Read Online A Cockney's Journey by Eddie Allen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eddie Allen
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under my left eye.
As he advanced towards me in silence, I put both my hands up and covered my face while cowering in the corner.
“Put your hands down and take it like a man,” he shouted.
I couldn’t move. I was petrified. I actually froze solid with fear and I started to pee myself. I tried so hard not to do it again, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“You pathetic, dirty excuse for a man,” he yelled. “You’re no fucking son of mine.” He punched my head and his blow landed on my fingers. The pain shot into my wrist. “Just looking at you makes me physically sick. You disgust me.” He turned around and slammed the bedroom door shut.
As I slowly regained my senses, the fear started to leave my body. My hand was throbbing and I couldn’t move my little finger. I must get to the bathroom. On opening my bedroom door I heard giggling and laughing on the landing outside. I pulled the door open quickly to see who was there. I heard footsteps running downstairs, followed by more giggling. I walked across the landing, down a short flight of stairs to the bathroom and locked myself in.
While running a bath, I stood in front of the mirror cleaning the blood off my nose and face. The mirror’s grim reflection returned my questioning gaze; my face was miserable and wracked with hatred. This can’t go on. They all hate me. The first opportunity I get, I’m out of here. I didn’t know it at the time, but that day was not very far away. I climbed into the bath and lay there soaking as the smell of pee disappeared. Ever since I could remember, he’d hated me. Nan was right about what she told me. He only needed the slightest reason to thrash me. I remembered what he did to my hamster.
***
When I think back to that horrible day it makes me feel sick. I used to let him out of the cage for some exercise in the kitchen. I was in the garden playing when I heard my mother and father arguing. He came out into the garden waving his vest.
“Your bloody mouse has done a crap on your mother’s ironing,” he shouted. He went back inside and a few moments later he emerged, carrying my hamster cage. He walked into the middle of the garden and emptied the contents on the floor. Hammy legged it around the garden, while I stood there, shocked. What happened next was horrendous. Next door’s cat jumped off the wall and chased Hammy around the garden, digging his claws into him. I picked up stones and threw them at the cat, but the sod wouldn’t leave Hammy alone. After a while, Hammy stopped running and just lay there. The cat was moving his body from paw to paw but then, seconds later, the cat gave up and left Hammy alone. I walked over to my hamster, crying and in a state of shock. Hammy was covered in cuts, but he was still breathing.
“He’s still alive!” I cried. “Someone help him, please,” I begged.
My father walked over to us, swearing. He picked Hammy up by the tail and then, to my horror, he flushed him down the outside toilet.
“That’s the fucking last pet you have. Do you understand, boy?” he snarled.
***
I climbed out the bath and put a towel around me. That’s better. I’ve cleaned him off me. I brushed my teeth, dried myself down and went back to my bedroom; I sat on the bed reading my Shoot! Magazine. There were stories on Brazil, with a big write-up on why they were favourites for this year’s World Cup. Fantastic team. How can you lose with players like Pele, Jairzinho, Rivelino and Carlos Alberto in your team? Even World Cup winners England had no chance!!! As I turned to the next page, there was an article on my heroes Stan Bowles and Rodney Marsh. I had just started to read the article when there was a crack on my bedroom window. I jumped up and, peering through the pane, I saw Tony and Brian across the street. I pulled up the bottom sash and hung out the window.
“We’re meeting in an hour,
As he advanced towards me in silence, I put both my hands up and covered my face while cowering in the corner.
“Put your hands down and take it like a man,” he shouted.
I couldn’t move. I was petrified. I actually froze solid with fear and I started to pee myself. I tried so hard not to do it again, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“You pathetic, dirty excuse for a man,” he yelled. “You’re no fucking son of mine.” He punched my head and his blow landed on my fingers. The pain shot into my wrist. “Just looking at you makes me physically sick. You disgust me.” He turned around and slammed the bedroom door shut.
As I slowly regained my senses, the fear started to leave my body. My hand was throbbing and I couldn’t move my little finger. I must get to the bathroom. On opening my bedroom door I heard giggling and laughing on the landing outside. I pulled the door open quickly to see who was there. I heard footsteps running downstairs, followed by more giggling. I walked across the landing, down a short flight of stairs to the bathroom and locked myself in.
While running a bath, I stood in front of the mirror cleaning the blood off my nose and face. The mirror’s grim reflection returned my questioning gaze; my face was miserable and wracked with hatred. This can’t go on. They all hate me. The first opportunity I get, I’m out of here. I didn’t know it at the time, but that day was not very far away. I climbed into the bath and lay there soaking as the smell of pee disappeared. Ever since I could remember, he’d hated me. Nan was right about what she told me. He only needed the slightest reason to thrash me. I remembered what he did to my hamster.
***
When I think back to that horrible day it makes me feel sick. I used to let him out of the cage for some exercise in the kitchen. I was in the garden playing when I heard my mother and father arguing. He came out into the garden waving his vest.
“Your bloody mouse has done a crap on your mother’s ironing,” he shouted. He went back inside and a few moments later he emerged, carrying my hamster cage. He walked into the middle of the garden and emptied the contents on the floor. Hammy legged it around the garden, while I stood there, shocked. What happened next was horrendous. Next door’s cat jumped off the wall and chased Hammy around the garden, digging his claws into him. I picked up stones and threw them at the cat, but the sod wouldn’t leave Hammy alone. After a while, Hammy stopped running and just lay there. The cat was moving his body from paw to paw but then, seconds later, the cat gave up and left Hammy alone. I walked over to my hamster, crying and in a state of shock. Hammy was covered in cuts, but he was still breathing.
“He’s still alive!” I cried. “Someone help him, please,” I begged.
My father walked over to us, swearing. He picked Hammy up by the tail and then, to my horror, he flushed him down the outside toilet.
“That’s the fucking last pet you have. Do you understand, boy?” he snarled.
***
I climbed out the bath and put a towel around me. That’s better. I’ve cleaned him off me. I brushed my teeth, dried myself down and went back to my bedroom; I sat on the bed reading my Shoot! Magazine. There were stories on Brazil, with a big write-up on why they were favourites for this year’s World Cup. Fantastic team. How can you lose with players like Pele, Jairzinho, Rivelino and Carlos Alberto in your team? Even World Cup winners England had no chance!!! As I turned to the next page, there was an article on my heroes Stan Bowles and Rodney Marsh. I had just started to read the article when there was a crack on my bedroom window. I jumped up and, peering through the pane, I saw Tony and Brian across the street. I pulled up the bottom sash and hung out the window.
“We’re meeting in an hour,
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