Sue Owen - Sues Story: How I Survived a Lost Childhood

M y earliest memory is of lying in a double bed with two of my three brothers, Andrew and Paul. Anthony had a bed on the other wall. Normally I had the boxroom, but my dad had been sleeping in there for a while. He was married to Deidre, with a two-year-old, a one-year-old and a newborn son when he had an affair with my mother Kathleen. When I was born, I lived with my stepmother Deidre, my father Allan and my three half-brothers. Mum, as I called my stepmother then, of course, sat on Anthonys bed and was going to read us a story when she turned to me and said,Not you. Turn over and go to sleep.

I was never allowed to join in with them in anything. I managed to see the book the next day when the boys had gone to school. I wasnt old enough to go to school and couldnt yet read, so I just looked at the pictures.

We lived in a three-bedroom house in a respectable area just outside London. My father had many jobs. He started out as a policeman; not just an ordinary PC but a City of London one. I didnt really know what the difference was but it just sounded more important. He went on to become a milkman, a potato-delivery man and a lorry driver. It was the sssshhhh from his lorry that I used to look forward to hearing; it would be the one and only reason that I dared to leave my bed, just to see if he was returning home.

A lot of my early life I spent alone in my small room. Normally I would come home from school and Mum would scream at me to go up to bed. After the family had eaten their meal I was called down to wash up but unless my father was there she rarely offered me a meal. My brothers and I took it in turns to do the meal jobs. I always washed up, but we would take it in turns to dry up, put away, lay and clear the table. Every morning I would dust and polish and the boys took it in turns to hoover.

School holidays were a little better as I was allowed out and also I ate at the table with the others. I dont know if that was a good thing or not as my stepmother had some strict table rules. Sometimes I knew I had to be punished as I had been bad, but other times I just didnt have a clue what Id done.

My school was only ten minutes walk down the road. I never rushed home; there was no point as Id only have to go to my room. My little boxroom was at the front of the house, my parents room was next to mine, then my brothers room and finally the bathroom. I hated Fridays as I never knew what the weekend would entail. Would I be allowed out? Or would it be a boring, hungry one spent in my room? Sometimes when I arrived home, before I could even open my mouth, Mum would say, Bed!

A few times I had been allowed to stay up. Thursdays were a good day as my nan used to visit, but she would only stay until 4.30. Still, an hour was better than nothing. Whenever my dad was home I was allowed to stay up, for my mum was never horrible to me in front of him. I loved it when he was there.

I remember one day arriving home from school feeling very hungry. Salad had been the school dinner that day and I hated it because it never filled me up. I was sent to bed as usual. When my mum called me down to do the dishes, I was hoping to grab some leftovers from the boys plates, but all that was left was fatty bits of meat on Pauls plate. So I remained hungry. I thought about the biscuit tin, but I remembered once sneaking into it and it had a noisy lid, which Mum heard, so I got a beating for being a thief. I was already a sluts child, a waste of space, an ugly little spawny shitface, lucky to be living with her. I also stole some uncooked spaghetti once, but as I couldnt chew it very quickly it made me choke, which she heard. I got a beating while I was choking.Thatll teach you, she said. And it did. I never stole spaghetti again.

I had always known that I wasnt her proper child. The story was that my mother was going to come and get me on a Saturday afternoon when I was a few weeks old, but she never turned up. My stepmother had no choice but to hang on to me. I had always known that I had an older sister called Alice who was kept by my real mum. I dont remember ever being told; it was just something that I had always known. Same as my name isnt Susan: its Jennifer, Jennifer Doonie, or Loonie, as my brothers used to tease me.