, hearing the TV downstairs. Dad would be smoking and probably having a beer. I sipped a can of coke, gazing round my room with its pop-group posters and clothes hanging off every conceivable hook, shelf or piece of furniture. It was a mess but it was my domain. I was reminded of Christmas again when my eyes lighted on my pin board and the snaps of Jem and me at various parties. My book slid off my lap as I thought about the evening round one particular photo.
I had worn my new spangly boob tube and a white micro skirt. I'm big for my age; my 36B boobs looked stupendous and Jem had spent half the night ogling me, as had every other male in town. I'd had my navel pierced, a pressie from Jem who was an electrician. It caught the flash light and sparkled as I posed with Jem, Nick, Paula and Connie. Connie who was Indian had got absolutely bladdered that evening on home-made Margarita cocktails and I found Nick and Jem peeking up her skirt where she'd passed out on the steps of the party house. Not just peeking as if she was stood on the stairs or anything. They were literally holding her skirt up away her legs and their giggling, smirking faces were near her knees, the dirty bastards!
I'd gone ballistic, as you would, but as I was rather pissed too, I'd pulled my skirt up and told them to at least look up a skirt that knew what was happening. I remembered the tingle I got when the lads took me at my word and came so close that I could feel their hot beery breath on my bare thighs. Jem had passed out with booze later and I'd tried to sleep with Connie and Paula on a couch, but it was a fitful uncomfortable night.
"Marie, you there?" came Dad's voice at my door.
His fingers tapped lightly on it until I responded.
"Yeah Dad, come in," I told him tremulously.
He stepped into the room framed by the door. His huge powerful bulk stood awkwardly as he grimaced.
"Sorry love, I'm at my wits end with your... with her," he gestured with a nod of his head over his shoulder. "Tried a beer and a smoke but my head's spinning as it always does when Meg goes off like that. I didn't help I s'pose."
"I heard you swear at her, of course it doesn't help"' I told him sulkily.
"Well the things she said to me, what d'you expect?" he blustered, then suddenly sensitive, "You been crying too? Oh Marie, it must be lousy for you."
I wiped my face. I sat crossed legs on my bed wearing black bootleg trousers and a white shirt. It was winter, but I longed to get my legs exposed again, as they were rather special.
"S'alright Dad. Nothing new. Don't like to hear you two at it all the time," I told him.
"Those were the days, when we were at it all the time," he grinned weakly.
I grinned and shrugged at his innuendo, knowing that he knew that I heard him and Mum having noisy sex occasionally, when things were better.
"Don't your feet get cold?" he asked staring at my bare feet. I didn't like overheated rooms, therefore my radiators were off and he shivered as if feeling a chill.
"Nope," I answered studying my red painted toes.
"Meg's gone cold on me, if you see what I mean"' he muttered.
I nodded as he leaned against the door frame.
"Own space, own money, what's got into her? I've never kept her tight for cash - when I had some," Dad added ruefully. "You alright for cash, for spends Marie?"
I nodded and picked at a rough toenail.
"Good, good. Seeing Jem tonight?"
I shook my head and my blonde hair flicked into my eye.
"Ouch!" I exclaimed rubbing my eye instantly.
"Don't do that, let it cry. It'll wash it out," Dad said softly as he stepped to my side. "Lets have a look."
I tipped my head up, smelling his beer and fag breath as he gazed intently into my right eye widening the lids with his stubby yet sensitive fingers.
"There's nothing in there anyway, let me wipe the tears away."
Sitting beside me, he dabbed at my eye with a tissue he'd produced from his jeans pocket. I couldn't vouch for the cleanliness of it, but his tender thoughts and deeds overpowered those sort of concerns.
"God, you're making me cry now Marie. Daft bugger," he chided himself.
Real tears, not hair tears welled up in his eyes and he started to sob.
