I hated my father. My “Da” as I called him. He thought it was a name given with affection. It wasn’t. I started calling him that when I realised he wasn’t a good Dad.
He killed my Mum. I am sure he did. He said she died of liver failure from too much alcohol. Mum drank more than she should because he made her sad, but she wasn’t a drunk.
We used to have pizza for dinner nearly every Friday. A small Vegetarian each for Mum and me. A large Seafood Lovers with extra anchovies, always the extra anchovies, for Da. Always got it delivered. But this one Friday, Da arrived home a bit later than usual with three pizzas. He said he was hungry and wanted to eat early, plus he wanted to make sure they gave him plenty of anchovies.
The next morning when I was getting my breakfast, Da came out and said Mum was sick, not to go near her in case it was contagious. ‘You don’t want to miss your exams, do you luv?’
When she had been in the bedroom for a day and a half, I knocked on her door and looked in. The smell of vomit was overpowering but she seemed to be asleep, so I left her.
The next morning, I was woken by voices outside my room and came out to see ambulance officers carrying Mum on a stretcher. She was dead. As I lay on her bed sobbing, I saw two empty bottles of whisky on the side table. Mum wouldn’t have drunk that. She mainly drank white wine and anyway, I googled liver failure, and it can be caused by lots of things.
Within two months of Mum dying, Da started bringing this woman Milly, to the house. Dilly Milly I called her. She was always trying to be nice to me. I looked up a word for the way she went on. “Obsequious”.
Then one day Da, said to me,
’Your 18th birthday coming up soon, luv. Then you will be finishing school and getting a job. Time to move out.’
‘No way, Da. The plan is I stay here, go to TAFE and get a part time job.’
‘Plans change, child. Milly will be moving in, and she says despite all her efforts, you are always rude and sullen when she is around, so you have to go!’
I was so angry. I locked myself in my room but, once I calmed down, I made a decision. Time for a change of plans alright. I googled, studied and prepared. After a week or so, I started to pretend everything was OK. We hadn’t had pizza since Mum died, so one day I said,
‘Da, I feel like some pizza again. I will go down on my bike and get it. Vege for me and Seafood for you. I’ll make sure there are extra anchovies.’
We sat in front of the TV eating, Da obviously thinking everything was going to go his way. When he started to cough and splutter and choke, I just sat and watched him. He looked at me with pleading eyes but when I just smiled, he rasped,
‘What have you done to me, you little bitch.’
I kept smiling.
‘Haven’t you heard of it, Da? It’s called the Domino Effect.’
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