Please note: this piece contains descriptions of abuse some readers may find upsetting.
It was cold. So cold.
I was bundled up in a dirty, black duffle coat, two sizes too big for me with only two toggles still attached. The scent of my mother’s cigarettes clung to everything I wore, woven into the fibres of my clothes, smelling both sharp and stale. I hated that smell, the way it invaded my senses, burning my eyes and making everything feel grimy. Other kids, the ones whose parents didn’t light up as soon as their eyes opened, would wrinkle their nose at me, step back as I approached as though my scent could be caught.
'She smells.' it would begin
'She’s dirty.'
'Look at her hair.'
'Look at her nails.'
'Do you even know what a bath is?' they would ask, surrounding me, taunting me, as though I made the choice to look this way. Dress this way. Exist like this.
Quietly closing the large, black gate behind me so I didn’t disturb anyone, I began my short journey to school, heading towards the beach.
There was snow on the ground, I hadn’t seen it here before. I had seen snow of course, two houses ago? No, three houses ago, when I had a different name and lived in Wales. The snow would fall thick and fast there, and when you opened the front door you were met with a wall of white, just the imprint of the front door left behind. My uncle would dig to get into us, calling out my name and making the laborious effort of digging through the snow into a game. I would use my bucket and spade from our summer beach trips, shovelling snow into my little yellow bucket and running it through to the bathroom, dumping it in the bath and running straight back, seeing who could break through first. It was usually him, with my gran at his shoulder, pulling me into a tight embrace then tossing me in the air, as if I was weightless. I felt loved. Reassured. I was safe.
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I could feel the cold through my shoes, my socks already uncomfortably damp from the holes in my soles. I needed to get to school, the radiators would be on this morning and my teacher had put me right beside the one at the window, the best seat in the classroom she said. I could tuck my shoes underneath to dry, and rest my feet on the radiator, dissolving the chill that currently runs through my body.
Walking faster, I reached the bottom of the street. I wrapped my arms tight around me, drawing my coat tightly closed, braced for the wind to literally take my breath away like it did most mornings.
I’m not sure what made me look up. Usually I walked with my head down. No-one noticed me that way. It made me feel invisible, avoiding the pitying looks from other Mums, their whispers following me as I made the solo walk to school. I’m glad I did.
It was… beautiful! The sand was covered in a pristine layer of snow, shimmering as though someone had spilled a pot of glitter over the entire beach and promenade.
The horizon was a symphony of colours – gentle blue, soft pink and warm orange. Transcending the freezing temperature, defying the winter chill. Below it, the gentle ebb and flow of the sea resembled a rhythmic dance. Gracefully, the waves teased the shoreline before retreating, gradually, covering more of the snow covered sand.
I made my way to the Promenade wall, sitting down, not caring about the chill that was about to spread up my spine. I wanted to capture it all, keep this feeling of joy, of being at one with the world.
Inhaling, the crisp winter air filled my lungs with a freshness they hadn’t felt for a long time.
Exhaling, I imagined the mist like tendrils of vapour meeting the cold air was the extraction of the thick tobacco smoke that never left my lungs.
Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath in. Cleansing breath out.
Feeling lighter, I got to my feet and began the balancing act of walking along the wall, one foot in front of the other, stopping every few steps to look at the footprints I had left behind.
I was forbidden from doing this. It was part of a long, long list of rules I had to follow, many of which made no sense to me. I was her biggest mistake, she would spit at me when I messed up or let a secret slip out. Her voice felt like nails on a chalkboard, using words that hurt my soul more than her hands could hurt my body, always removing one of her slippers towards the end of her tirade. When she calmed down, she would write a note excusing me from PE until my bruises faded.
But this taste of rebellion was exhilarating. Of all the rules, this felt like the one the least dangerous to break. The most dangerous, of course, was…
No.
But maybe, yes.
No-one was around. The only footprints in the snow were mine.
Dropping off the wall, I pulled my hand out of the warmth and safety of my sleeve. My hand trembled, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Slowly, fearful of being caught, I used my index finger to write in the snow. It took seconds.
Stepping back, I looked at what I wrote.
Rosemary Reilly.
I couldn’t feel my finger, it was so cold. I examined it, wiggling back and forward. I looked at my name, the real one, engraved in the snow. My finger did that.
Turning towards school, I heard the bell ring. I took a quick look back before running past the amusements, past the Tower that looked like a castle’s turret, and into the playground. Leaving my secret written in the snow.
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