Chapter Seven

Mommy Knows Best

In the meantime, right across the other end of town, Betty Wilson was having a crisis of her own.

After giving her son Zack, his usual morning hug, before he set off for school, Betty's mood soured somewhat as she saw a familiar figure approaching.

Her father.
That's all she needed.

Estranged from her drunken and abusive father, she was busy trying to settle into her new home at the trailer park.

It was strange at first, and many nights her son Zack would wake up crying from nightmares.
He'd crawl into bed with her and they'd snuggle up together, feeling each other's heartbeats.


He'd even resorted to cuddling his old teddy bear Mack, for comfort. Something he hadn't done for a very long time, and it troubled Betty at lot.

Betty recalled the events that led to her and Zack moving out.

Life at her parent's house had become unbearable in recent years.
More so when her dad lost his job. He started drinking heavily and lashed out violently.
His mood swings were so bad that Betty feared for Zack's life.

But she felt compelled to stay, if only for her mother's sake.

Her arthritis was getting worse, as was her memory.
Often Betty found her outside, wearing only a thin nightie, whistling for a dog that had died over six years ago.

But the last straw that caused Betty to finally move out altogether, was one of her father's drunken rages.
He threw a chair across the room, narrowly missing a petrified Zack, his eyes wet with tears and wide as saucers.

That was it for Betty.

After calling a cab, she hastily stuffed a couple of suitcases full of clothes.
What she couldn't fit in, she left behind.

With tears in her eyes, she hugged her mother, feeling her frail body under the woolly sweater.

"I'm sorry mom," she whispered, "I've just got to go."

Her mother looked at her in confusion. Then she smiled.

"Would you like a chocolate digestive?" she asked, "I'm sure I have plenty in the barrel."

Betty smiled half-heartedly and shook her head despondently.

The taxi pulled up and the two of them got in.

And now here they were.
Living in a trailer park no less.

It was a far cry from the big house she was used to, but at least they felt a lot safer.

Except for one thing.
They lived right next door to the notorious burglar Gordon King, and he was a feisty character indeed.

But he was the least of Betty's worries that warm summer morning.


She folded the newspaper angrily as she saw her father ambling down the road, and grimaced.
She knew it was him, by the way he shuffled his feet and hunched his shoulders.

"Hi sweetie," he said as he approached.

Betty couldn't help noticing how so much older he looked. The lines and wrinkles in his face had deepened, and he carried himself as if the whole weight of the world had been placed upon his shoulders.

But that still didn't hide the deep resentment she had for him.


"I'm NOT your sweetie dad," she retorted, turning her back on him.

She could smell stale whiskey on his breath.

"Honey," he protested weakly, "can't you even look at your old dad?"

Betty paused, opening and closing her eyes slowly, and taking a long, slow, deep breath.
If she needed to do it...

... to face the demons of her past and to face up to her abusive father, whom she feared greatly....

....this was that moment.

Spinning around, Betty launched herself into the bitterest tirade she'd had yet.
All those years of pent up fury, had built up inside of her, eating away at her soul.
And now they had been released in a mighty torrent.


She'd been saving this one for her father for a long time.

"Why can't you just leaves us alone, Dad?" she screamed, hoping this alone would intimidate him.

"But sweetheart," he replied.

She cut him short.

"We don't need you Dad, so why don't you just turn around and go back home?"

His tongue felt dry and raspy, like sandpaper, and he desperately needed a drink.

"Can't I at least come in for a drink?"

"No Dad."

The very thought of him walking through that door horrified her.
After all they'd been through, letting him through those doors, would have been inviting the devil himself back into their lives.

He scratched his burning neck and looked around. He couldn't hide his disgust at the living conditions here - small, compared to the family home - and it showed quite clearly in his lined, haggard face.

This wasn't working out well for him at all.
For once, his own daughter had the upper hand.

It was time to try a new tact.

"I need you to come home, your Mom's sick."

Betty knew this was a favourite ploy of his, using her mother as leverage in all their arguments.
And usually it worked.

She really loved her mother, sharing many happy times together, baking bread, cutting out paper flowers. It was sheer heaven.

But recently, she'd been showing signs of her illness.
And her father didn't help matters with his heavy drinking and violent outbursts.

There were times when she'd start cooking something, then completely forget about it and walk away.

For Betty, it was heartbreaking to watch as her mother's memory faded.
Betty often wished she could put her mother into a place of safety, but that would have left herself alone with her father.
And she needed to protect Zack at all costs.

"No Dad," she said softly, her resolve starting to crumble, "that's your responsibility now."

Damn! He cursed inwardly. Just when he thought he'd got to her.

"Well," he grumbled, his hands going to his hips, "fine daughter you turned out to be!"

"Don't even go there, Dad," Betty warned, squaring herself up to him again.

"Not even around to look after her own mother."

The insult felt like a slap across the face for Betty.
Once again, her anger rose rapidly.

"That's not true!!" she yelled.

He voice carried across the trailer park, but she didn't care who heard.
This time she'd had enough.

"Don't you ever consider the sanctity of your own marriage?" she screamed, "in sickness and in health and all of that?"

"But I need you to help me, Betty honey."

"I'm not your honey! I can't help you. For once Dad, you've got to cope with this by yourself. Sober yourself up, just enough to see what's been happening around you."

Her father jerked his head up and looked at her.
He could see that he wasn't winning this battle.

Betty pointed towards the road.

"Please go." she said, her arm trembling.

He paused.

"Please go, Dad."

He smiled quietly.
Man, he thought to himself, She has some backbone.

He turned and face the direction she was pointing and started to walk, albeit a slow shuffle.
He turned back and looked at her, but she stood with her arms folded.

She looks just like her mother, he mused.

The road was dusty and long, and he wasn't sure if he'd be in time for the next service bus.

Just as he vanished from sight, Betty gave out a long, low sob.
Her heart was breaking at the prospects of her poor mother, locked in her own memories.




Damn him, she thought, wiping the tears roughly from her face.
Why does he have to do this to us? Why can't he leave us alone?

The tell-tale squeak of a nearby trailer, meant that Gordon was home.
Betty looked at him as he wrestled a particularly uncooperative black plastic bag of trash.

His furtive glance told her that he'd heard every word.

But Betty didn't care at all. She'd had enough of running and hiding.
She'd had enough of her father too.

It was time for him to face reality and start living properly.
Not seeing the world from the bottom of a whiskey glass.