Christmas, 1983

I recently read Emma Donoghue’s Room for my Reading Crime unit and I found a few of the details triggered some memories. It was nothing traumatic, but the way Donoghue told the story from the child’s perspective made me want to experiment a little. So here you go…. I’m not sure how I’m going to end this one, but just that I’m not quite finished yet.


It’s hot and my face is getting sticky. I can hear Mummy and Mick yelling. I think she wants me to have a bike for Christmas but Mick says no. Scott and Andrew are getting bikes but I’m not allowed. I can hear Mummy cry but not too much because I’m in the wardrobe. It’s locked but I can still see through the crack in the middle so I push my eye close up against it. It’s bright out there but dark inside. My nose is ticklish but I don’t want the sneeze to come because I have to be as quiet as a mouse. Mummy yells again and then there’s a bang. I can’t see them in the crack anymore but I can still hear the yelling. That’s how I know she’s OK. He’s a doctor too and he’s always telling me one day he’s going to take me to his work and cut my tonsils out. He scares me but Mummy says it’s joking. Mick yells, “SHE DOESN’T NEED A BIKE, BIRTHDAY OR NOT!” I’m like Jesus. I have the same birthday. This year I’ll be four whole fingers big! It’s all my fault that they’re yelling though, because all they’re saying is about the bike. I don’t want one. I just want them to be quiet and stop yelling so I can come out of the wardrobe. My face is starting to get wet and I need to do a wee…


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