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felt as if I was a nuisance, as if I was just someone who got in between her and Gary because, my God, she was the opposite with him. She loved her boy. When she came back from hospital, he was the one she looked for. She would hug him and say how glad she was to be home, and all the time she would be looking at Gary and blanking me.
    As a grown woman, I tried to work out what the relationship between my mum and dad truly was in the hope that it could throw some light on what my life was like, but the pieces I do have don’t make enough sense. I never saw him hit her, although he was handy enough with me, but she did once tell me that when she was pregnant with me, they had a huge argument about something. Dad grabbed her on the arm and left a thumbprint which lasted for the rest of her pregnancy. The odd thing is that I have a birthmark on my arm in exactly the same place – in the shape of a thumbprint. Perhaps he was even making his mark on me in the womb.
    Theirs was not a passionate relationship. They didn’t even seem to be good friends. They were very distant with each other and had quite a traditional relationship – Mum’s role was to stay at home, cook, clean, and look after the children. These were pretty much the same responsibilities Dad handed over to me when she was in hospital – plus the ones in the bedroom. I never saw him buy her flowers, or kiss her, or hold her hand. When he visited her in hospital, he never took anything as a gift or gesture. He would sit on the end of the bed as if he couldn’t wait to get away and there was no feeling to any of their interaction together. He was completely cold-hearted, with never a lingering look behind him as he left, or a sign that he was worried about the mother of his children.
    As a wife and mum myself, I know children do not always see the reality of their parents’ relationship. In a bad marriage, adults can hide things from their kids to spare them hurt, but in a good one, children often just don’t pick up on little in-jokes, or warmth which has come from a life’s journey together. I couldn’t see a single thing which kept Mum and Dad together in all the years they were married. I never caught them having a sneaky cuddle or kiss, he never playfully pinched her or tickled her when he thought we weren’t looking. I never caught them laughing about something we weren’t privy to. We all know that passion can die with any couple, but there is usually something left – I saw nothing with them. Even when Mum was at death’s door, when you would expect a husband to show some kindness, be at a loss, it just gave him an excuse to be with me.
    Of course, I don’t know the whole story. I do know she wasn’t close to her family back home either, so perhaps there was just something in her nature that made her unable to form relationships (although that wouldn’t explain why Dad was the same, or why she was loving to Gary). In fact, back where they came from in Scotland, no one seemed to have any time for her. One time, when she was in hospital, Dad took us to Scotland as he said my granny would need to look after us as he was busy (I don’t know what he was doing, as he usually took every opportunity to be alone with me). When we turned up at her house, I realised it was completely unannounced and my gran – a complete stranger to me – had no idea we’d planned to arrive. She opened the door, took one look at us standing there with our bags and said, ‘They’re not coming here – they belong to that bitch.’ My dad said nothing, just dragged us back to the bus stop and took us to his sister. I never saw my granny again and never did get any explanation, but something major must have happened for a woman to treat her own daughter’s children in such a callous, unequivocal way.
    Years later, I asked my other granny whether she knew anything about this. She never named my mum; her was the best she could do. I didn’t get much information, just a