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    Come Back Peter
    Come Back Peter
    Come Back Peter
    Ebook301 pages4 hours

    Come Back Peter

    By William Forde

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    About this ebook

    Ronnie is the younger of two children, neither of whom ever knew their father. Her brother Peter is six years older than she is. Both children live with mum who is a drunken, lustful, emotional wreck; a woman who is guilt ridden by her past and unable to sustain healthy relationships with the opposite sex or her children. Mum provides Ronnie and Peter with a succession of stepfather figures; using the men in her life as a meal ticket and passport to a good time until she tires of them and moves on to the next man.

    At a at the age of 10 years, the only father figure Ronnie has ever grown close to walks out on the family. A few days later brother Peter leaves home also. Ronnie is left isolated, tending to the needs of a mother with whom she cannot relate and for who she feels no love.

    After Peter deserts the household, mum forbids any mention of his name ever again. To cope with the loss of her brother, Ronnie buries him in the recess of her mind.

    The story opens with Ronnie happily married to Pete. One day she opens the door to find her brother Peter, whom she has not seen for over twenty-five years standing there!

    General comments:
    All characters within the story are factual although the story itself is largely fictitious. As a Probation 0fficer and previous Divorce Court Welfare Officer for twenty-five years, I have been able to draw upon my own knowledge and insider experience of the British court system. On a more personal level, as a divorcee and access parent for many years, I possess the emotional insight to the anguish felt by frustrated access parents.

    On one level, this is the story of a woman's search for a meaningful identity to her roles as individual, partner, child and parent. It is also an indictment against the adversarial legal system and domestic court process, which frequently robs mothers and fathers of any parental dignity whilst denying the ‘paramount interest of the child’ concerned and often depriving both parents of achieving better avenues to a more humane outcome.

    The story is set in West Yorkshire between the 1960s and the 1980s.

    William Forde: Octoberber 2015

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilliam Forde
    Release dateOct 21, 2015
    ISBN9781311052964
    Come Back Peter
    Author

    William Forde

    William Forde was born in Ireland and currently lives in Haworth, West Yorkshire with his wife Sheila. He is the father of five children and the author of over 60 published books and two musical plays. Approximately 20 of his books are suitable for the 7-11 year old readers while the remainder are suitable for young persons and adults. Since 2010, all of his new stories have been written for adults under his 'Tales from Portlaw' series of short stories. His website is www.fordefables.co.uk on which all his miscellaneous writings may be freely read. There are also a number of children's audio stories which can be freely heard.He is unique in the field of contemporary children's authors through the challenging emotional issues and story themes he addresses, preferring to focus upon those emotions that children and adults find most difficult to appropriately express.One of West Yorkshire's most popular children's authors, Between 1990 and 2002 his books were publicly read in over 2,000 Yorkshire school assemblies by over 800 famous names and celebrities from the realms of Royalty, Film, Stage, Screen, Politics, Church, Sport, etc. The late Princess Diana used to read his earlier books to her then young children, William and Harry and Nelson Mandela once telephoned him to praise an African story book he had written. Others who have supported his works have included three Princesses, three Prime Ministers, two Presidents and numerous Bishops of the realm. A former Chief Inspector of Schools for OFSTED described his writing to the press as 'High quality literature.' He has also written books which are suitable for adults along with a number of crossover books that are suitable for teenagers and adults.Forever at the forefront of change, at the age of 18 years, William became the youngest Youth Leader and Trade Union Shop Steward in Great Britain. In 1971, He founded Anger Management in Great Britain and freely gave his courses to the world. Within the next two years, Anger Management courses had mushroomed across the English-speaking world. During the mid-70's, he introduced Relaxation Training into H.M. Prisons and between 1970 and 1995, he worked in West Yorkshire as a Probation Officer specialising in Relaxation Training, Anger Management, Stress Management and Assertive Training Group Work.He retired early on the grounds of ill health in 1995 to further his writing career, which witnessed him working with the Minister of Youth and Culture in Jamaica to establish a trans-Atlantic pen-pal project between 32 primary schools in Falmouth, Jamaica and 32 primary schools in Yorkshire.William was awarded the MBE in the New Year's Honours List of 1995 for his services to West Yorkshire. He has never sought to materially profit from the publication of his books and writings and has allowed all profit from their sales (approx £200,000) to be given to charity. Since 2013, he was diagnosed with CLL; a terminal condition for which he is currently receiving treatment.In 2014, William had his very first 'strictly for adult' reader's novel puiblished called‘Rebecca’s Revenge'. This book was first written over twenty years ago and spans the period between the 1950s and the New Millennium. He initially refrained from having it published because of his ‘children’s author credentials and charity work’. He felt that it would have conflicted too adversely with the image which had taken a decade or more to establish with his audience and young person readership. Now, however as he approaches the final years of his life and cares less about his public image, besides no longer writing for children (only short stories for adults since 2010), he feels the time to be appropriate to publish this ‘strictly for adults only’ novel alongside the remainder of his work.In December 2016 he was diagnosed with skin cancer on his face and two weeks later he was diagnosed with High-grade Lymphoma (Richter’s Transformation from CLL). He was successfully treated during the first half of 2017 and is presently enjoying good health albeit with no effective immune system.

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      Book preview

      Come Back Peter - William Forde

      Author's Foreword

      Ronnie is the younger of two children, neither of whom ever knew their father. Her brother Peter is six years older than she is. Both children live with mum who is a drunken, lustful, emotional wreck; a woman who is guilt ridden by her past and unable to sustain healthy relationships with the opposite sex or her children. Mum provides Ronnie and Peter with a succession of stepfather figures; using the men in her life as a meal ticket and passport to a good time until she tires of them and moves on to the next man.

      At a at the age of 10 years, the only father figure Ronnie has ever grown close to walks out on the family. A few days later brother Peter leaves home also. Ronnie is left isolated, tending to the needs of a mother with whom she cannot relate and for who she feels no love.

      After Peter deserts the household, mum forbids any mention of his name ever again. To cope with the loss of her brother, Ronnie buries him in the recess of her mind.

      The story opens with Ronnie happily married to Pete. One day she opens the door to find her brother Peter, whom she has not seen for over twenty-five years standing there!

      General comments

      All characters within the story are factual although the story itself is largely fictitious. As a Probation 0fficer and previous Divorce Court Welfare Officer for twenty-five years, I have been able to draw upon my own knowledge and insider experience of the British court system. On a more personal level, as a divorcee and access parent for many years, I possess the emotional insight to the anguish felt by frustrated access parents.

      On one level, this is the story of a woman's search for a meaningful identity to her roles as individual, partner, child and parent. It is also an indictment against the adversarial legal system and domestic court process, which frequently robs mothers and fathers of any parental dignity whilst denying the ‘paramount interest of the child’ concerned and often depriving both parents of achieving better avenues to a more humane outcome.

      The story is set in West Yorkshire between the 1960s and the 1980s.

      William Forde: November 2015

      Chapter One : 'Peter Returns'

      Today, my brother Peter came back into my life. As I gazed in disbelief at the familiar stranger standing before me on the doorstep, my heart pounded excitedly amidst a multitude of thoughts inside my head; each one fighting for breathing space at the forefront of my mind.

      Is it? No, it can't be! Yes it is! All these possibilities rotated in jackpot motion, with the uncertainty of a lottery winner who’d found themselves clutching the winning ticket.

      It was only when the tall, dark, handsome man standing there said, I'm Peter! Is it Ronnie? that I realised it was my big brother. Peter had come home!

      My response was instantaneous. It was as though a force of nature had suddenly breached an emotional dam, which had contained my feelings for many years. I allowed my emotions to explode unashamedly and tears instantly streamed from my eyes and down my cheeks. It was as though I’d waited so long to cry that once I’d started, the weeping wouldn’t stop.

      Seeing my brother Peter stood there, I released all the hurt, the sadness, the loneliness and the feelings of abandonment which I’d hidden away deep inside since childhood. I allowed my repressed dam of tears to break out and move from flow to flood.

      I wept tears of joy and my arms found their way towards the broad-backed shoulders of my long lost brother. As I caressed him, Peter instinctively moved back a pace; only to have his stiffness surrender in my embrace as I cuddled him tighter. Having found him after all those years, there was simply no way that I was letting him out of my life again.

      I still found it hard to believe. After twenty-four heartbroken years, Peter had come back into my life. He represented a long, lost, jigsaw piece; without which I would always have remained incomplete!

      Suddenly, and in stark contrast to my initial emotions of elation, I began to feel anger mixed with doubts. These were feelings that shouted to be heard.

      Why did you desert me Peter? How could you have left me alone with her? Oh, why didn't you once write or try to make contact with me? You were my big brother and you walked out on me! You left my life once and broke my heart. If I now allow you back into it, how do I know you won’t walk out on me again?

      I wanted to say these things to him there and then, but I prevented myself giving voice to them. Today wasn't the time to challenge him for his prolonged absence from my life. I was so pleased to see him again; so pleased that Peter had returned to me. This was a time for celebration, not recriminations. This was an occasion to rejoice that my brother Peter had come back into my life.

      Chapter Two - ‘A Time When Rabbits Smiled’

      I last saw my brother Peter two days before my tenth birthday. He had bought me a pet rabbit out of his first wage packet, which he hid in the garden shed as my birthday surprise. The white rabbit had a pink ribbon around its neck to which Peter had attached a birthday card. Inscribed upon the card were the words, ‘Hope you like your smiley rabbit, Sis. Happy birthday. Luv Peter xxx’

      Peter had never been one for sloppy sentiments. He’d never been able to cuddle with ease, express his love without embarrassment or say those soppy things that all little sisters love to hear from their big brother, yet pretend to hate.

      Having been brought up by an emotionally barren mother, Peter and I had never heard the words ‘I love you,’ once spoken by her. Not once were we able to recall being cuddled or emotionally comforted by her, or ever hearing a word of praise for a task well done!

      I loved that rabbit! It was the first living thing I'd ever owned. It was mine, all mine! It was soft to touch, warm to smell and safe to handle. It had been a birthday present from my brother Peter. It was a part of him and I cherished it!

      One day later, Peter walked out of our house with a packed suitcase without a word of ‘goodbye’ or explanation. I watched him walk straight down the cobbled street, never once looking back at his sobbing sister stood there.

      I'd heard the angry exchange between my mother and brother prior to his unexpected departure, but wasn't yet old enough to understand the fullness of its meaning.

      As I ran towards the door to stop my brother leaving, my mother yanked me back. Then she yelled down the path towards Peter as he stepped out into the highway, And don't you ever set foot inside this house again, you ungrateful little sod!

      What's happening, Mum? Where’s our Peter going? I asked, but she didn't answer. She stood there in a trance-like state oblivious to my presence, staring out towards the diminishing figure who walked on into the distance. Then she slammed the door shut with all of her might before repeating, Ungrateful little sod! Ungrateful sod!

      I started to fear the uncertainty of my surroundings and became emotionally confused. Then, I began to panic. Eventually my need ‘to know’ overcame my fear of mum's anger and mustering up my courage, I again entered the lion’s den.

      What's happening, Mum? Where's Peter gone? I asked. Looking towards her for a reply, I saw her face swell up red as the threatening anger gorged through the veins of her neck, bursting to break through the skin. She stared at me with the full force of her penetrating eyes as she exploded from the mouth, Don't you ever mention that name again in this house! Do you hear me? she screamed hysterically as she shook me vigorously, adding, Mention that little sod’s name to me again and I'll break your fucking neck!

      But…...but, what's our Peter done? I instinctively asked. As soon as I’d voiced my question though, I was overwhelmed with fear of the consequences.

      She took my repeated questions as an act of open defiance and raised her hand high in a menacing manner. I instinctively cowered and with one vicious blow to the side of my head, she knocked me to the floor with the frenzy of a maniac.

      As I lay there motionless, I waited for her next assault. I was fearful not to show any further sign of protestation, lest she should strike again. Her blow to my head hurt. I swallowed my cry of pain and silently wept. Mum then went to her bedroom, entered it, slammed the door shut and stayed there for the next four days.

      Having nobody to turn to, I didn't know what to do. I tried to gather my thoughts and make some sense of the last few hours. I would have given everything I had for someone to explain to me what was happening. I needed to understand how it was possible for my world to have turned upside down in such a short space of time.

      In an effort to take my mind away from the pain of my hurting head and grazed cheekbone, which had now ballooned in size, I turned my attention towards tidying up the sink full of unwashed pots and crockery.

      After washing the dishes, I got out the wax and duster and began to polish the dresser top and mantelpiece. It was at this moment, I caught sight of a sealed envelope marked, ‘Ronnie’, which was positioned flat on the mantelpiece.

      The writing was in my brother’s hand. Before he’d left, Peter had placed it there in the certain knowledge that because our mum never cleaned or dusted the furniture, it would be me who’d eventually find it.

      I was still semi-dazed as I opened the envelope. Peter had left a card for my tenth birthday tomorrow. The birthday card read: ‘Forgive me leaving you alone with her, Sis, but I can’t stand her presence a moment longer. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t get out now. I’d take you with me if I knew where I was going, but I don’t have the faintest idea of where I’ll sleep tonight. Keep safe, Sis, and as soon as you’re old enough to leave her also, do so! I enclose ten bob for yourself, but don’t let her see it. Happy birthday. Luv Peter.’

      The ten-shilling note inside the card represented a good part of his week’s wages. Ronnie knew that if her mother saw the money that her brother had given her, she’d confiscate it to the confines of her own purse before using it to piss up against the nearest pub wall at the earliest opportunity!

      I’d momentarily forgotten that tomorrow was my tenth birthday. Bursting into tears, I ran towards the garden shed and approaching the rabbit hutch within, I removed the only part of my family I had left. Curling up in a ball, I squatted in the darkest corner of the shed with my rabbit, stroking – stroking – stroking!

      I must had sat there hours, grieving and lamenting my loss; bitterly regretting my unhappy and dispirited state of being. Stroking and deriving comfort from my furry friend, I echoed my plea to any God who was listening. Please bring him back. Come back Peter! Don't leave me here alone with her! Peter, please, come back!

      As thoughts of the family breakup flooded my mind, all hope for the future seemed drowned in a sea of bitterness.

      What have I done wrong? I wailed. Why have you deserted me, Peter? Oh dear God, I wish I was dead!

      Chapter Three - ‘Father, Dear Father’

      I never really knew any of my fathers, as mum changed them quicker than I could get accustomed to their presence.

      Stephen had been my father longest. He and mum had lived together for four years before the trouble started. Before Stephen, it had been Gilbert and before him, someone called Mark. I couldn't remember Mark, but Peter had once told me that he’d hated him.

      Father Gilbert left us when I was six years old. For three whole weeks following his departure, mum stayed in her bedroom and lived on booze and fags.

      For six months or more, she remained depressed, angry and withdrawn; leaving Peter to manage the running of the house and me tending to my own needs as well as hers. Nothing we said or did ever pleased her. She spent her days in a drunken stupor or curled up on the settee, armed only with a foul mouth, stinking breath, a bottle of whiskey and two packets of fags.

      Then suddenly and without any advanced sign of change, one evening she got up, bathed and entered her bedroom whistling. Twenty minutes later, the door to her bedroom opened and there she stood, dolled up to the nines and eager to go again! With little more than a good wash, the application of make-up, a bit of blue eye shadow and deep red lipstick, she’d effectively transformed herself from depressive to good time girl on the pull.

      Moving towards the front door in new nylons and high-heeled shoes, she was dressed to catch her man. She turned to Peter, gave him two shillings and said, I'm off down to the Mecca. If I stay cooped up in this place any longer, I'll die! Get yourself and Ronnie some fish and chips for supper. I'll probably be late, so don't wait up!

      Within a matter of weeks, Stephen had moved in live with us. The arrival of a new father figure in the house brought with it welcome change.

      For a while mum seemed happier and quickly changed back to her carefree, bubbling, effervescent self. Self-pride returned to her daily appearance and she even began to keep the house tidy again. Her binge drinking stopped, the vulgarity in her tongue disappeared and she started to smile spontaneously without any hidden motive.

      Mum had a lovely smile on those few occasions I saw her happy. Overall, she could look good for her age. She had a shapely body that was well-proportioned, slender legs that men admired and frequently commented on; and when she didn't over-dress or overdo the make-up, she could look stunningly attractive!

      Even brother Peter who’d hated father Mark and had tolerated father Gilbert, quickly came to appreciate the value of father Stephen’s presence in the household. Stephen made mum ‘do’ those things that no other person could make her do, like trying to be a normal mum to her two children and to appreciate what they shared as a family.

      Indeed, mum needed someone like Stephen to pull her out of the cesspool of one-night stands and month-long drinking binges that had become too frequent a pattern of her daily life. Mum needed Stephen; she needed someone like him to make her ‘mum’ again!

      It was therefore with a twin sense of gratitude and hope, both Peter and I learned to call Stephen ‘dad’ as we all grew ever closer as a family unit. Those first two years with Stephen happily transformed our household and family outings were both more frequent and enjoyable.

      Then, what should have been happy news, enriching our rainbow with an additional colour, struck us down like a bolt of thunder from the blue; setting in motion an earthquake to shatter the peace and stability of our family unit.

      Mum fell pregnant, a situation, which she’d neither sought nor wanted, and the rows from the marital bedroom rapidly increased. A few months later when father Stephen was made redundant from his job with the railway, the household debts began to mount and everything started to gradually fall apart once more.

      Mum began to hit the booze again and before long, she’d started looking elsewhere for her male attention and nightly pleasure. The greater the household debt increased, the more she drank and tried to bury her worries. The more often she and Stephen rowed; the more she would make any excuse to get out of the house to have a bit of fun in another place with another man.

      Peter had seen it coming for some time, long before the patience of father Stephen finally snapped. Peter told me not to get too close to ‘dad’ as mum was wanting rid of him.

      I’ve seen it all before, Sis,Peter said one night as he settled me down in bed. Mum has this strange way of deliberately picking fights with people and cutting them off when she wants them out of her life. She did the same to father Gilbert and now its father Stephen’s turn!"

      I hoped beyond hope that Peter had been wrong. I told myself that the storm clouds would pass by if only father Stephen could manage to get another job and start bringing some money back into the house again. The row between them that same night however, dashed any futile hopes I ever held and confirmed Peter’s worst suspicions.

      Earlier that same day, mum got up before father Stephen, me, and Peter had awoken. She never normally rose much before 11am, but on this occasion she left the house while we were all still in bed.

      She had left the house in an angry mood around 8am and wasn’t seen again until early next morning. Both Peter and I were fast asleep when she eventually returned home drunk around 1:30 am, as pissed as a newt.

      Stephen had stayed awake, seemingly determined to have it out with her when she eventually showed up. He had a good idea what she’d been up to during the hours since the pubs had called ‘last orders.’ He strongly suspected she’d been spreading her legs and sharing it about as though she was handing out sherbet to school kids. No sooner had she entered her bedroom, the fireworks were ignited. An argument quickly flared up between her and Stephen before exploding into a full-blown battle.

      Keep your sodding hands off me you horny bastard! mum screamed at dad. If you can't put coal in the furnace, then don't expect to poke it! she jibed.

      Father Stephen, who’d never previously displayed any aggression or sign of violence towards mum must have blown his stack. The adjoining wall to our two bedrooms reverberated with the crashing sounds of broken glass and furniture as dad lost his cool and threw her bottles of cheap perfume against it. I don't want the favours of a drunken whore, you bitch! I wouldn't be trapped between your legs again for all the tea in China. You save your precious pussy for those who aren't too bothered where it's been. The smell of infection is far too strong for me to get any closer to you!

      The next morning while mum slept on, father Stephen emerged with a packed suitcase. Kissing me gently on the cheek, he then moved towards Peter with tears in his eyes. He patted Peter on the back, like one soldierly comrade to another and said, I'm sorry it didn't work out kids. Believe me I tried. I did my best to make it work, but whatever I gave her, it was never enough to keep her from straying. Take care now, you two. I hope that life has more to offer you than what you have here. God dammit, you deserve better than this. Take care!

      Then he walked out the door. I instantly broke into tears and sought comfort from my brother, Peter. Peter just held me close and tight as he attempted to muffle into silence his own tears, which the irregular movement of his chest couldn't disguise.

      Although father Stephen wasn't my real dad, he was the only father I had ever really known and had felt able to get close to. First my real dad, next father Stephen and now Peter; each had chosen to leave mum in their turn. Where would it all end? I didn't want to stay with her one second longer. My instincts were to run, but where to? I had nowhere to run; nobody to run to and yet, no one who cared enough to make me want to stay!

      I tried to make myself hate my mother in order to rationalise the immense feelings of hostility and destruction I felt towards her, but I couldn't. I didn't know her well enough to hate her bad enough yet and I didn’t hate her enough to kill any fragment of love which remained. I still loved mum because she was my mum, but nothing about her would ever induce me to like her!

      Besides, I didn’t want to stay with her in this tortuous warren she’d dug out for us both. The urge to bolt for freedom was daily shaping itself inside my mind, but I was still a young girl and had nowhere to run. I was still too frightened of the big, bad world beyond Tanner’s Yard,

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