Little Tim, Big Tim by Tim Roy

father comes home,’ she threatens.
    She looks me in the eye for our usual reaction. There is none. No fear. I have no knowledge of what the statement ‘ wait ’til you father comes home’ means.
    I don’t even know who our father is. Knowledge, yes, that he is evil and sadistic and the rest of us have been in a living hell with him, but no true understanding of the repercussions of Mum’s threat.
    I assume that what our Mum can’t achieve, the Old Man will finish. If that threat means I am going to be punished, it won’t be happening this time.
    I leave Mum standing in the kitchen, furious that I have won the battle. Repeatedly chanting the word ‘ no ’ over and over, I move to the backyard to echo my new understanding that ‘no’ finally means ‘no’.
    The Old Man comes home and I sit on my bed in readiness for Mum’s threat to be carried out. But it isn’t me at the end of his wrath—it’s Mum. They are arguing into the wee hours of the morning. I curl up on my mattress, still in my clothes, and fall asleep.
    The Old Man starts working nights and sleeping through the day. Apprehension is building inside me due to this pattern of behaviour. I sense, but have no memory of the different situations that can arise to create different forms of stress and discomfort. That night I find out. Our Mum approaches me and asks me to sleep in her bed tonight. I query the directive.
    ‘Aren’t I too big to be sleeping with you? ’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ is her short reply.
    ‘None of the boys at school sleep with their Mum.’
    ‘You’re not like the boys at school, you’re special.’
    Alarm bells go off inside my head. ‘She said special, don’t let her manipulate you,’ is the clear warning from inside. I am fourteen, and that should be enough for the fact that I have outgrown Mum’s additional affection.
    ‘No, No, No. I’m too old to sleep with you,’ I take control.
    Mum’s face displays devastation. She tries to shame me into retracting my firm refusal. Her ploys don’t work and I feel another energy join me. It’s Shane and he appreciates that I am controlling Mum’s attempt at shaming us.
    ‘Who’s been there for you and loved you all your life? ’ is one of the comments Mum tries out.
    ‘Who brought you into this world and nurtured you and nursed you when you have been sick?’
    Another ploy.
    ‘Where would you be if it wasn’t for me? ’
    A common tactic.
    None of them work. After each attempt to present an argument, we answer with one word: ‘No!’ She gives up and leaves me in my room.
    About thirty minutes pass and I’m trying to understand how to do this schoolwork, having no school background or learning experience. Shane helps me because he says that it’s extremely important to know the work. No time to be idle; times tables first, writing and spelling next. It’s hard work just learning, but harder still to accept that I am learning stuff that a five-year-old can master.
    Mum returns to our bedroom and, in a very arrogant fashion, she announces,
    ‘I don’t need you for cuddles, James will cuddle me anytime I like . ’
    She slams my bedroom door and another energy joins Shane and I. Shane explains that it’s Gary the guilt holder. The guilt is that James is suffering what we refuse to endure. Could we have stopped his suffering, maybe? This is the only way Mum can show love, as so called ‘cuddles’.
    At this point, my understanding of love can only be explained as abuse. So the more abuse, the more misconception we form as to what love feels like. Jealousy moves through our energies. I’m jealous that Mum chooses to love James more than me.
    The last fragment of a bond with James is cut. She manipulates the situation to turn us against each other. One blessing does come out of it; when I said ‘no’ to Mum about being belted, she stopped belting James too. However, her assaults on my younger sister become more ferocious and severe.
    The Army Cadet Camp is on