JAY
When I was little, all I remember is
My mum, always sick
And me worrying about her all the time.
She had doctors coming every day
To give her medicine.
Except it wasn’t medicine.
And the men weren’t really doctors.
And sometimes she didn’t have money.
So she’d pay for ‘her medicine’ in other ways.
There was this one bloke
She called him Holliman
I walked into the lounge one day
Found mum on her knees, in front of him.
I didn’t know what it meant.
After that, mum put a lock on my door
On the outside.
They used to lock me in – for my own sake.
Stop me seeing things I shouldn’t.
But they’d get so wasted, they’d forget I was there.
One time I had to shit in the corner of my room.
I couldn’t help myself.
I was seven. It was hurting my belly. Holliman
Rubbed my nose in it.
Held my face down
And rubbed my nose in my own shit.
Said that would teach me.
He would bring men round,
Let them use my mum.
Before they locked me in, mum
Would give me a pot noodle
And the kettle, so I could feed myself.
I would eat every mouthful and think –
See? My mum loves me, really.
One time I heard her screaming.
I kicked the door till the lock gave way
Holliman was standing over her, his foot
On her throat.
I stabbed him in the leg with my penknife.
And she –
– she threw me out.
I was thirteen.
And I don’t look to her for nothing these days.
I just thank her.
For everything she taught me.
For how strong she made me.