MORNING SERIAL
PERHAPS it was the tip of a very real iceberg. It was certainly a telling metaphor.
My brothers loved sailing, but I grew to hate it because the sea had stolen my parents. I loved them and, really, I knew they loved me – Dad worked hard for our material comfort and Mum transformed housekeeping money into wonderful family dinners. They were witty, vibrant people.
Our annual caravan holiday was perfect, and Christmases were wondrous. Yet they didn’t seem all that interested in me. I felt neglected. Mostly, my needs were a nuisance. I learned early on that complaining was futile and unwelcome.
My mother adored both her sons but around the younger of my two older brothers she wove a protective cloak. She felt he needed to be defended from criticism. That might have felt suffocating, and irritating, but actually it seemed to embolden him. Being five years younger, and very low in the pecking order, I believed that I was in need of the sort of attention and protection that he got. I was not jealous, so much as vulnerable and insecure. I wasn’t sure I was part of a pack which consisted of three strong, vociferous males and my mum, who saw herself as one of the boys. She would say, “If you can’t beat them, join them.” I wasn’t able to join them.
Mum used to tell me that by the time I came along she had had enough of being a mother and that there was not much left for me. Though this didn’t seem fair, I took it on the chin. It was simply a fact. Later in life I looked back and I wondered whether she had viewed me as competition, or whether she just got on better with boys than girls.
Despite their shared love of sailing there was disharmony in my parents’ marriage. Mum was sorely disappointed that my father seemed to prefer other women to her, at least superficially. They were both capable of flirting with their friends, perhaps believing that I didn’t notice – but I did notice, and it made me feel unsafe.
The marriage got rocky, cracked under the strain of various infidelities, and came apart eventually after my brothers had left home.
Scrabble in the Afternoon by Biddy Wells is published by Parthian at £8.99.
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