I was little when
Dad decided he was in love
with someone called Carol
and invited her to live in our house
with her son.
So Carol and Lee
stayed with Dad and me
for a few months.
At first it was easy.
Carol liked baking.
Lee was quiet.
Then Carol quit with the buns and
took to shouting at Lee until he cried.
He was older than I was –
eight maybe –
and hated when I saw him tearful,
hit me to make me unnotice.
It’s your stupid fault, he said.
She didn’t want a daughter.
She doesn’t like you.
I watched Carol.
It wasn’t hard to see that Lee was right.
She never tucked me in at night
or washed my uniform for school.
She scowled at me
and at Dad too sometimes,
until one day they were gone –
Carol and Lee –
and Dad and I carried on as usual,
pretending no one was missing.
Pretending we were happy alone.