The sounds of squawking fighting seagulls wake me. They are double the size of pigeons with an even more annoying squawk that goes through your ears like a drill. Bell told me yesterday that a lady in Whitstable had her cat picked up and snatched by one of these giant flying scavengers. Usually, I'd laugh at this kind of stories but the size of these brutes I could believe it. With the influx of tourists and litter, they've now become enormous, locals know better than to feed them but unfortunately tourists aren't aware off this unspoken rule. Where there is one there are twenty seagulls, like rats, before you know it you're swarmed by these greedy little flying predators.

I look in the mirror before I stumble downstairs hunting for food, like a greedy seagull. I'm by nature not particularly vain or one who cares for her appearance, unlike most girls my age but I need to check my neck, as it aches from yesterday, quite rightly too as there are purple bruises off his fingerprints imprinted on my neck, like a angry mark from nasty moment I'd rather forget.

As I glance over my body I see more, shit I need to hide these from Dad he'd panic and ask questions I don't want to answer or even really know the answers to, but how can I hide these bruises? I rummage through the wardrobe which has the spare clothes she mentioned. I'm surprised as these clothes all look new, why would you leave new clothes? and they're all my size. I'm used to wearing clothes and shoes, that are two sizes too big or small, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth but this all feels too convenient. I grab the first hoodie I lay my hands on and hope it covers enough of the bruises.

As I wander down to the bar the smell of stale beer is an attack on my nostrils, I think I've lost my appetite. I hear the barmaids chattering as they restock the fridges and wipe over the sticky bar. There is no sign of Dad or Bell.

I sit on the stool at the bar and nervously play with a beermat while I wait for Dad. The barmaids carrying on chatting, oblivious to my earwigging into their mindless conversation. "What a horrible way to go" one gossiped.

"I know" mutters the other.

"His poor family".

"I know" muttered the other one again "but of course he was drunk and everyone knows he loves a drink" she tutted.

"I know" muttered the other one.

Now they have my interest. "Did something happen last night?" I sweetly intervene.

The ladies look at each other knowingly then burst into explosive chatter. "Well you didn't hear it from me but Pervy Barry, well he likes a drink, he ended up on the train tracks, a train hit him they say his foot got caught but God knows what he's doing on the rails and now he's dead. It's so sad his poor family......I wonder if trains are still running today? I was going pop down to Faversham to see my sister."  She huffs at her annoyance at the inconvenience.

"Was he a local in here" I mutter trying to regain her interest.

She shakes her head "oh no he just hung around on the streets with a can in one hand, fag in the other and annoying folk" she carries on wiping the same part of the bar clearly lost in thought.

"Why did you call him Pervy Barry" I inquire now hooked on their every word.

She glances over at the other one, now also wiping down the tables "well you didn't hear it from me and I'm not one to gossip or speak ill of the dead but there were rumours that Barry had in the past had a bit off a taste for the younger lady - when I said lady I mean younger girls ... Very young if you know I what mean".
A deep rooted sickness feeling rushes over me, was it him? It can't have been the chip shop strangler, Pervy Barry. My heart is racing, this cannot be happening, it has to be someone else. My mind is on overdrive from what happened last night, I've got to pull it back, get myself together.

"You alright love?" the barmaid chimes, clearly noticing the colour draining from my face

"I'm fine" I squeak back, "it's just so sad because ..."

"Because the trains aren't running" she chips in.

I try to stop my jaw from dropping. "I was going to say because he's dead".

She nods" that too"

From across the pub, the other one pipes up "I know".

Dad and Bell walk in and I feel like all my prayers have been answered, if I had to stand and listen to these two for a moment more I think I'd put my head in the fridge and slam it until I deafen myself.  Dad is carrying a bags of shopping yet still smiling, a smile that is spread from ear to ear. It takes me back, I've not seen him smile in such a long time. "Good morning sleepyhead, I checked on you last night you were flat out and this morning"  he kisses me on top of the head  "didn't even say good night" he teased. I slouch down on the stool to further hide my neck. "I've got a lot on today, I've got be shown a lot of stuff, changing barrels, the books. But first, we are going to have breakfast". He digs in the carrier bag and pulls out a packet of bacon as proud as punch, it was as if he hunted and gathered it himself, not got it from the local shop. I push a smile on my face that matches his as if I'm as pleased as he is then follow him upstairs.

The ladies carry on cleaning and Bell is perched in her usual corner with her pile of papers.

In the flat there is a kitchen come dining room. I sit quietly at the table as Dad whips up bacon sandwiches whilst singing Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' at the top of his lungs. He's in really good spirits, his mood almost feels contagious with his joy spreading all over him like a happy rash. I push the thought of last night like so many other horrible memories, to the back of my mind, stored away and only revisited when I need to.

As we tuck into our bacon sandwiches Dad whittles on about this and that. Then his voice becomes a little more serious, the voice he uses when he's trying to be firm but we both know I don't buy it but I play along regardless "I was talking to Bell and we think ... No, I think you need to be in school".
I drop my sandwich in protest and push back in my chair what fresh hell is he suggesting now? He smiles amused by my childish reaction  "I know, but that what kids do at your age? They go to school, you need to be around people your own age, it'll be good for you".

I pout "why do I need to be around people my own age? we've been here five minutes and you're trying to off cart me" he looks hurt I know I've hurt him but I don't care.

"It's not like that Jane, I'd spend every day with you, but I want more for you".

"More than what?" I snap back.

He reaches for my hand but I snatch it away. "More than I can offer you, I want more than this, you're a smart kid and I want you to have options, chances. For that to happen you need an education".

I sneer "and how will you do that? You'd need paperwork, my birth certificate. They'd ask questions like why haven't I been in school for the last three years?"

He looks down avoiding my train of sight. "Bell said she will sort it"  I jump up, of course she will. Saint Bell why is she so interested in our life's? He reaches out again this time I don't pull away, I'm still angry at him but I already feel like I'm losing my grip on him, he is slowly being pulled away. I can't pull away too or we will snap then I'll be all on my own. "Please Jane, trust me on this, as a parent you can't always be liked by your kid but as long as they still love you - because one day they will see you did what you had to, was for the best .... And you are my kid and I'm doing this all for you, for you".

I pick up my plate, chuck the remains of my sandwich in the bin then turn to him indignantly. "You're right I don't like you right now".
Then I go to storm off to my room but before I walk in I feel the guilt start to seep in, we never argue, this isn't who we are. I turn, he's still sitting at the table "but I still love you".

He smiles "that'll do for now".