Read Amelia's Story (Box Set the Complete Series Books 1 & 2) Online
Authors: D. G. Torrens
Amelia's Story (Box Set the Complete Series Books 1 & 2) (17 page)
It was Friday night and I knew Torwen would be back home by 10:30 p.m. I decided to wait for her and do the only decent thing I could think of, for her sake, and that was tell her the truth. She deserved so much better than him; she was so classy and gracious, a true lady. How she ended up married to this overweight pot-bellied pervert I had no idea.
I waited and waited for what seemed like hours for Torwen to return. Earlier I had heard Jason slamming the back door and driving off in his old BMW. Eventually I heard Torwen coming in through the front door; I took a deep breath and walked down the stairs with all my belongings in my bag ready to leave once and for all. Torwen just stared at me. “Amelia, where are you going?” Torwen asked.
I asked her to sit down, and began to tell her everything. She never said a word the whole time I was speaking, tears were running down her face as they were mine. I thought she was about to give me a big hug and tell me everything was going to be alright but I was very wrong, nothing could have prepared me for her reaction, not in a million years.
Torwen flew off her chair and slapped me so hard across the face, and then she just carried on hitting me. When she stopped she looked at me very calm and called me a whore. She told me I was a liar, that Jason is not like that, and that Jason would never assault anybody. I was made to feel dirty. Like I was at fault, she reminded me of everything that she had done for me, giving me a home, welcoming me into the family like one of their own. How could I spout such ugly lies? She shouted at me over and over again.
I was in total shock. I just wanted to die right there right then, I could hardly breathe properly for crying so hysterically. I told her I was packed and ready to leave. I made my way towards the back door and Jason walked in, I could tell by the look on his face that he knew I had told his wife what he had done to me. He looked towards Torwen and she asked him right there and then was it true what Amelia claims you did to her. He looked at me, his face bright red through anger. He consoled his wife with just the right words telling her he would never do such a thing and that he had no idea what she was talking about. Torwen shouted at me to get out of her house, she never wanted to see me ever again. As I was walking down the path she just kept shouting, “Liar, liar, liar.” I could not bear the thought that Torwen did not believe me. This hurt me so much, but there was nothing I could say to make her believe me.
I had a few hundred pounds in my pocket, a sports bag which housed everything I owned, and nowhere to go. I had just one thought in my head - your destiny is in your own hands now, Amelia. Do you go home to mother for a while or find a hostel temporarily? Both options did not appeal to me in the slightest.
I knew there was only one place I wanted to be right now and that was the old ruin. I started on the two mile walk to Jake and Amelia’s special place. I knew I would be safe there; I quite liked the thought of sleeping under the stars in my secret garden. I would anticipate my next move going forward the following morning. For the first time, my destiny truly was in my own hands.
Amelia's Destiny (Book Two)
Finding my way
by
D.G. Torrens
Table of Contents
The old ruin was just how I remembered it, still very much a ruin, standing tall in all its majestic glory! Untouched by human hands. The beautiful orchard remained as effervescent as always, with its sumptuous fruit trees overflowing with a plethora of pears, apples, and damsons! I woke up very early with the feel of the warm sun on my face like a gentle comforting hand; I stretched my arms and walked over to the aged-stone birdbath, still half-full of water from the recent late summer rain. I splashed some water over my face before walking over to the apple trees, which were already bearing fruit; I plucked an apple from a low hanging branch and took a big bite.
I sat down against the sundial while I gathered my thoughts for a moment. I had made my decision, the only one I felt I could make. I would gather my things and walk the three miles to my mother’s home. This was not a decision I made at all lightly. I just knew the only other option left to me was to book into one of those awful hostels. However, by going to my mother’s, at least I was now too big for her to lock into a room. I was hoping against all hopes that maybe she was sorry, and that she would open the door with her arms outstretched. I needed somewhere to live and I had nowhere to go and not enough money to support the amount of rent required of me. I just hoped that she would at least afford me a bed for a short while so I could gather enough money from my day job to move on and rent my first home. After all, that was the least she could do, surely.
A part of me needed my mother to be sorry. I wanted to hear those words so much; I was just 17-years-old, all alone in the world, and without guidance. I wanted a parent. My feelings were very mixed up and confused where my mother was concerned. I hated her for what she had put me through; however, she was still my mother, and I needed at least to try and forgive her. Maybe, just maybe, time had changed her, and she would be very sorry. Well, there was only one way to find out.
I set out on my walk; it was such a beautiful morning. The birds were singing and the sun was shining; the sky was bluer than I had ever seen it. I was feeling very nervous and wondered several times on my walk to mother’s house what on earth I was thinking of. I tried to push all negative thoughts to the back of my mind. As I came closer to the estate where my mother was now living
, all of a sudden I felt quite sick. All at once, flashes of my childhood came streaming back. I stopped for a break and sat down on a bench near a park. I watched the early morning joggers fly past, breathing heavily, and the dog owners walking their beloved pooches. I took a deep breath and stood up. There was a saying, “Just put one foot in front of the other.” So that’s what I did, until I reached my mother’s house.
I turned the corner and I could see my mother’s new house. Well, it was new to me as I had never lived here. I stood at the end of the driveway; I looked up at the tall red bricked house. This was definitely a better house than the ones I remembered. This one was quite new, built within recent years, I thought. For some reason I was having trouble moving my feet forward! I stood there just staring for what seemed like an age. Then I took a deep breath and walked up the drive
way. I knocked on the door with my heart in my hands. It seemed like a lifetime before anyone came to the door. My mother stood there in shock at my unannounced appearance at her front door. She looked so tiny – fragile almost. I know I had grown, but I did not think I had grown
that
much. My mother, looking tiny, stood there in a pair of shorts and a top; she was about 5ft tall, if that. I was towering over her at 5ft, 5 inches.
I thought to myself, can this really be the woman I was so terrified of as a child? The small woman that stood before me was my childhood nightmare, my torturer, the person who had caused me so much pain and heartach
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my mother. I wondered for a moment what on earth was I doing there. There had to be a better option. But I knew there was no other place left for me to go. She gave me a surprise smile and opened the door wider to let me in.
I sat down in the large kitch
en silently for a while. I looked around the very dated fittings. The first thought that ran through my mind was that she had carried on with her life very well without her children. The garden was well tended; it seemed to me that she had not been affected at all. She asked me what had happened at the Norwegians’ home, and so I told her what had happened to me.
My mother’s only response was, “Did you encourage him to do what he did Amelia?” I could not believe what I was hearing.
I replied, “Of course I didn’t, why would I?”
She looked me up and down as if I was dirty or tainted in some way.
I looked down towards the floor and then I asked her if I could stay for a while, and she reluctantly agreed. Once again, within two minutes of being in her company, my mother had the ability to make me feel as if I was nothing, after years of not seeing me.
The fact that she agreed to let me stay at all was a huge surprise to me, as I truly thought she would turn me away. But she didn’t. A long list of rules was put before me that I had to agree to if I wanted to stay. I had to pay my mother £25 a week out of my £55 a week wage; I also had to ask permission to use the telephone as it wa
s locked at all times, and I had to pay for my call usage. This was the ’80s, and portable phones for ordinary households were only just coming into the shops. The phone was a big green one with a large round dial on the front, and it had a little stainless steel lock on it. I glanced at the lock and shuddered. I had to do my own washing and ironing, which was nothing new to me as I had been doing this since I was 13-years-old, and would not have it any other way. I was not allowed to use the toothpaste or toiletries in the bathroom. These were my mother’s things, and I had to buy my own. Again, I was used to buying all my own toiletries. Since I was 13 I had been using my pocket money from Bryn Tyn to buy my own toiletries. I was not looking for financial handouts; I just needed a roof and a bed temporarily until I could find my way again.
I was also asked to pay some money towards the electricity. As the list grew, I knew I would have hardly any money left over to save for my future. However, if I did not agree to her demands, I would be out on my ear and heading straight to the hostel. I didn’t know which was worse.
Mother never mentioned my time in care, or why we were sent there. These were subjects she refused to talk about. If those times were mentioned this was on her say so only; and then it was rather incredible what she had concocted and made herself believe over the years. As far as my mother was concerned, nothing was her fault; she had never done anything to harm her children, and she had only ever done right by them. She went on to say how the Social Services were in the wrong, that they had lied about everything, and that everything that happened was all down to some conspiracy against her.
Of course, I knew otherwise. How could I ever forget? I was the eldest of all my siblings. I would never forget my horrendous childhood, not ever. It seemed to me that mother was in denial and trying to convince me that she was a wronged woman, misunderstood by the powers that be. The thing was that she had actually
convinced herself of this ludicrous story. It was right there and then that I realised my mother was truly mentally ill; everything just seemed to fall into place. I did not argue with her; I did not agree or disagree with her, as I knew all too well that the woman I knew as a child was still alive and kicking in the same woman sitting before me.
I tried to raise the subject of my father and my grandparents, but I was met by a brick wall. A raging woman stood before me, shouting, screaming and treating me as if I had committed a heinous crime. Her reactions to my enquiries were those of a crazy woman. I knew I would never get any information out of my mother about my father and his side of the family. Well, at least not the information I wante
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that was becoming very clear.
Through her screams she shouted, “Your father was evil. He tried to kill you when you were two
-years-old, Amelia. He held your head under the water while he was bathing you. He hated both you and Jake. You were both a nuisance to him, an anchor in his life, and he never wanted you. His mother was a nasty woman; in fact, his whole family was evil.”
For whatever reason I was beginning to
realise that my mother was hell bent on making sure I never found my father or his family. She would not part with their last known address, or my grandparents’ first names, knowing this would make it almost impossible for me to locate them, especially as there was no internet then. You could not just log on to a computer and type a name into Google search. There was no Google, no internet, and no email. Computers were only just replacing word processors and electric typewriters in the work place. If you wanted to find anyone, your only hope was to search the Yellow Pages, or if you could afford to, hire a private detective. There were one or two organisations that could possibly help; however, they required a lot more information than I had to give. So I put that wish aside for the time being.
My bedroom was on the top floor of this three-storey house. I walked to the top with my hold-all thrown over my shoulders, staring in complete disbelief as I passed each bedroom. Each door was fitted with one of those large industrial bolts, just like they always had been in our previous houses, just as I remembered as a child. It made no sense though.
Why?
After all, there was only mother and Harry, her fourth husband, 16 years her senior. Jake had been home only a few months. When I was a child, nothing my mother ever did made sense, and I was finding out that nothing she had done since made any sense either. I was a young adult now, and just as confused by my mother as I had always been. The sad thing was I really wanted her to love me, to look me in the eyes sincerely and say sorry, offer me an explanation. Anything to cushion the emptiness I was feeling.
I instinctively knew I had made a bad decision. I reminded myself that my destiny was in my own hands now, and that each step forward was of my making. I had to think that way; I had to keep reminding myself of that daily. I did not want to lose sight of my dreams, or I just might lose my own mind.
There was absolutely no need whatsoever for those bolts to be on the bedroom doors. They were even on the kitchen and living room doors too. Mother had also convinced herself that I was too young to remember most of the things that had happened, and that a child’s memory can be distorted. I had no interest in what she had to say, or what she believe
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I knew the truth, I knew where I had spent the last God knows how many years, being moved from one awful establishment to the next. I remembered all too well the nightmares I had because of being locked in complete darkness in my bedroom as a child by my mother. I also knew she could not face the truth of what she had done. Maybe deep down she did feel ashamed.
I had no interest in rubbing her nose in the awful past that was my reality. I just wanted to make my immediate d
ream possible: owning my own home. This was at the top of my “To do” list, along with travelling the whole width and breadth of our great country. When you have been pretty much locked away all your life in one form or another, you crave freedom. I had never traveled outside of the large grey walls within which I lived. In fact, the only real travelling I had ever done was when I ran away from the children’s homes. I had no idea what my country looked like, but I was going to find out.
I decided I needed to find a new job, one that would involve travel of some sort. I would get
the Shropshire Star newspaper and start looking straight away. I knew I would not last long at mother’s house. The way she looked me up and down told me that. I also knew that to move forward with my life in the way I had always dreamed of, meant moving as far away from Shropshire and my controlling mother as possible, and as soon as possible.
I don’t know why, but I felt sorry for my mother. I hated her; I loved her; I needed her to love me back, because she was my mother. Every once in a while I could see something in her eyes, a sadness, something that told me that somewhere deep inside of her there was a real human being, with feelings and compassion. But I also knew that I would have to dig very deep to find that person. Sometimes I would catch her looking at me in a strange way, a way that was painful to her. But it was a fleeting moment, soon replaced by the mother I had always known. It had saddened me so much, as a young teenager. There were so many things I could not understand, things I needed to understand. I wanted and needed guidance, but there was non
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it was a hard fact, as I felt so alone and scared in this vast, busy world.
My road ahead suddenly seemed daunting. My dreams seemed further away than ever. At times I wondered if I would ever complete my journey. Would I ever come face to face with my
true destiny? Why was I here at all?
It seemed to me at times as if I was a test subject for God, “Let’s see what happens if I put this obstacle in Amelia’s path. Let’s see how much pain Amelia can withstand. And let’s see how much it would take to break a human spirit.”
That is how I truly felt for the longest time. Because it seemed that no matter what I did, I would find the toughest obstacles in my way doing their upmost from preventing me from moving forward.