Read Online Essex Boy: My Story by Kirk Norcross - Free Book Online

left it at that. And then we had a good afternoon together! He drove me around the docks and told me about stuff he had done, and pointed things out.
    ‘See that house, Kirk? I built half of that.’
    ‘You like the look of the boat over there, do you? Only in working order ’cos of me, that is.’
    And all that. I just stared at everything, proper impressed by Dad. Tilbury Docks is the main port for London, and there is a hell of a lot of stuff to look at: all these huge warehouses, and
containers, as well as all sorts of ships docked up, from fairly average boats right up to huge cruise ships. There are people all over the place working away and forklift trucks buzzing around. It
is like a little community in itself.
    By this time my dad was no longer in overalls – he had started to dress in shirts and smart trousers. He wasn’t working on the tools any more, he was now a manager! He had climbed
the ranks to work in a company that his dad was a director of, called Grayspur Ltd, also based down on the docks. It was a ship repair and cargo security company that would sort out damaged boats,
and build jetties for them to pull up at, and all that, and Dad was a manager.
    We stopped off and he spoke to a few people, then as we were driving he kept having to take calls about deals and meetings and all sorts of things that sounded important, even if I didn’t
understand a word of what he was on about! He was a real businessman, was my dad. I sat there a bit in awe, proud to be with him, thinking, ‘Wow, my dad is a real hard worker, a proper man
into business and everything. I want to be like that.’
    I loved to see him working, but it was weird – it felt as though the new smarter clothes gave him an air of authority, like a lawyer or a policeman, so I was more in awe of him and thought
he had to be super successful to be dressing like that.
    By the time he dropped me back at Mum’s at the end of the afternoon, I had decided I could think of nothing better than being naughty again. Until that day I had never got to spend time
with my dad, just me and him, no Stacie, no Daniel, only the two of us. And while I was still confused and hated him, I loved and admired him too, so I wanted that time alone with him so badly,
even if I hadn’t properly realized it until then.
    From then on I decided a telling off from the teacher was worth an afternoon with Dad. Sometimes, just so he didn’t get suspicious, I would make out I was ill instead of naughty, and that
way he would have a reason to pick me up without it being my fault. So I would play up to that as well. The afternoons I spent with him were the same either way, and I never got bored of them. It
really intrigued me. It’s just a shame I had to be that bad at school to get to see it!
    The other time I did see Dad outside of our weekend visits was on Thursday evenings when I started playing rugby for a local team. He would pick me up and drive me to the playing fields behind
the bungalow my parents had been living in when I was born. I must have done OK at the first session, because they asked me to come back and play in a tournament that weekend. I loved playing. I
couldn’t believe how much pent-up aggression and anger came out on the pitch. It was like, ‘What, you want me to be aggressive and go in and tackle the guy? Actually running and
slamming into him is not only allowed, it’s encouraged? Fair play, count me in!’
    But it was only a temporary release, and it wouldn’t calm me down beyond the rest of that day. I’d have had to play every day as a professional for that to work! It was good that Dad
took me along, though, and it was something we were able to talk about.
    Of course I could never tell Mum about the times I enjoyed being with Dad, because it upset her. If I went home saying, ‘Oh, I’ve had the best time!’, she’d tell me,
‘What are you sticking up for him for? You should hate him, he destroyed our family, ripped it