Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(9)

I was four when I first saw her out cold from heroin. I’d come home from nursery with my father and saw her lying on the living room floor. I thought she was dead, and my scream was so piercing I can still hear it ringing in my ears. My dad wasn’t fast enough to hold me back as I ran to her and jumped onto her lap, calling, “Mummy, wake up. Please wake up.” My dad couldn’t take her to the hospital in fear of someone taking me off him, so he waited for her to come around from what I called her “heroin sleep.”

After two hours of pacing the living room floor and biting off my fingernails, she rose.

“Ow. My f*cking head,” she slurred. I swung around to face her, only to see her stumbling into the living room, knocking her thigh on the arm of the sofa as she passed it.

“You’re disgusting, do you know that? I thought you were clean, Mum.”

Her eyes tried hard to focus on mine, her black pupils small and withdrawn. “Don’t look at me like that, Evey. You shouldn’t even f*cking be here.”

And there it was. My mother’s way of blaming me so she could shift her fault.

“Why can’t you just kick your habit and stay clean for your family?”

She swiped her arm in the air, dismissing the question. “Because I don’t give a f*ck for no family.”

That was the last straw, I couldn’t stay calm. “Because you’re a selfish bitch, Mum. You don’t give a f*ck for nobody!”

My mother’s temper flared. She launched herself at me, latching her fingers through my hair like claws and pulling my head to the ground. I wanted to fight back every time she hit me, past or present. She’d slap me, punch and kick, but despite all the abuse she gave me, I still respected her as my mother, and to the very last inch of my bones I couldn’t comprehend why. All I could ever do was try to barricade myself and fend her off.

“Mum, get off,” I screamed, trying to detangle her fingers from my hair, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. I knew all about my mother’s temper because I had the same one. When our temper got the better of us, we blacked out. Nothing or no one being able to stop us when we got like it.

Finally gaining some balance, I pulled my hands away from my head and pushed myself away from her, but she continued to come at me, catching me in the face with a slap, her dirty, long nails cutting into my cheekbone.

“Lizzy!” My dad ran into the living room out of nowhere, dropped his shopping bags, and restrained my mother.

“Get her out of ‘ere, Frank,” my mother screamed hysterically. My dad was torn; he always was between his wife and daughter. But it was lost hope that he would ever choose me. He never did.

“Evey, I’m sorry, kid.”

“I’m going,” I told them both, heaving the words out of my chest. “I must be insane to have come back to this shithole.”

I ran to my bedroom, yanked on flat shoes, and hurried outside. I pulled my coat around my body and made my way through the estate, which never seemed so eerie. It was cold and dark and my destination was unknown. I thought I’d just carry on walking until my life got better. But then I’d be walking forever.

It always hurt when my mother attacked me. Always left a dull ache somewhere in my heart. A mother should never attack her daughter, but growing up, my beatings were so frequent that they became a routine of everyday life. Most of the time I would shut off. I’d try and sing a song in my head or tell myself my mother’s blows, punches, and kicks wouldn’t last all night. That if she’d hurry up and get it over with, I could carry on with what I was doing in the first place. Sometimes she’d just hit me for being in her presence or if she was bored. Almost every time I would tell her I was sorry, thinking I deserved those beatings because I’d done something wrong.

As I got near the exit gates, I heard someone walking behind me. I felt like I’d been watched and followed for a few weeks, but I’d put it down to paranoia. Even so, my feet began to pick up pace. I turned quickly to see if someone was actually following me and saw a face that haunted my dreams and scarred my life. A face I thought I’d never see again.


“Shit,” I gasped, pushing my feet to action.

“Come ‘ere,” he roared, racing after me. The follower caught up to me, grabbed at my arm fiercely, and spun me around. His deep East London accent sent chills down my spine. “Bet you didn’t think you would be seeing me again, did ya?”

“Gabe?” Relief spiked through my chest. It was still a face I’d never wanted to see again, but he wasn’t who I first thought he was. Gabe wasn’t near enough as bad as his uncle.

He dragged me back into the estate by my arm, pulling me against my will. I yanked it from his grip, trying to break free, but he latched on to my wrist, not letting me from his sight.

“They let you out? They must be f*cking crazy,” I spat, trying to fight him off.

He grinned sardonically. “Yeah, I’m outta the slammer you put me in. Did ya think I was gonna let you get away with that? Na. You’re a fool, Evey.” He loosened his grip, giving me rein to pull myself free.

“I didn’t rat you out, Gabe, and you know it.”

He sucked his teeth, a gesture of disrespect. I should have been scared senseless. Gabe was the nephew of a notorious gang leader here in London and was extremely dangerous. He probably had a knife or a gun inside his jacket, but my attitude would not let me bow down to him.