Home Truths - Parts 1 and 2
By Melli
Copyright October, 2002
His first memories are of screaming. The feel of fists on his body. A man who wasn't his father and never let him forget it.
They were a "nice" family. As a child he never lacked for anything - except for love and affection. It didn't matter that he was good at school, at sport or that people liked him. His very face made both of them angry - for different reasons.
The man hated him because he was a living reminder of his failure to father children. Every time he saw him, Gary saw the boy's father gloating back at him. His mother was angry because, in him, she saw what she'd lost. He looked more like his father every day. She hated him for that.
These are Alex Cullen's first memories. This is why he gets so angry when a child is neglected or abandoned to the streets. He has been there - on and off the streets, sleeping in alleys after being thrown out on some trivial charge by either his mother or Gary. He is no stranger to physical violence either. To this day he still cannot bring himself to go near boiling oil and carving knives hold a special horror. And after all this he is still standing outside his mother's door. After ten years Alex Cullen has come home.
GRETCHEN CULLEN
It was him, standing on my doorstep - but this wasn't the frightened
child sobbing in a pool of his own blood. He was a man now, tall and well
built. There was a confidence and self-assurance in his eyes that I'd never
seen there - because I'd squashed it. I'm not a bad person but I needed Gary.
He brought us security and stability - and Alex looked too much like his father
for me to love him. In fact, I couldn't stand the sight of him. And now to
turn up without any warning!
I got angry and demanded to know what he was doing here. He said he wanted
to show me something. It was a photograph; I'm holding it in my hand right
now with my daughter-in-law and grandchildren staring back at me. Joseph,
Gabrielle and Claire are the children and his wife's name is Eleanor. I only
know this because it says so on the back of the photo. My grandchildren and
he never even told me, never bothered to call. I just know he's doing this
to spite Gary, who was always far too good to him. Alex deserved what he got,
as far as I'm concerned. We would have ended up on the street if Gary hadn't
been so generous! We would never have survived without him. Alex has never
had any consideration for me at all!
GARY
What did he think he was doing turning up like that and upsetting Gretchen? She's always been nervy and since Alexander materialised on her doorstep she's been on my back even more than usual - bleating about how he's going to tell and she's going to gaol. She should know that he'd never have the guts to tell anyone because he knows the consequences.
The one time he did squeal I gave him a lesson he won't forget in a hurry.
"Stupid little #####, running to teacher with lies about your mum and me!" Gary exploded - alcohol giving fuel to his anger. "I'll teach you to tell lies!"
He grabbed the boy by the waist and dragged him into the kitchen where dinner was cooking - fish and chips. The oil bubbled and suddenly an idea occurred to the drunken man. Giving the little lump a few oil burns might just knock some sense into his silly little brain.
"Come here and hold him down, Gretch!"
A five-year-old Alex sobbed hopelessly as the oil poured on to his arm. He knew better than to scream.
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PART TWO
Why had he come? After all this time? Intellectually he knows that there is no point in it, that his mother would never want to know him because it would mean facing up to things she didn't want to hear. Emotionally he still feels like a little boy whose mother screams that she doesn't love him no matter how hard he tries. Yet he still keeps coming back, craving love that she won't give. He has children of his own now, and he cannot understand how anyone could reject their grandchildren whatever they may think of the parents. However, he'd reckoned without the power that the dark side of human nature holds over so many people.
Another drink will help him to forget. Picking up the bottle he is surprised to notice that there is none left. Did he really drink that much? He needs more to fill the hole inside him that hasn't been there since he stormed out of home an angry seventeen-year-old, forsaking privilege for survival. Staggering towards the drinks cabinet he collides with a tall, vaguely squashy shape that appears to be human, although in his drunken state he cannot be sure. He tries to push past him in his pursuit of drink but the shape stands rooted to the spot, his eyes bright with concern. His voice forms words that are only vaguely understandable to Alex's fogged mind,
"Alex, are you all right? You look like you've had three rounds with a sumo wrestler on steroids."
So his name was Alex. With that, his brain began to pull itself out of its stupor and he was jolted with a thud back to reality. He was in his office, the squashy shape was his direct superior DCI Jack Meadows, and he was asking him a question. He supposed he'd better answer it.
"Bad night, sir."
If he stuck with short answers then maybe he could go home and drink away the weekend's memories in peace - but Meadows was not to be put off so easily.
"Don't give me that crap, Alex; we both know you're lying. Now the sooner you tell me why you've just consumed half a bottle of malt whiskey in half an hour - and why before that you nearly ripped Paul Riley's head off for no apparent reason - the sooner you can go home and get as pissed as you like. But I'm not leaving your office until I get some answers, so unless you really feel like sitting here in silence all night start talking!"
He leaned back expectantly, waiting for his DI to come up with some vaguely logical explanation for what he was doing.
While Jack Meadows was pondering, Alex Cullen's brain was doing circles around itself and back again. What could he say that would satisfy the DCI but stay true to his own tearful vow made at seventeen? Breaking it would mean betraying his mother to prison and unhappiness. He'd happily leave Gary to rot in a mineshaft somewhere but for his mother's sake he'd protect him once again.
Opening his mouth he pulled out the well-practiced lie and prayed that the DCI would buy it and he could go home and drink himself into a memory-free oblivion.
"Family trouble, sir, that's all. Guess I must have overdone the drink a bit, but when you get together with my relatives you really do need a few stiff drinks. I'll apologise for taking it out on Riley tomorrow - he really didn't deserve to get the blunt end of my bad mood - so if you don't mind, sir, I really do have to go home. My wife will be worried sick by now"
In the ensuing silence Alex Cullen realised he was holding his breath. Despite the aura of calm that he exuded at all times his hand was shaking under the desk and he could feel the sweat on his brow. Suddenly, as if from far away, a gentle voice talking softly,
"I'm sorry, Alex, but I just don't buy that either. It doesn't look like just another bad week with the relations - it looks like you've seen a ghost. You're scared of something, aren't you? Or is it someone?"
Alex nearly screamed at him to stop because the DCI was getting far too close to the mark for his liking. Correctly interpreting his subordinate's expression the DCI pressed on.
"It is someone, isn't it? Your stepfather? Mother?"
Alex could feel his hand clutching the whiskey bottle so tightly he could feel the bottle breaking. The DCI was not immune to all these reactions but had long ago decided that the best thing to do was to get it out of him before he destroyed something.
Meadows adopted a gentler tone and leaned forward to look in to Alex's eyes.
"Listen, Alex, you have to talk to me before you do something really stupid. Whoever it is you're scared of I promise you they don't deserve to be protected. So just let it out. It's up to you whether this goes any further than me."
For emphasis he grabbed Cullen's arm in a firm grip. His DI let out a yelp of pain and nearly jumped out of his chair in shock.
"Alex? What is it?"
Glancing at his DI clutching his arm, Jack Meadows, in a blinding flash finally understood.
"Alex, show me your arm."
It was an order not a request. Gently he took it and placing it on the desk rolled up the shirtsleeve - and nearly fainted at what he saw. Angry red scars snaked their way up Cullen's arm in a twisting pattern. With an effort he kept the rage out of his voice as he phrased his next question. However, before he could speak his DI opened his mouth again. The words when they came were the ones he was expecting to hear - and hoping against hope that by some miracle he wouldn't.
"If you're thinking my parents did this then you'd be right. I told a teacher about what was happening at home and my stepfather poured boiling chip oil over my arms to make sure I learnt my lesson for good."
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To be continued