‘Thought you said he didn’t bash her up, that’s what you said the other day, that’s what you said; cos I heard you say it’.
‘I don’t know what you're talking about. I have told you before, my old man does not bash up my mum, and that’s final’.
‘Please yourself, but I know he does, and that’s final, too, so there’.
Don’t know what’s going on in my head, don’t know what the thoughts are, everything is all mixed up, nothing is clear. Sometimes at night I see strange colours, all sort of moving around, and funny noises in my head too, real funny noises. And all mixed up with the noises on the other side of the wall. The thumping sound, the noises, the yelling, my mother calling out real loud, her crying, and me wondering what the hell is going on all the time. And then I heard my mother call out.
‘Touch any of my girls and you will feel the knife, touch any of them but once, just once, and I will knife you’.
‘Would you, you bitch’ I heard my father say.
‘Yes I would, and that is all there is to it.’
‘Pommy bitch, moaning bloody Pom, that’s all you’re good for, moaning, moaning all the time'.
‘Just touch my girls, that’s all you have to do, just once’.
‘You would not be game to knife me; you’re just a Pom, a weak Pom’.
Then I heard a thump, a muffled scream and a cry out, and my mother telling him to stop. Then, during the night, another scream and cry out, and a sort of gurgling sound. I always liked the way mum set the breakfast table. Cups and saucers, plates for the toast, a bread board, and a large and very sharp knife for the bread. I came to the kitchen and sat in my chair. The bread knife was not on the table.
