Nowhere Girl ~ John Lennon/The Beatles

Chapter Nineteen: Boxing Day

Her mother found her in the living room crouched next to the radio, desperately trying to tune it to the right station, hoping with her whole heart that she'd be able to reach the Sheffield stations. Knowing exactly what she was doing, Rita let out a scoff, sighing and shaking her head as she threw herself down onto the sofa with a glass of wine.

"Not the bloody football, Roberta," she sighed boredly, though Robin didn't even look over to her, still focusing on tuning the radio. "You're wasting your time, what's the point listening to it? It's not like you're there watching it, you won't have a clue what's going on it'll just be hooligans and oiks shouting and swearing,"

"Hooligans and oiks, also known as the people Dad used to call his friends," Robin muttered exasperatedly under her breath before looking over her shoulder at her mother. "You know broadcasted games isn't just the noise, there's commentary telling you what's going on,"

"Well whatever, I'm not listening to it," she dismissed, getting up and pushing Robin aside slightly to unplug the radio. "Waste of time and energy if you ask me,"

"Well, I didn't really ask you," Robin restrained herself, trying to keep calm as she plugged the radio back in. "You know the Wednesday match is important to me, you know the Boxing Day tradition,"

"What, the tradition that started just because I didn't want you around the house and your weak willed father thought he'd take you along on his boys day out because he felt sorry for you?" Rita snapped sharply, and Robin tried not to flinch.

The problem with her mother was that she always escalated things far too quickly. She'd witnessed her and her father going from a quiet conversation to a screaming match in mere seconds, as if Rita was so scared of someone opposing her she needed to get her opinion across as boldly as she possibly could. Except sometimes it wasn't just bold, it was rude and a little scary, not that Robin was going to show just how hurt she was. It was still Christmas, she wanted to try and keep the peace wherever possible, not wanting her mother's temper to get the better of her as it normally did.

"Please," Robin sighed. "The scousers hate Sheff football, no pub's going to be showing the match and it's the first Boxing Day game I'll have missed in ten years. It's the first one... the first one without Dad,"

"Oh, get a grip," her mother snapped, completely ignoring the gentleness of Robin's pleas. "It's football. I thought you'd have better things to do. Thought you had all these wonderful mates who'd be taking you out around town, or have they got bored of you by now so you're resorting to pretending your father's still alive?"

"At least if I pretend Dad's still alive then at least I'll have one parent who actually likes me," Robin said bluntly, hoping the harshness of her tone would hide the lump forming in her throat. "At least Dad spoke to me as if I matter. I know I fucked up both of your lives but at least Dad didn't make me feel like a mistake,"

Usually Robin thought her words through carefully, not rising to her mother's level, and maybe if she'd have kept her cool and kept quiet she wouldn't have felt her mother's hand collide sharply with her cheek. Before she could stop herself she had let out a gasp, her breath catching in her throat at the shock that her mother had hit her. That was new, her mother never normally bothered with violence, but as soon as she had crossed the line she seemed unstoppable, slapping her other cheek even harder. Robin winced slightly, her hands moving to cup her cheeks but before she could even think about fighting back, her mother had grabbed her by her hair and was dragging her to the back door.

"Do you know how ungrateful you are?" her mother muttered as Robin tried to prise her hands off her hair, though it was no use. "You're just one big screw up and I can't bare to look at you, I don't even understand how your father would voluntarily spend time with you, let alone your new friends,"