grasp. Henry-Joe began to cry and mother walked toward the bedroom. I reached out and tried to grab her leg, but couldn’t.
My father pointed towards the bedroom. ‘Frankie, get one of the nappies from the bag.’
Not daring to disobey, she went to Henry-Joe’s baby bag, took out one of his nappies and handed it over.
‘Stand up.’
I couldn’t. My body had started to convulse, I had lost all control of it.
‘Please let him go,’ screamed Frankie.
‘Take his pants off.’
I kicked my legs and shouted and cried. Frankie hesitated, then took hold of my pants and slid them down my legs, as he lifted me onto his knee. I could barely breathe, my throat was so sore from crying. He pulled the nappy up my legs, then, lifting me by my arms, he threw me across the floor.
‘You act like a baby, then I’ll treat you like one. Get to bed. I don’t want to look at your fucking ugly face again.’
Still weeping, I waddled into the bedroom, climbed into bed and covered myself completely with the covers. At least under there I could be alone.
My parents started to argue and Henry-Joe began to cry again.
‘He’s only six years old, Frank, what were you thinking of, making him fight that Donoghue boy?’
‘I was five when I got in the ring. Your son is a fucking embarrassment.’
‘ You’re a fucking embarrassment,’ she screamed.
There was a loud thud and she fell to the floor. Frankie came in and shut the door behind her. ‘Bastard,’ she said quietly, climbing the ladder. ‘Fucking old bastard.’
I awoke the next morning in a puddle. I’d been desperate to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t dare pass my father to go out to the toilet tent. I waited for him to fall asleep, but he sat in front of the TV late into the night, watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and, exhausted and aching, I had eventually fallen asleep.
Now I was trapped in my room, desperate to hide my accident. But my father was halfway through a mound of bacon sandwiches and my mother had begun to lose her patience. ‘Mikey, if I’ve got to shout for you one more time …’
A moment later my father swooped into the bedroom, yellow-eyed, a bacon sandwich in his fist. ‘You’ve got three seconds to get your arse out of that bed. One, two …’
I leaped up, and the Paddy pad slipped down my leg. My father paused, shoved in the last bite of his sandwich, then grabbed my arm and began to drag me outside.
I cried and wailed as he ordered me to strip. I looked around to see a small crowd of familiar faces, stopping in their tracks to see what was going on. My father had grabbed the pressure hose that was used to wash the trucks. He pointed it at me.
The pressure of the jet against my skin was like being trampled on by a pack of horses. The ice-cold water punched me in the ears and face. Then he directed it at my stomach. I threw up, keeling over onto all fours.
When he finally turned it off I crawled back into the
trailer. My teeth were chattering violently and I had to stop to be sick again after swallowing so much of the water.
I crawled back into the bedroom and got myself ready for school.
9
Boot Camp
As I arrived at school that morning, Mrs Kerr said I looked unwell and asked if anything was wrong. My ears were blocked and I could still hear the sound of the water jet. My head and body ached, and I felt sick.
‘No,’ I told her.
‘You stay in here with me this morning, pet,’ she said gently.
Frankie and Jamie-Leigh left for Mrs McAndrew’s room. ‘I know you love to draw,’ Mrs Kerr said, ‘and I could do with a young man of your talents today. I need you to design me a poster for the class. How does that grab you?’
I made my way over to the desk she was pointing at, where she had put some sheets of paper and a pack of coloured pens. I tried not to knock the back of anyone’s chair, or catch anyone’s eye. I hated being looked at and I could feel the other children staring at me as if they all knew just
My father pointed towards the bedroom. ‘Frankie, get one of the nappies from the bag.’
Not daring to disobey, she went to Henry-Joe’s baby bag, took out one of his nappies and handed it over.
‘Stand up.’
I couldn’t. My body had started to convulse, I had lost all control of it.
‘Please let him go,’ screamed Frankie.
‘Take his pants off.’
I kicked my legs and shouted and cried. Frankie hesitated, then took hold of my pants and slid them down my legs, as he lifted me onto his knee. I could barely breathe, my throat was so sore from crying. He pulled the nappy up my legs, then, lifting me by my arms, he threw me across the floor.
‘You act like a baby, then I’ll treat you like one. Get to bed. I don’t want to look at your fucking ugly face again.’
Still weeping, I waddled into the bedroom, climbed into bed and covered myself completely with the covers. At least under there I could be alone.
My parents started to argue and Henry-Joe began to cry again.
‘He’s only six years old, Frank, what were you thinking of, making him fight that Donoghue boy?’
‘I was five when I got in the ring. Your son is a fucking embarrassment.’
‘ You’re a fucking embarrassment,’ she screamed.
There was a loud thud and she fell to the floor. Frankie came in and shut the door behind her. ‘Bastard,’ she said quietly, climbing the ladder. ‘Fucking old bastard.’
I awoke the next morning in a puddle. I’d been desperate to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t dare pass my father to go out to the toilet tent. I waited for him to fall asleep, but he sat in front of the TV late into the night, watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and, exhausted and aching, I had eventually fallen asleep.
Now I was trapped in my room, desperate to hide my accident. But my father was halfway through a mound of bacon sandwiches and my mother had begun to lose her patience. ‘Mikey, if I’ve got to shout for you one more time …’
A moment later my father swooped into the bedroom, yellow-eyed, a bacon sandwich in his fist. ‘You’ve got three seconds to get your arse out of that bed. One, two …’
I leaped up, and the Paddy pad slipped down my leg. My father paused, shoved in the last bite of his sandwich, then grabbed my arm and began to drag me outside.
I cried and wailed as he ordered me to strip. I looked around to see a small crowd of familiar faces, stopping in their tracks to see what was going on. My father had grabbed the pressure hose that was used to wash the trucks. He pointed it at me.
The pressure of the jet against my skin was like being trampled on by a pack of horses. The ice-cold water punched me in the ears and face. Then he directed it at my stomach. I threw up, keeling over onto all fours.
When he finally turned it off I crawled back into the
trailer. My teeth were chattering violently and I had to stop to be sick again after swallowing so much of the water.
I crawled back into the bedroom and got myself ready for school.
9
Boot Camp
As I arrived at school that morning, Mrs Kerr said I looked unwell and asked if anything was wrong. My ears were blocked and I could still hear the sound of the water jet. My head and body ached, and I felt sick.
‘No,’ I told her.
‘You stay in here with me this morning, pet,’ she said gently.
Frankie and Jamie-Leigh left for Mrs McAndrew’s room. ‘I know you love to draw,’ Mrs Kerr said, ‘and I could do with a young man of your talents today. I need you to design me a poster for the class. How does that grab you?’
I made my way over to the desk she was pointing at, where she had put some sheets of paper and a pack of coloured pens. I tried not to knock the back of anyone’s chair, or catch anyone’s eye. I hated being looked at and I could feel the other children staring at me as if they all knew just
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