Never a Hero to Me Read Online Free Page A

aware of how quickly his moods were changing since Mum had gone into hospital and I didn’t want to risk things taking a turn for the worse again.
    As we struggled with the cover, I felt his body press hard into my back, harder than before. I held the corners just as I’d been told, but he didn’t let go. ‘I’ve got it, Dad,’ I said. ‘I’ve got it.’
    Behind me, he said nothing, but he was pushing his body into me, harder and harder. I wasn’t tall, and my head was at the level of his crotch as he shoved and shoved into me.
    ‘Dad!’ I almost whispered. ‘Dad – I’ve got the cover, you can put the rest of the quilt in.’ He didn’t move his body from mine, but he did take his hands from my arms and allowed them to travel down my body slowly, finally resting on my waist. ‘Dad?’ I whispered again. ‘Dad? What are you doing?’ I honestly didn’t know what was happening. What could I have made of it at that age? All I realised was that he was rubbing his hands around my waist, pressing in as hard as he could to my body, and breathing in a funny way as if he had run up the stairs too quickly and couldn’t catch his breath. His head had dropped forward and I could feel a warmth on my neck; there were little gasps as he made a strange noise.
    As soon as the strange noise had finished, Dad loosened his grip on me.
    ‘There,’ he said, turning me around to face him. ‘I told you that would be fun.’
    The duvet and cover lay discarded on the bedroom floor, forgotten. My father walked towards the door and, with a final glance back at me, concluded. ‘That was fun.’
    It wasn’t a question.
    It wasn’t a laughter-filled remark.
    It was a command.
    I stood there, confused and upset, with only one thing certain in my mind – no matter what my dad wanted me to believe, whatever had just happened was not fun.

CHAPTER 3
     
BEING A GOOD GIRL
     
    After it happened, I wasn’t quite sure what to think. I was only a little girl, barely more than five years old – looking back with the awareness and understanding of an adult is completely different. At that age, all I knew was that my mummy was in hospital and my daddy had turned horrible, seemingly overnight.
    I didn’t really know anything about bodies or the birds and the bees, I didn’t know anything about what grown-ups did with each other in private – but I did know that what my daddy had just done was horrible. I didn’t want to complain; well, I didn’t want a slap again and something told me that if I said a word, that’s exactly what I would be getting.
    To my relief, just as these thoughts were running through my mind and Dad was rearranging himself, I heard Gary open the front door. ‘Remember,’ said Dad, ‘that was fun. You did well, Tracy, you did well.’
    That was all he said. He had used me to pleasure himself, and he didn’t even look ashamed. With his few words, he left the bedroom to speak to my brother. I heard him welcome Gary back – ‘Nice time, son?’ – as I stood there, looking at the bed. Remembering it now, the main feeling that I know I had was one of confusion. I was so young. After being ill for such a long time, Mum had been taken into hospital. Hospitals seemed scary places to me, where doctors put needles into you and there were lots of sick people. That’s where my mummy was, and since she had gone there, my daddy had been acting like a stranger.
    He’d shouted at me.
    He’d said swear words to me.
    He’d hit me.
    And now – what had he done now? I wasn’t sure I even had the appropriate words for what had just happened. I’d been told it was fun, I’d been told I was a good girl, but what was fun exactly? What had I done that was good ?
    I heard my dad laughing with Gary, sounding like his old self. Chatting about football. Being normal . I thought about how my mum made the bed, and tried to copy her, tried to finish off the job I had been asked to do in the first place. I did as well as I could