No Vacancy

For all, I knew we were a family just like any other. 

Mum worked as a nurse and then came home to work as a mum; my dad worked in the sheet metal trade and then came home and worked as a dad.

I was young, so my memories are somewhat limited, faded by time, softened by the reflection of loss.

My parents fought, but whose didn't? It was just normal everyday life. I went to the local school with my sister, while my baby brother stayed at home and cried. I had a secret crush on the girl next door, enjoyed helping with jobs around the house and playing the games that only make sense to the young.

We moved from England to Melbourne, Australia; we were living the dream, the ten-pound POM dream. Good jobs, new cars, even a camper van, which we would tow to a seaside town for summer holidays, where others who seemed just like us would enjoy their down time.

Who would have known that the good life could have a downside? You see, the good life allowed my dad to have a little leftover in his pay packet every week. This extra money was generally spent on alcohol. It didn't seem like a big deal at the start, but soon enough, everybody felt the change that was sweeping through our home.

The more he drunk, the more they fought. The more they fought, the more violent it became. The tension in our average little house continued to build until the heated outbursts crossed the line. Even to a child, it seemed obvious what was going on; these moments of madness were alcohol-fuelled insanity.

The family fun faded quickly. Nothing was ever said but deep down, I think we all knew where this was heading. There seem to be no getting off this train that was heading to the end of the line with a full head of steam.

Drink. Fight. Sorry. Repeat.

The good life was over and I knew this for sure as I cowered in the camper van with my mother, brother, and sister. While my father's rage continued outside as he tried to gain entry.

My memories of that night have faded with many others, but that particular incident seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back. The next day we went to school like any other, yet feeling even more unsure about what lay ahead, not knowing we would not have to wait long to find the answers.

Halfway through the morning lessons, I was asked to visit the principal's office, strange as for once I had done nothing wrong. My mother was waiting for me there with my brother and sister.

We drove away from the school, never to return.

We drove away from being a typical family to become an ordinary family.