JP

A solicitor has just been in to see me. She’s all right – somebody who’s been appointed to a case that should be a lost cause and yet, when she talks about my defence, she’s like a Duracell bunny. She says none of this is my fault, and I’m inclined to agree with her.

I didn’t want to do what I did.

I had to.

She thinks people will pity me, because I’ve had a shit life. I understand her methods but I hate the thought of everybody knowing my business. More than that, I really can’t stand them putting me in a box and feeling sympathy for me. A working-class sod who never stood a chance. That’s just bollocks. And very middle class.

This wasn’t written for me. Yeah, I didn’t have the best start. Mum had her problems, and Dad wasn’t around much. He was a bricklayer but could have worked on an oil rig, for all I knew, he was away so much. Mum used to tell me when he’d been in the flat, like he was this magical figure who could pass through unnoticed. He would leave early in the morning so he’d be the first in the queue for the van collecting the labourers. Then he’d work late into the night and have a few jars after. I’d be in bed by the time he got home.

I saw more of him the year my sister Charlie was born. She came along a few months after Mum took me to the seaside. The nurse was in our flat a lot and I heard her tell Dad that he had to keep an eye on Betty after the ‘incident’ with her first baby. Dad had his head in his hands and muttered something about having to earn a living. I sat on the floor, colouring in, pretending to watch the telly, but they were ignoring me anyway.

‘Mr Andrews – Seamie – your wife’s condition was exacerbated during and after her last pregnancy. We all know what happened with the …’ She looked over at me, but I kept my head bowed and scribbled furiously with the crayon. ‘With the little lad. I understand times are tough, but you don’t want her to do something silly again. Doesn’t Betty have any family who could lend a hand?’

Dad shook his head.

‘The Carneys are fucking useless,’ he said. ‘Always have been. They could have warned me about her … issues, but they were happy to just wave her off at the church and leave me to deal with it. I didn’t figure it out until it was too late. I just thought I was a lucky bastard, having a gorgeous blonde like that chasing me.’

When the nurse left, he smacked his hand angrily on the table and shouted at me to turn the telly down. Then he said sorry and came over and ruffled my hair. It was as close as he got to showing affection. Dad never did hugs.

He got himself a beer from the fridge and cursed because there was nothing in for my tea. Mum had forgotten to do the big shop again.

I was five when Charlie was born. She was named for Charlene in Neighbours – you know, the Kylie Minogue character. It was 1986, the show had just started, and Mum was obsessed with it. Monday to Friday, she’d tune in at 1.30 p.m for a half-hour of yellow Aussie sun. Really, when I think of it now, all Mum gave Charlie was her name. She wasn’t around for much else. Straight after she had her, Mum went on one of her special trips. This time, though, it lasted months.

Looking back, I can only imagine how hard it was on Seamie. He wasn’t the most expressive of men; he just got on with things. But he was old-fashioned. It was his job to work and provide for his family. Not to take care of a newborn and a small child.

His brickie work fell by the wayside, and I remember those first few weeks after Charlie was born being filled with visits to a big building full of cubicles and lines of people sitting on red plastic chairs. Dad said it was a benefits office and I could see him tense every time we left the flat to go there, even though I’d no idea what was wrong with the place, other than it being boring as hell.

I didn’t notice much else. I was too in love with the new arrival. I’d wanted a puppy, but she was better than any pet. Charlie was a good baby – if she’d cried and griped all the time, I’m sure I’d have had no interest. But she slept mostly, and it was like an extra special treat when she opened her eyes and grabbed your finger.

As hard as those days must have been for Seamie, to be honest, I remember them as being really happy. It was the eighties, nobody really had anything, so I didn’t know what I was missing out on, if anything. I did worry about Mum but, in secret, shameful moments, I thought everything was a bit better without her. There were no tears, there was no shouting, and Dad kept things together.

The solicitor has zoned right into Mum’s head problems. She says her mental health probably had far more of an effect on me than I’m aware of. That whatever Mum had might be hereditary.

That that’s what might get me off.

It’s nothing I haven’t considered myself.