“Okay, mummy,” I say. I love mummy. I know I’m going to love my grandparents.
“Good boy.” She leans forward kissing my cheek, before standing up and reaching for my hand again. “Let’s do this.”
As we walk down the long driveway, my mum’s hand continues to shake. I wish she’d put my gloves on. I hate how she’s cold.
“One…two…three…four…five.” I count the stairs in my head as we climb them, before we get in front of the big yellow door. I hear my mum let out a big breath. Letting go of my hand, she raises her arm and goes to knock, but she stops, looks at me and smiles before knocking. I can’t wait to see my grandparents. I hope they have chocolate. I love chocolate.
Reaching for my hand again, she gives me a squeeze. When the door opens, I look up at the man who stands there. He doesn’t look happy when he sees mummy.
“Elizabeth,” he says sternly.
“Hi, daddy,” she replies nervously. He doesn’t look so unhappy when mummy says that. His mouth smiles, but not for long. I look up. I feel my own big smile. Wow, this must be my grandpa. He’s so strong.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
My mum doesn’t say anything for about one hundred years. “I wanted to see you. I…ummm, wanted you to meet your grandson, Carter.” She gives my hand another little squeeze as she looks down at me.
“Hello, Grandpa,” I say, looking up at him. I’m seeing my very own grandpa. I want to hug him.
He looks angry again as he looks down at me. Then his head snaps back up to look at my mummy. “Why did you bring that little bastard here?” he says really, really meanly. “Get him out of here. Don’t you ever bring him back.” He steps back, slamming the door in our faces.
My mum makes a strange sound, and I feel like crying. I’m so disappointed. I don’t like my grandpa. He’s mean. “Come on, baby,” she says, looking down at me. Mummy starts to cry. When my mummy cries, it makes me feel sad.
I’m almost running behind mummy as she tugs on my hand. She hurries down the driveway and back out into the street. “What’s a bastard?” I ask. I’ve never heard that word before. The way my grandpa said it, it doesn’t sound like a nice word.
My question stops mummy walking. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she squats down in front of me. “You’re not a bastard,” she says with a sad smile. “Pay no attention to what he said. You’re a beautiful boy.” She gives me a kiss on my forehead. “I’m sorry I brought you here.”
“It’s okay, mummy,” I say trying real hard to be brave. When my bottom lip starts to quiver and the first tears fall, I know I’ve failed. I’m not brave.
“Oh baby.” She opens her arms, pulling me tightly against her as I cry into her chest. “You’re not a bastard,” she whispers.
Even though I don’t know what that word means, I want to believe her, I do, but why would Grandpa say it if it’s not true?
I hate that I’m a bastard. I don’t know what it means, but I know that this moment and that word, are going to stick with me for the rest of my life.
••••
bas·tard
1. Offensive A person born to parents not married to each other.
2. Slang
a. A person considered to be mean or contemptible.
b. A person, especially one considered to be unfortunate.
3. Something that is of irregular, inferior, or dubious origin.
It’s funny how one fleeting moment in time can change you. One stupid, crazy, fucked-up word can define you. I didn’t know it at the time, but after that day things changed—I changed. I was only five years old the day I learnt I was bastard, and sadly as the years progressed, that’s exactly what I became…
CHAPTER ONE
The Present…
Carter
Packing the last of the boxes into the trunk of the car, I turn and take one final look at the only place I’ve ever called home. The place I’ve lived for the last seventeen years of my life. I’m fucking pissed they’re forcing me to leave here. I hate that I’m going to have to live with that fuckwit my mum now calls her husband.