Clapham Junction was billed as Britain's busiest railway station, and on that particular Friday afternoon, with school letting out for half term, workers going from one assignment to the next, other workers knocking off, the usual crowd of tourists trying to work out how the hell to get to their platforms, it certainly lived up to its name.57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvNJyguCuNj
Luckily I knew the place like the back of my hand, and I effortlessly negotiated the crowds, ducking, dodging, and weaving through the headlong press like an old hand. Naturally, I did almost trip over more than one wheeled suitcase, and those bearing those monstrosities scampered away like their arses were on fire, lest they get a bollocking.
I finally made it to my platform, scrambled onto my train for Wimbledon, breathed a sigh of relief, and braced myself for the 9 minute ride. The train was packed to the rafters as usual, and I soon found myself pressed against a businessman in a starched white shirt, and a guy who looked like he scrambled up and down chimneys for a living. He certainly smelled like it too, and I closed my eyes and prayed.
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At Wimbledon, there was another mad scramble, but it was slightly less busy, and before long, I was on a tram. Ten minutes later, I hopped off the tram, hitched my bag a little higher on my shoulder (the strap sorely needed repairing, but my parents didn't have the money to get me a new one), and began the five minute walk to my house. When I got there, however, I walked right into a storm57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjRMshviyQV
Dad had been Very Busy lately. That Very Busy was mainly comprised of fucking his boss's secretary, a blond, busty woman who screamed. A lot. Naturally, this raised the ire of Mrs Fields, who lived below us, and Mrs Elding, who lived above us. Those two normally engaged in a tit-for-tat neighbour dispute, but ever since Dad had started his little affair, Mrs Fields and Mrs Elding were now united in common cause; Get Rid of the Harlot Disturbing Their Peace.
And when I walked into the kitchen, I realised that their plan had finally succeeded. Mum and Dad were seated at the table, shouting imprecations at each other; Dad was accusing Mum of being frigid, while Mum shouted back that at least she wasn't going around sleeping with her boss's assistant. My arrival cut the argument off before things really got personal, and I managed not to gulp as they turned twin glares on me. "Sorry to interrupt," I said, squeezing past the table. "I'll just get out of your hair."
"Actually, this concerns you as well," Mum said, giving Dad a frosty glare that easily would've put a polar ice cap on Mt Etna. Dad glared back with a heated stare that would've melted that polar ice cap. "Your father and have been... talking," Mum continued. "And we've decided that, due to... many differences..."57Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFtMfDOkP3X
"We're getting a divorce," Dad cut in impatiently. "Your mother has very kindly agreed to divorce me, although by rights I should be the one divorcing her..."
"Oh shut up," Mum snapped, and that was all it took to get WWIII started. I scampered to the relative safety of my room, both relieved and pissed. Relieved because finally, they'd be rid of each other, and pissed because it meant a massive upheaval. I already knew who I'd prefer to live with, but as I got to work on my essay - not helped by the shouting five feet from me - I already knew Dad would kick up a massive fuss. He didn't care much for me, but if he could hurt Mum further, he'd engage in all sorts of legal chicanery to take me away from her.
I swore softly to myself. The courts wouldn't take a fifteen-year-old's opinion into too much consideration, but I hoped I'd have some chance at explaining why the hell living with Dad would be detrimental. Otherwise, I was Doomed.
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