Lucy’s Tale Part 1

Another Day of education.

Another Day of tears in the bathrooms.

Another slammed bedroom door when I get home because my mother doesn’t care.

Welcome to my world!

My name is Lucy Lattimer, I’m 16 and I live in Surrey. The living in Surrey as what has become the problem! We used to live in a tiny village that nobody has heard of in Yorkshire, but Mum decided to both remarry and relocate, and guess who didn’t get a say in the matter?

I was so happy for her when she started dating John and to be honest, I was only 13 at the time and I had a bit of a crush on him myself but that waned over the next few years. He commuted up to see us every weekend but as things got more serious, the talk of moving down South came up more and more. I hated the idea and at every opportunity, I let mum know this!

The wedding happened in the spring (naturally)that I was 15 and I stayed with my aunt while Mum and John went on honeymoon. My aunt asked me the question which nobody had even thought to ask me at this point which was whether I was going to take John’s name. At that moment, I felt a little alienated and left out of things and even though my own father was a useless, alcoholic waste of breath, I decided then that Lattimer would stay.

During the last few days that my Mum was away, I actually scored my first boyfriend. He asked me to go to the pictures with him and as I got dressed up for the date, I suddenly felt like a real woman. I guess I was one of the last in my school to be asked out because I was also one of the last to stop looking like Olive Oyl! I reached 5ft 1 when I was 11 and stopped dead. Puberty hit me very late and the previous year was the first that saw any form of shape hit my body. It hadn’t hit me too hard and I barely filled an A cup bra, but it didn’t matter, I was going out on a date!

The date went really well and as we parted at the end of the street he kissed me quickly but gently on the lips. I smiled as he pulled away and thanked him for a lovely evening. He asked if we could do it again and with the excitement of the kiss, I thought he meant another one, so I leant in and our lips met again. We were both obviously nervous and he giggled as I broke from a slightly longer peck.

‘I meant can we date again?’ he said and obviously trying not to embarrass me, he added, ‘But thank you for the other kiss!’

We both laughed at our nerves and I agreed to meeting again. With a third peck, we separated and I practically skipped back to my aunt’s house.

Now, it is odd in a story to not mention someone’s name and a first romantic kiss should be something special. The kiss WAS special but all the tingles, the warmth and the joy was blown away the very next morning as my Mum and her new husband returned.

I had barely asked them how their honeymoon had been when the bombshell was dropped. We were moving in with John. No discussion, no compromise and no questions. I tried immediately to protest, to rationalise using the argument of school, friends and family but all were quashed before I even drew breath. It was a short but heated debate and I knew I was beaten. I had less than a week before my life was ripped out from under me.

The following week was one of very smeared eye make-up. I cried my heart out at school despite friends promising to keep in touch. I cried long into the nights at friends’ houses and my new boyfriend had a second date, but it was spent with a pathetic girl crying on his shoulder. He also swore to keep in touch. He didn’t and I don’t blame him!

None of my protests were heard with any sympathy and I was told with every response that I was being unfair, unreasonable or selfish and that I should look upon this as an exciting opportunity for the future. I disagreed, quite loudly on most occasions and slammed my bedroom door many times. We entered the story at one of those door slams. Tomorrow was moving day.

The truck arrived early to transport all of our worldly possessions to Hell, or Surrey, depending on your viewpoint. I remember wondering how the three fat blokes moving our gear could smell so bad, so early in the morning. I skulked in the only way a moody 15 year old can skulk and made myself scarce. By 2 o’clock, Mum came down to the bottom of the garden and sat on the old bench next to me and put her arm around me. I knew I was beaten, and as she softly spoke to me, I felt the tears welling up again. I could hear the cracks in her voice as she spoke and I suppose that was the point I realised I had been a little hard on her too, but my petulance didn’t let me give that away too much.

‘Lucy, I know this is all a big upheaval baby, but life here has not been good to us as a family and this is a whole new life for us. I know it sucks right now but don’t I deserve some happiness too?’ I remained silent, staring at the floor as I felt the tears begin again. ‘I love you with all my heart Lucy and I love John dearly but he will never come above you in my life. All I am asking is to give this a chance. You are 16 in a few weeks and I respect that you are becoming a woman now, but please just give this a chance, for me, please Lucy!’

I hugged my Mum hard, we were both crying by now and I just said, ‘OK’

We dried our eyes and silently walked to our car. The truck pulled away, my Mum started the engine and I looked up at the only home I had ever known and I whispered my goodbye as we drove away for the final time.

When we arrived at John’s house, I was quite pleasantly surprised at how beautiful it was. A large detached house with a huge garden, surrounded by countryside. Ours had been a nice house but this was pretty gorgeous. Without realising I found myself smiling. John came rushing out and hugged me and said softly in my ear, ‘Welcome to your new home Lucy, please treat it like your own!’ and then kissed my cheek. I still felt bitter but I accepted his offer of the guided tour.

Downstairs there were two living rooms, one much smaller than the other, which John said was a ‘no adult zone’. There was also a big study, a massive kitchen and a beautiful conservatory. Upstairs, John showed me the Master Suite which overlooked parkland. Then we looked into the two guest rooms, then my room. It was twice the size of my old room, had an en-suite bathroom and views over the perfect gardens of the house. I did smile a little and said thank you to my new step-dad and gave him a hug. That certainly eased the tension. I then asked him why there was a second door at the end of the bathroom. He said that the en-suite was also part of Michael’s room and showed me through to the last bedroom in the house.

Michael! I had pretty much forgotten about him. When Mum first met John, he came to our house one time with his obnoxious son Michael. He was 16 at the time, long greasy hair, a bit tubby and rude as hell. My heart sank again when I thought he would be living with us now but John pointed out that Mike had turned himself round a bit, got himself into University and was rarely here so not to worry about it. I put it to the back of my mind and began to unpack some things.

The next few months went past quite uneventfully, I turned 16 and got lots of expensive gifts, started a new school where they all hated me because of my accent, still didn’t grow in height or breast size but somehow I still managed to lose most of my bitterness towards the move. The only bit that was pissing me off was the lack of any male interest.