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My Mum and I used to live in this ground flat, just twenty or so minutes from the town. The street was relatively quiet, with kind, caring neighbors. There were a couple of corner shops, equipped with a chippy, so things weren't that miserable.
You might be wondering why I have started with saying, "My Mum and I?" Well...Dad hadn't been the best of fathers or husbands, so, in a storming rage of fury, Mum packed up some bags, money, driving licences, and dragged me out of there, not looking back, a small tear trickling down her eye. I hadn't heard or seen him since.

So, now it was just Mum and I. We were inseparable. We'd do anything and everything together. Every Friday, we made it compulsory to have a chippy; and Monday onwards, it would be healthy food, only. Honesty and loyalty were essentialities in our household. I suppose that is what kept Mum and I so close - love, honest and trust - something Dad failed at.
I never tell Mum this...but sometimes, in moments of peacefulness and tranquility, I sometimes remember what it was like, living at home with Mum and Dad together. That seemed so long ago, now. It was like only yesterday when Mum was in the bedroom, selecting random things for her suitcases, and me sitting in one of the empty chairs, watching her, confused. Tears of anger and sadness overwhelemed her, making her pause momentarily, pondering. I wanted to get up from my backside and tell her that things would eventually work out either for the best or for the worst, but I remained in my seat, watching her.
I sit reading one of George R.R. Martin's books, whilst stuffing sausages and chips in to mouth. Mum is eating a fish supper, her concentration fixed on a quiz show. We came to a neutral agreement - Mum and I: she gets to watch her programms first, and then I get the remainder of the night.
Mum turns to me, "Why do you read?" Was she taking the mickey, or was this a genuine, serious question.
Cautiously, I cocked my eyebrow at her. "Because I like to read," I replied, confused.
Mum sighed, and went back to watching her quiz show.
It wasn't until about nine o'clock when Mum sighed again, and lurched to her feet. I didn't look at her, my eyes continued roaming over the numerous words in the book that I was reading. I could sense Mum's disapproval, but I didn't care. "Don't stay up too late, OK?" she told me.
"OK, Mum," I replied. Mum turned, and sauntered out of the kitchen.
Car lights darted past the living room curtains, the tires tearing into the

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