Why have you got 20 written on your head? I was asked this on the 21st of August 2003 and little did I know, the person who asked it would later help save my life and become my sister.
It was of course my 20th birthday and someone had written the number 20 on my forehead with eyeliner. I was sitting on the red circular bench outside KFC on Abington St in Northampton. It was the haunt of the moshers/emos/goths/freaktards of Northampton and the surrounding areas. Think of it as the fountain and skittles of Warrington.
I'd only been hanging around there for a couple of weeks prior to my birthday so I hadn't had the chance to meet many people. Samantha asked the question, in a rare blonde moment for her and we started talking. It wasn't long before we started hanging out on a regular basis and soon I was introduced to her family. I was introduced to my family. Although I don't think any of us realised it at that point.
Samantha was 17, a bit of a tomboy, but very pretty nonetheless. She played football, played pool and drank beer. Her younger sister Charli was just 13 when I first met her. Her smile was very addictive, it still is to this day and it seemed she was never able to keep still, but in a very good way. Their Mum was Jacqui, who was friendly, kind and very religious.
They all accepted me almost immediately and it was always a joy to be around them. Jacqui quickly became a second Mum to me, as she did with almost every friend that Samantha or Charli brought home more than once. I'd always wanted a little sister and Charli fit the bill perfectly. Nothing seemed to faze her and I wanted to be the big brother who made sure nobody ever got the chance to hurt her.
Samantha became an older sister, despite being younger than me. She's the person I seek out when I want to talk straight with someone.
I did get the chance to be a big brother to Samantha once. We had been regular visitors to the Romany pub near her home every weekend and someone in our group, had been overstepping the mark and causing some right grief for us all. There was talk of drugs, deliberate fires and all sorts and somehow it found it's way outside the pub. This person, a male, I should add, seemed to take a swing at Samantha. I saw red.
I followed this lad up the road. He was wanting a kebab, I was wanted vengeance. I got mine at least.
I had waited outside the kebab shop for him and as he came out, I confronted him. He tried to walk off and as we both crossed the road, I kicked his kebab out of his hand, which landed on the ground. Once over the road, we stopped next to a park. I demanded answers from him and his pathetic answers coupled with his tears made me snap and I smacked him square in the face, then went in for a couple more.
Now I hate violence and it takes a hell of a lot to get me to that point, but his swing at Samantha, at my sister pushed me over the edge.
There we no ramifications either. People felt that he deserved it and some even questioned why I didn't do more damage to his face. I think people even respected me a bit more for actually standing up to him. The grief he caused my friends seemed to drop a few levels as a result aswell. Win, win in my eyes.
I spend a fair few nights on the sofa at Mum's house. Not because I was homeless, or because I was in trouble, but because it was offered, especially if we were out socialising late into the evening. I was always made to feel so welcome, by everyone.
Had I known they could be the support network I needed, I may never have left Northampton. Samantha gives me the odd dig about leaving. She does it in jest, but she's right. Had I stayed in Northampton, thanks to them, I would probably have gotten the help I needed much sooner than I did.
Not long after I came back to Warrington, Samantha had a baby girl with her long term boyfriend. Isabel would later help me quit smoking, not that she knows it yet of course. I'll tell her next time I'm down there and I'll make sure I thank her too.
Charli was growing up too. Having said that, Charli will always be that 13 year old girl I first met to me. She's a dancer now and a very good one at that. Into her 20's, she makes me tired just looking at how active she is. Still not keeping still for more than a minute or so, the same addictive smile and the same addictive personality that makes any man, woman or child fall in love with her.
I know it's sad, but I'm going to admit this anyway. I don't even need to have a conversation with Charli for her to work her magic. A simple reply, usually in the shape of a smiley face on MSN, is enough to bring a smile to my face. That's actually quite convenient, because getting Charli's attention for more than 30 seconds is next to impossible. I mean that in the nicest possible way of course.
With Charli there to make me smile, Samantha there to talk seriously with and ask advice, Jacqui, or Mum, is the happy medium. And what a woman Mum is.
Jacqui will go out of her way to help you and she will never ask for a single thing in return. As I said earlier, Mum is very religious. None of that "in your face", knock on your door preaching stuff, but for herself, she's more religious than anyone else I know.
Now normally that would put me off someone. Most people know my religious beliefs but what most don't know is that I put them aside for Jacqui. I even went to church last Xmas, as a thankyou to her and Samantha for putting me up during my 2 week holiday down there. I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I sizzle and melt as soon as I walked in? I can only assume Mum protected me somehow.
I'm not sure if I'm joking there or not.
Mum helped me pluck up the courage to get to the doctors to start my rehab. Mum came up to see me last year. Not for any reason, not because she was coming up here, but because she felt I needed a hug, needed some strength. It worked. Her visit gave me a much needed boost
Mum will never take credit for her kindness. Ever! That makes her even more special in my eyes. She does it for Jesus, or the G-man. I've joked in previous blogs that she's a saint. To be perfectly blunt, St Jacqui sounds like a cracking name. St Mum even. She certainly fits the bill.
Now I know you're reading this Jacqui and I know you'll disagree with my prognosis, but that's what makes you what you are. Even your two daughters are living proof that you're special.
I'm a soppy git deep down, aren't I?
Samantha has a young son now, Oliver. She's married and along with her own two, she has Dale's sons aswell and she's a wonderful mother to all four and a wonderful wife aswell. Not that she'd admit it of course, she got that habit from her Mum.
There is only one downside to having these three people in my life and it's a downside that I don't care about, not one little bit. They're kindness, goodness, selflessness and all the other positive ness's point out the inadequacies of the people who should be there for me. I speak of course of my biological family.
Barring my mother and Dad, I have no intention of speaking to any of them ever again. In fact, none of them will even know where I will be living or what my name will be.
I leave you with a warning.
Keep your hands off Jacqui, Samantha and Charli. They're my family and you can't have them.
I love the three of you very much and I can't thank you enough for the help and support, without which, I wouldn't be on the verge of a new life.
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