THE BITTERNESS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SOUL
“You belong in some dreadful childrens home! Get out of our family right now!” I shrieked, my voice trembling and wild.
The target of my furious outburst was my cousin, George.
Oh, how Id adored him when I was small. That golden hair, those bluebell eyes, the way he was always ready for a laughhe was my star, my George.
Our relatives would rally round the table in a jumble of chatter and clinking glasses. Among all my cousins, I only ever gravitated to George. He could spin stories with his tongue like bobbins on a lace pillow, wicked clever. He’d sketch away as well, dashing out five or six pictures in an evening.
Id gape in awe, unable to tear myself away from those pencil drawings. Secretly, Id gather up his masterpieces and squirrel them away in my desk drawer. I treasured every bit of his art.
George was two years older than me.
When he was fourteen, disaster struckhis mother died suddenly, never to awaken
What would become of George now? The search began for his real father. Not so easy, that. George’s mum and dad had long split. His father had his own new family and calmly declared he wouldn’t disrupt his peace.
One after another, the rest of the family shrugged, muttering about their own affairs and children When the sun sets, relatives vanish with it, like fog over the moors.
In the end, with two kids of their own, my parents stepped forward for George. After all, his late mother was my fathers younger sister.
At first, I was glad George would be staying with us. Yet something was off from the start.
On his very first day, George’s manner took me aback. Trying to comfort the orphan, Mum asked gently, “Is there something youd like, George? Dont hold back, love.”
“I want a Hornby train set,” he replied instantly.
Let me tell you, those cost a fair bit. I was quietly appalled. I thoughtyour mothers died, the nearest soul to you in the world, and what fills your mind but electric trains? How could he?
But my parents, without a moment’s pause, bought George his wish. Then it begana tape recorder, Levis, a branded jacket This was the mid-eighties. Not only were these things dear, but rare as a sunny Bank Holiday. Mum and Dad made sacrificespinched our cornersto fulfil George’s every whim. My brother and I accepted it, we never grumbled.
By sixteen, George had discovered girls. Turns out my cousin was rather free with his affections. Worse, he started making advances toward me, his own cousin. Yet I, as a keen gymnast, dodged his grubby pursuits with skilleven coming to blows. Rivers of tears, but I never told our parents. Who talks about such things?
When I stood firm, George wasted not a moment and turned to my friends instead. They, for their part, quarrelled over who might catch his eye.
And George had sticky fingers; he stole boldly and without shame. I remember my little money boxId saved up for months, skipping lunches at school to buy Mum and Dad gifts. One day, my piggy bank was empty. George denied everything, poker-faced, not so much as a blush. My heart split in twohow could he steal from those who sheltered him? George trampled the rules of the house like a bull in a tea shop. I sulked and glared, but George seemed baffled at my distress. He acted as if the world owed him a living. In that moment I loathed him. And I howled, at the limits of my strength:
“Get out of our family!”
I let George have itpoured out every bottled-bitterness so full you could hardly cap it.
Mum barely managed to console me. From then on, George ceased to exist in my worldI ignored him entirely.
Only later did I learn the others already knew what sort of person George had grown into. They all lived near enough to see it firsthand. Our family lived in another district.
George’s old teachers had warned my parents, “Youre making a mistake, taking on this burden. Hell bring your own children down with him.”
In his new school, a girl named Nancy appeared. Shed fall for George for life. She married him right after they finished school, and soon a daughter arrived. Nancy would endure his wild caprices, his endless fibs and countless affairs, without a murmur. As the saying goes, ‘a single girls woes are halved by marriage, then doubled’.
All his life, George would take full advantage of Nancys patient love, which seemed fused to his own soul.
George was called up for National Servicesent to some distant posting. Out there, he started a ‘side’ family. Howwho knows, perhaps shenanigans during leave. After his discharge, he stayed out there; he had a son now. Nancy, undaunted, travelled across God knows where to fetch him home by any means she could muster.
My parents never heard a word of thanks from cousin George, not that theyd expected it.
Now, George Andrewson is sixty. He attends Anglican church, proudly calls himself a family man. He and Nancy have five grandchildren.
Outwardly, all seems well. But a bitterness from those days lingers deep
And even honey wouldnt sweeten it away.
