writing to entertain

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Kerry: Too Much Too Young THE NIGHT HAD BEGUN quite normally for us: in a pub. I'd just turned thirteen and had been living with Mum and her boyfriend Dave Wheat in London's East End for a couple of months. She'd been out all day 'kiting'. She'd taken orders from friends and neighbours, then gone to different shops using stolen credit cards to buy £50 to £100 worth of stuff in each one. Afterwards she'd sell everything on at half the price. While she 'worked', Dave would wait for her with a drink in a pub nearby. They'd had a good day and we'd gone to the Three Rabbits to round it off with their friend Barbara, who was a heroin addict at the time, her redhead husband Micky and their eight-year-old daughter Sharon.


There was the midget; the one who kept passing out; the one who was a bit of a lunatic; the funny one; the psycho - all of them dangerous to know. After a couple of hours' drinking, a fight kicked off between Barbara and Micky. Being close to a fight was like a drug to Dave when he was pissed. He drank every day, and would be fine for days on end until suddenly, for no obvious reason, he'd snap and want to start in on one himself. Dave had always scared me. All he needed to do was give me one of his looks and it would stop me dead whatever I was doing.


Underneath it he was a tall good-looking bloke in a black leather jacket; he was slim with a black Mexican moustache, long black hair and a lazy right eye. When we left the pub, we climbed into his red Cortina to go home. I shrunk down in the back seat listening as Mum and Dave started shouting at each other. As he drove off in the dark, Dave started punching Mum in the face with his fist - I could see she was bruised and bleeding in the orange light of the street lamps as we passed beneath them. I screamed at him to stop, but I knew he'd hurt me if I tried to get between them. Suddenly she yelled at me to get out of the car, so as he slowed down at some traffic lights I opened the door and got ready to jump.

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