25th November 2006 - Who's the Daddy?

It was Saturday today so I could leave Ellie and Mark with Sean and go in on my own. I found Dad in a chair - I heard him coughing long before I saw him if his chest is clear then I'm Ruud van Nistelroy. He woke when I touched his knee and said that I made 4, all 4 had been to see him today. I asked who else had been in and he said Colin and Alistair had been in. No idea who Alistair might be, but I was 99.9% sure my brother hadn't been in to visit so I was pretty convinced he had had a hallucination and, as I settle him at a table for tea and cake, I tell him that it's just me visiting, no-one else. He's annoyed at this and says that all it needs is for Jeanette ( me ) to come in and he'd have seen all his children in the one day. I realise he thinks I'm my sister Moira but don't correct him. Then he said "Of course Jeanette's not mine, not really. Her father was your grandfather, you never knew that did you?" He laughs and says "It's not as bad as it sounds, he wasn't your Mum's real Dad, and it was a one time thing".

I know he talks bollocks a lot of the time - I need to keep calm. But I can't, I really can't.

And it is as bad as it sounds, Dad, it is as bad as it sounds. Granda molested me from the age of 6 'til 12 and a half. It was awful when he was my Granda, but if he was my Dad, then that's hideous, it's beyond comprehension. No wonder she didn't believe me. No wonder I was told not to tell tales or the family would be split up - "Did you want Colin and Moira to end up in care, because that's what'll happen if you run making up stories, telling tales". Keep it in the family, don't talk about these things outside the family. 'Family' my fucking God.

I can't believe it. It can't be true.

My head is bursting. My head must be about to burst. I look around, see Bertha screaming for her Mammy, see Bill having thick creamy yoghurt scrapped off his chin and thrust back into his gagging mouth, see Cecily rumaging through her collection of soiled loo roll, see them all, hear the music, smell the air freshener and shit and piss.

I had to get out, quickly, running away, "I'll see you tomorrow Dad" and I'm off. "Oh well, I suppose you've stayed as long as you want" he throws at my back as I go but I don't care.

I sit in the car for ages. Is that why she wouldn't take me to a GP when I was bleeding - some charlatan homeopathic surgeon who couldn't tell the difference bewteen a buggered 9 year old and constipation.

Is that what he meant by "Don't tell your Mum. She'll not like it. She used to be my little girl but your my little girl now". Remembering the words I remember his bedroom, thick with smoke, nicotine, swarvega smells. I open the car door and through up.