"No matter where I roam, I will return to my English Rose, for no bonds can ever keep me from she."
- the jam, english rose, 1978
χΞχΞχΞχΞχ
"i'm very sorry"
χΞχΞχΞχΞχ
I couldn't believe it. I was going to have to move. I'd lived in Liverpool for most of my life and now I had to go, on my own, to live with my auntie, the sister of my father who I hadn't seen since I was 10. It wasn't his fault, he moved to Sheffield for work after him and mam split up, and although he couldn't get down to see me all the time, he still sent me a letters and phoned almost weekly.
Mam said that this arrangement was going to be easier for everybody. I'd be able to see dad more, and that maybe staying in Liverpool would be more of an option if I would stop being horrible to Martin, my mam's boyfriend, and my bratty half siblings. Katy, who was about 9 with big blue eyes and glossy black hair, and the littlest, Sean, age 4, who had his sisters same eyes and a mop of curly dark locks.
Sean, being the spoilt little shit he was, had a tendency for tantrums, and he'd scream and hit the floor if he didn't get his way. It was easier to ignore him, but I tended to shout back, as there's only a certain amount of screeching one can take before losing their shit. Katy on the other hand, was far worse, not so much whiny like Sean, Katy was fucking evil. She stole things, then hid them in my room for Martin to find. If I tried to blame her, all she'd have to do was blink those big blue eyes and flutter her long eyelashes. After the events of last week, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise I was being sent away.
Even as I sat on the train I struggled to comprehend it. I'll admit, I had put up a fight at Lime Street station. Despite the arguing, here I was, on the train from Liverpool to Manchester.
Next to me was an dodgy looking man in a cheap 70s suit. He had brown hair with streaks of grey, a balding patch at the back of his head, and was both short and thin. He was currently lying with his head tipped back, asleep, mouth slightly open, showing his yellowing teeth and multiple fillings. If that wasn't unpleasant enough, he also smelt of stale coffee, cigarettes and the same scent of the men's bathroom. He was uncomfortably close, leaving me pressed right into the window. To make matters worse, his arm was still touching mine, and I couldn't move in fear of waking him up.
A group of football lads sporting Manchester City shirts were rowdily cheering and shouting nearby, obviously chuffed to bits with the victory against Liverpool. There were the signature big fellas, with short back and sides hair, some skinny lad in trackies, an alright looking one who lets himself down with a diamond earring in his right ear, and one who looks like he should probably be playing football rather than just watching it and eating crisps. The fatter guy, who seemed to be appropriately called Spud, was currently having his man boobs wobbled by a pair of the other boys, to loud chanting of his name. I sighed. I was far from unused to similar spectacles back home. It was hard to focus on looking at all the sheep and stuff out the window, with all the loud antics of chavvy hooligans, and the scabby man next to me being so close. I wish I wasn't going to stay with my aunt Maureen.
I leant my head against the hard glass of the window, Quadrophenia playing through my Walkman. My breath misted up against the cold surface, clouding at the bottom of my vision as the rolling fields quickly flashed into the dark interior of a tunnel.
An uncomfortable 2 hours later, I finally arrived in Manchester, suitcase in tow. Mam said just to pack the essentials, as the rest of my stuff could be moved at a later date, and it was pointless to have a lot anyway, as Maureen's house was really quite small. I got off the train, and went to stand outside as instructed. Maureen would pick me up from outside. It was raining, very heavily. I stood under a bit of shelter, arms in my Parka, wrapped around me.
