Unfortunately, I never got the chance to present my case - Dad requested he get full legal and physical custody, and he had a laundry list of reasons why he thought it would detrimental for me to live with Mum. And since Mum couldn't afford a decent attorney, she was unable to counter that laundry list.
So, one sunny Saturday morning, I found myself in the front seat of Dad's beat up Escort, the moving truck behind us as we began the long drive from Wimbledon to our new home - a small village in the Midlands that was about as far from everything as it was possible for a place to be. It didn't even have a grocery store - just a dinky little corner shop that had nothing I liked. My new stepmum - Sally - told me to suck it up and stop whining, or she'd really give me something to whine about.
Yep, that was one way to introduce yourself to your new stepdaughter.
I was also told, on my first night there, that I'd be going to boarding school, since she didn't want me underfoot all the time. I about jumped at the chance to get the hell away from her, but my delight was spoiled when my new stepsister Fanny told me snidely, as we got ready for bed, that she'd be coming with me. Sally - who insisted I called her Mum, despite me already having a perfectly good mum of my own, whom I already missed dearly - had arranged for us to be in the same classes together. I didn't like this at all. Like her mum, Fanny was blonde, busty, and had already slept her way through half the students, if the rumours were to be believed.
But if there was one consolation I could wring out of this, as we boarded the bus the next morning, it was this; Fanny would go home to spend time with her family on the weekends, while I was to stay at the school. This suited me down to the ground, and I actually found I could put up with Fanny and her nastiness.
Just a little.
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I soon settled into life at Blackwood Hall, and found myself forming fast friendships with some of the students from my year level. At first I was wary of them, and they of me - I was a Londoner, while they'd all grown up in the Midlands - but once we'd gotten over the initial shyness, friendship naturally progressed, and before long, I began enjoying life again. I did miss Mum dreadfully, and the weekly court ordered phonecalls did nothing to ease the pain of our forced separation. She'd managed to secure a small flat for herself in Clapham, and her employer, one George Harding - who coincidentally owned the flat in which she lived - had offered her half off rent as part of her employment contract. Mum had jumped at the chance, and I was very glad she'd gotten her feet under her so quickly. The divorce had all but ruined her - Dad having taken her to the cleaners for no reason other than to be an utter arsehole - but Mr Harding had been very kind to her, and she now had dinner with him and his son once a week. She'd even managed to find a knitting circle to join, which in her eyes was the biggest bonus of all.46Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0Ea9R4TlVp
Of course, Sally was Not Happy when she discovered the delight I got from these phone calls with my mum, so, when I came home for the summer holidays, she told me very coldly she'd be seeking a legal way to get these calls cut off.
I told her to go pound sand and kick rocks. The courts had made it very clear; if she or Dad tried to get these calls stopped, they'd face legal repurcussions.
Sally sniffed. "I'm your mother," she told me haughtily. "You have no need for someone who works in a grocery store in Clapham."
"She's still my mum," I said. "Neither you nor Dad can stop me from having these phone calls with her."46Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdLy7ccgI0w
Sally sniffed again. "We'll see about that," she said coldly.46Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm7sXhDjcQH
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A week later, Dad informed me he'd gotten the courts to cut off my access to Mum, citing that it was causing me "severe emotional distress" to be in contact with a woman who hadn't even tried to fight for me during the divorce process. I bit my tongue and resisted the urge to remind him he'd made it near impossible for Mum to fight for me.
It was harder to bite my tongue when Sally told me that night she'd pushed Dad to seek a termination of Mum's parental rights. That would, she told me, open up the door for her to adopt me, and then I'd have no choice but to call her Mum. I told her she could do what she wanted; she'd never be my mum, not in a million years.46Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgoSwCevbM2
Sally sniffed and told me she knew what was best for me; I was still a child in her eyes, and like all good children, I had to be punished for doing the wrong thing. 46Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡc7UJx97qlx
The upshot? I was now made to come home every weekend, and forbidden contact with my friends while I was at home. For how long? Until I "saw sense" and gave her the title she rightfully deserved. And if I refused to see sense, she'd have me pulled out of school and made to work for her as an unpaid maid until such time as I learned "good manners".46Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMWTqIKtj68
Realising I was fighting a losing battle, I swallowed my pride and finally, begrudgingly started calling her Mum. But in my own head, I still referred to her as Sally, because she wasn't my mum and would never be my mum, not in a million years. Sally sniffed (I was really beginning to hate that sound), but lifted my punishment, warning me that I was skating on very thin ice still, and that she was still ready to pull me out of school at the slightest infraction. And with Fanny riding my coattails, ready to report any wrongdoings - real or imagined - I decided the best course of action was to keep my head down and my mouth shut.
My friends worried at my sudden reticence, but I told them that I had to be careful, and when I insinuated the depths of the trouble I was in, they made sympathetic noises and agreed to help me grey rock Fanny and her bitch mum until the cows came home.
And then my stepbrother came home.
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