Sunday Sufferance

So during my first bedsit years I was asked over on a Sunday for a roast dinner. It was so they could say they had a least seen me and so knew I was still alive or had only been dead by a week at the most ! No mobile phones back then. She also got to fill me in on how things were for her and give me a sweeping appraisal to see if I was wearing something new, looking well groomed with my face made up, though it never seemed to cheer her if I was. I was also asked to pay for and bring the joint of meat with me as they had squandered all the money Mother had inherited so far, and Fathers redundancy payout too, on endless Bingo trips and were now rather short as my Mother used to phrase it. Father now struggled to find and keep work as he was older and puffing and blowing from a lifetime of heavy smoking and what he did earn was less than he was used to. So they graciously provided the veg and I was encouraged to fork out for a nice big joint of meat out of my wage which also had to cover my rent, electric, bus-fare to work, food, clothes, the cost of laundry and anything else I needed.

I also did a few chores when I was over their house while the meat was roasting and as a treat I was allowed to have a bath while I was there, so I didn`t have to have one in that place as my Mother called it. The place where I had tried to make myself a little home because apparently I made hers unhappy, save for Sundays when I arrived with a food parcel. I`m sure I could of bought tinned food to last me several days with the money I spent on the meat, meat which they easily managed to get another meal or two out of for themselves. I should of said no, I should of stayed in my bedsit and relaxed all day after a hectic Saturday on my feet at work in a busy shop. But such was their control over me I seemed to have little independent thinking and though deep down I knew they were taking advantage I also knew they were pretty much all I had in the way of family that I ever saw, other than my dearly loved though aged Nan, and to be completely alone at 18 years of age and always one payslip away from being homeless is a scary situation, I simply did not have the courage to cut all ties. Late afternoon, when she was settling down for her nap in front of the fire, my Father was allowed to drive me into town. Only into town. "You won`t be too long will ya Geoff" Mother would bark, which was code for `don`t drive her all the way home, just to town, she can get the bus from there`.

After all the cost of their petrol must be considered and the risk of me actually spending some time with my Father which was as carefully rationed and controlled by my Mother as always. Oddly enough I was picked up by him in the morning as they wanted the meat asap to get it in the oven, me getting home though was not as important and waiting in the dark, lonely town centre wasn`t considered a problem...after all..."it was er who wanted to leave eh Geoff ?" In the summer it wasn`t so bad waiting for the bus if it was pleasantly warm even if they only ran once an hour but the dark cold winter evenings were another matter.

 Bus drivers varied a lot. Some pulled straight up to the stop and allowed you on to sit in the warm with the engine running and the heaters blowing, even if they were not leaving for 30 or 40 minutes. But some would park up away from the stop and no matter how early they were they would not pull up and allow you on until just before they were due to depart. I remember being dropped off by my Father one bitterly cold evening. As he pulled away in his warm car it began to rain. The bus was there but not up to the stop and the driver sat in his cab reading his newspaper and drinking tea from a flask, I could see him clearly as he could me.

The rain turned to sleet and the wind was icy cold. There was no shelter and my umbrella didn`t do much with the wind blowing this way and that. My feet were like ice and ached painfully from standing still. I was there for 45 mins and my fingers were nearly blue as I had forgotten my gloves. I have just searched the journey from the town centre to my bedsit on google maps, it takes 8 mins by car. 8 mins extra my Father was unable to spare me to drop my outside my door. When I got back to my room it too was bitterly cold from having no heat all day and my breath streamed out in the air. I eyed the electric meter and then my handful of change to gauge how long I could have one bar of the fire on. I feel so frustrated with the girl I was then, especially as a Mom myself now and being able to recognise how little they offered me and how very much they took in return. I really should of refused their calculated invitation and spent my money on crusty bread and soup, hot chocolate and biscuits and spent Sunday cuddled up with hot water bottles, reading and watching TV with my fur coat around my shoulders for good measure ! But I was always driven to do what was expected of me, ever in search of being needed and a place to belong, however fleeting.