By Anya Peters
A heartbreaking real tale of 1 little girl's seek to discover a spot she might name home.
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Extra info for Abandoned : the true story of a little girl who didn't belong
Over and over through the years, Mummy shouted back at him that she wasn’t lying, that she didn’t know who my father was. ’ she’d scream, sobbing. But he knew that Kathy and Brendan didn’t like him, particularly Brendan, and he called Mummy a liar, swearing that they were all taking him for a fool in his own home. The fact that no one would tell him drove him mad and seemed to be the spark for most of their rows. She tried all sorts of answers on him, all sorts of ways of saying she didn’t know, and, as I grew up, that I didn’t know either—that I didn’t have a father, that I’d been conceived in the course of a one-night stand.
I was looking under the ‘H’s’, assuming it was spelt as it sounded. Not realising that it was hiding amongst the ‘W’s’ at the end of the dictionary, as if ashamed of itself. I never understood why Kathy wouldn’t tell my uncle who my father was, and, as a child, I never forgave her for it. But then she didn’t know exactly how violent and abusive he became. And she could never have imagined just how bad it was going to get. Kathy knew the type of man he was, and maybe hoped that since they weren’t married he and Mummy wouldn’t stay together long.
My two eldest sisters, Marie and Sandra, aren’t there that day so there should be seven. ‘Him, Michael, Liam, Stella, Jennifer, you, me,’ she says, counting us out again by name. She always counts the plates out like that, in that order: almost by ages, except she puts the girls before me, and herself at the end. I like the way she puts me with her at the end, the way she says, ‘…you, me…’ Always like that. Mummy never leaves me out; she treats us all the same, but every mealtime I’m waiting for the same thing, for there to be one plate short, or not enough of something to go around.