Hayley Leitch - Coming Clean--Living with OCD

STRETCHING OUT MY feet and legs, I used all my might to push my body upwards. Arching my back and dipping my head down, I did it again and again until Id gained a little momentum. The chain of the swing was old and rusty so it took a little effort but, after four or five attempts, I suddenly began to rock back and forth until finally I was airborne. My skirt billowed out like a small white balloon and my lace socks shivered against the cool breeze but now I was sailing through the air like a bird.

Look everyone, Im doing it. Quick! I shouted back towards the house. The swing was situated just outside the backdoor, so everyone heard.

Im doing it! Im doing it all on my own. Im swinging all by myself! I called.

Even though the house was bursting with both adults and children, my Auntie Kathy came out first followed closely behind by Mum and Nanny Rose. Soon, all three were cheering me on.

Clever girl, Hayley, Nana grinned, wiping her fingers against the tea towel which shed tucked into the top of her skirt. She lifted her hands and clapped wildly.

Look Steve, Hayleys swinging all by herself! Nanny Rose called to Dad.

Moments later he appeared and grinned as he watched. Soon quite a crowd had built up as extended family members queued along the back of Nanny Roses house to watch me on the swing. I felt proud proud that Id finally managed to do it after months of trying but most of all, I was proud that everyone had seen. In fact, I was so pleased with myself that I stayed on the swing until Nana called us inside for Sunday dinner. As usual, the house was a hive of activity, like a busy ship, with Nanny Rose at the helm.

You take the plates, I heard her say as I ran in through the door. I turned to the side as she handed a stack of them over to my aunt. Mind now, she warned, as though my aunt was still a child, theyre a little hot.

Auntie Kathy nodded and dutifully lined them up along the kitchen worktop, counting them out as she went seven plates for seven hungry grandchildren.

Bert, Bert, Nana called to my granddad, who was snoozing in his armchair. The lamb needs carving. Hurry up, the kids are hungry.

Granddad Bert peeled himself up out of the chair and strolled over to the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard the tell-tale whizz of the electric carving knife as it slid and buzzed its way through the huge succulent meat joint. The delicious aroma of lamb filled the air and made my stomach ache with hunger. I went straight over to the sink to wash my hands with my sister Lauren and our five cousins. We were all starving.

My baby sister Zara was asleep in her pushchair, tucked away in a corner of the dining room. I ran past her and took my usual place at the table. The crisp white cloth had been ironed to within an inch of its life. It was so flat that you couldve easily turned a penny on its edge and rolled it clean across the cloth without it faltering. Silver cutlery had been polished and was sparkling, positioned in neat little lines for each child. The knives shone like small mirrors as they reflected the sunlight peeking in through the large back window. Everything was so clean, just how Nanny Rose liked it. Even though there were twice as many adults as kids, Nana insisted her grandchildren sat down to eat first. Every Sunday, everyone from the family including aunts, uncles and cousins would congregate at Nanny Roses house. Sunday wasnt Sunday if we didnt go to Nanny Roses.

Rose was my dads mother but she was also the beating heart of the family. She was a tall woman, standing at 5 feet 8 inches in stocking feet so, to a young child like me, she looked like a giant. Every Sunday she wore the same thing, a loose navy skirt and a white top, but she always kept her trademark white tea-towel tucked into the waistband of her skirt. She also kept a paper tissue, which she folded neatly between her wrist and her chunky gold bangle, in case of emergencies. Sometimes, when the heat of the kitchen became too much, shed use it to dab her forehead. Nana had a passion for gold jewellery the chunkier the better. Id once been told she was the granddaughter of a Romany gypsy. Afterwards Id spend hours picturing her as a little girl, travelling from town to town, sitting on a horse-drawn caravan selling pegs and lace. With her mystical features, short black curly hair, olive skin and her love of trinkets and crystal, Nanny Rose was the most fascinating woman I knew. Her small home was an absolute treasure trove to a four-year-old girl like me and Id sit for hours, wide-eyed, staring into tall glass cabinets, mesmerised by all the pretty things inside. Everything was so clean and beautiful and although it was cluttered, everything had its place. From the flawless porcelain dolls and bone china figures, to the miniature Shire horse frozen in time, pulling an ornamental wooden cart along the hearth of the fireplace.

Nanny Rose lived with Granddad Bert in a three-bedroom terraced house in Tooting, London. From the outside, the house looked exactly the same as the other red-brick terraces in the street but once you pushed open the front door, it was like stepping into another world. Like a secret cave buried in a grey and colourless council estate, her home was filled with constant wonder. Plush velvet-covered sofas nestled for space against side tables adorned with ornate lamps bearing heavy tasselled shades. When they were switched off and the sunlight shone in through the window, the shades would cast eerie spiderlike shadows against the wall. Even the TV was boxed away inside a big mahogany cabinet. Once the doors were shut, you wouldnt have even known there was a TV in the room. But it was always on when we were in the house. My sister Lauren and I would sit in front of it all day with the doors flung wide open, watching old Mickey Mouse videos on Granddads new VHS video recorder. When we werent perched in front of the telly, wed be outside picking apples from the tree to help make one of Nanny Roses legendary apple pies. The tree sat neatly behind the swing at the side of the house, but it was so huge that it shadowed much of the garden because itd been there for years.

One day, Lauren and I were busy collecting apples. I glanced down at the one in my hand. It was the brightest and prettiest green Id ever seen, exactly the same colour as freshly mown grass. I held it up to my nose to take a sniff. It smelled so delicious that I felt the urge to take a bite. Licking my lips in anticipation, I opened my mouth and allowed my teeth to crunch into it but as soon as the juice ran inside I called out in horror. My whole body shuddered as the sour acid hit my tongue with a start. It was so tart that, for a moment, I thought Id bitten straight into a lemon. It was the worst apple Id ever tasted! Id made such a racket, coughing and spluttering, that Nanny Rose came dashing over to see what was wrong. As soon as she saw my screwed up face and the half-eaten apple in my hand she burst out laughing.

No, Hayley, she giggled, clutching a hand against her chest. You cant eat them like that, theyre cooking apples. Theyll give you bellyache!

I scrunched up my nose. It didnt make sense. They looked just like normal apples, only a little bigger.

But they always taste so lovely when you put them in the pie, I said looking suspiciously at the offending piece of fruit in my hand.