Charlie had always wondered what his father saw in this woman, but saying that most of his fathers actions made Charlie wonder.
Charlie edged down the stairs, like a cheetah preparing to pounce on its prey, and into the vast living room, which was a jungle of boxes in various shapes and sizes.
Charlie glanced around to find an escape route, in the expectation of going out without his father realising.
The door was ajar from when his mother had collected the milk a mere ten minutes ago. This was his chance; he darted to the door swiftly but quietly, like swallow entering a nosedive.
He fumbled with the door as he backed out of the entrance and sighed with relief.
The sigh was hastily followed by a smash as he stepped out onto the empty milk bottles.
‘CHARLIE!!!’ roared his father from the kitchen.
This was Charlie’s cue to run for it, so he pelted it towards the road like a vulture to a fleshy carcass, despite the fact his father could run one hundred metres in eleven seconds.
Charlie heard the slam of the closing door and the crunch of the glass as his father left the house and began to chase him.
Charlie ran frantically, desperately through the extensive forest along a serpentine path. The quaint Victorian cottage he had got off to a bad start in was now a blur in the distance, as gasping, exhausted he heard his fathers footsteps getting louder and louder as he gained on him.
Charlie scrambled through the brambles and other assorted plants growing on the forest floor, but he was oblivious to the pain of the stings and scratches as he progressed through he woodland.
Charlie’s head was throbbing as he slowed realising the other’s footsteps had faded. Pausing momentarily, Charlie crouched behind a lush green copse, desperately trying to stem his gasps for air, lest his father hear them.
This brought back the memories of his father before they had moved, the beating and shouting, of how volatile his father really was, the alcohol, the bottles, the beating of his mother, the abominable, awful list of pain dragged on, but no more, not again.
He charged carelessly on through the forest to be sure he was far from his father.
Charlie knew what he wanted to do; he didn’t want to go home…. EVER. He had never been so sure of a decision in his entire life
Charlie woke to the song of birds in the trees, with dew in his greasy hair and on his face.
He panicked, ‘ Where am I?’ he thought, then the memories of the day before came flooding back, the running, the scratches which now stung as the muddy water seeped into his cracked, dry skin.
Charlie delved into his pockets where he found his brown wallet wet with mud, a few perished rubber bands and a set of bike lock keys. He chucked the now useless keys and the rubber bands in to the river at his feet.
The river was sparkling blue and Charlie could see marred reflections of clouds as the stream flowed on down to its destiny, the sea.
Charlie checked his wallet; he had a shiny new library card, which was stolen from his father, and his most prized possession, his bank card, the one his mother had hidden form his father for so many years and which was now finally in his control and to spend as he liked. Charlie didn’t know how much he had in his account but he was going to get the money, however much it was and he was going to go to London.
What he was going to do when he got there, he didn’t know, but he would have to find a secret place, that secret place would be his grandmother’s house. Her name was Maude and she was the mother of Charlie’s mother. She was kind and friendly and knew what Charlie’s father was really like. Maude was about seventy at the time and to be honest she didn’t look too bad for her age. She had lost her husband more than twenty years ago, so she was a very independent. Maude always wore the same perfume, day in, and day out. The reason for this obsession was that it had been the first present she got from Arthur, Charlie’s grandfather, after she married him in 1954 on a lovely November morning, the floor had a coating of ice white snow and the sun shone on the couple as they paraded out of the church with the bells ringing at the middle of yet another glorious day.
Charlie knew where the station was from his position as they his mother and himself had used it just the other day when they moved into the neighbourhood.
When Charlie arrived at the train station, he was faced with the task of finding a cash machine in the hustle and bustle of a busy Monday morning. The situation was not helped by the fact that he was only four foot eleven inches, as he could not see over anyone to find the signs which may have given him some clue in which direction to go.
Charlie wandered around for about a quarter of an hour and asked several people if they knew where the cash machines were, but they all sent him in different directions. After another five minutes he stumbled across this sixteen-year-old girl who knew where the machines were.
Charlie withdrew all of his money, which came to a grand total of two hundred pounds.
Surely this was enough money to get to London, as it was only a matter of fifty miles.
Charlie paced it over to the run down ticket booth in the north corner of the station. He was next in line and had his hand hovering over his pocket, whilst contemplating whether he should leave his mother with his evil father. He walked up to the lady at the booth who asked, ‘Can I help you love?’…