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she’ll have to go some to compete with you.’
    Mummy thought it was hilarious. ‘Oh, you do make me laugh,’ she said.
    I knew he was only trying to be funny, but I didn’t like his jokes very much and I knew that he could suddenly turn from laughter to rage in a split second so I always had to be on my guard. Sometimes he would scare me with a sudden shout or move and I would have to cross my legs quickly to stop myself peeing. I wasn’t always successful, though, and on occasion I’d let Eddie take the blame. I felt guilty about that but when I saw the beating Dad dished out in punishment, I didn’t dare own up.
    Mummy had got Eddie from Battersea Dogs’ Home when I first moved in. He was a black, white and tan mongrel of labrador stock, always playful and boisterous but gentle with it. Like most dogs on council estates in the 1970s, Eddie used to take himself for a walk. He’d be let out in the morning and he’d be gone for hours until hunger and thirst forced him home. But once Dad had started beating him, he began to chase cars and cause a commotion down in the square, barking at everyone, especially men, so Mummy decided he wasn’t allowed out on his own any more. The only trouble was that she didn’t make arrangements for anyone to walk him on the lead either, which made Eddie’s behaviour even more manic. He was desperate for the freedom he’d always known. Whenever somebody opened the front door he would attempt to charge through their legs. On the occasions when he did slip out, his behaviour was even more out of control, and the local kids, and some adults, would throw stones at him. I tried to take him out myself once but he was so strong on the lead that he pulled me the whole length of the road on my belly, grazing my face andknees, before I was forced to let go and watch as he nearly ran under the wheels of a bus.
    So poor Eddie wasn’t taken out much, and he had no choice but to leave puddles of his own alongside mine; puddles and mounds of poo as well. It wasn’t unusual to step in it on the way to the bathroom as the passage was dark and even if you could smell it, you couldn’t see it until it was too late. Unfortunately for Eddie, it was often Dad’s bare foot that found it first.
    One evening I was sitting on the floor behind the sofa in the front room. Dad was lying stretched out watching television. Eddie crept up, sniffed around and proceeded to urinate beside me. I wasn’t shocked because I was used to seeing him do this, but it made me want to go too. I had been desperately crossing my legs for a while, unwilling to venture out from my place of relative peace and safety because earlier Dad had been in a bad mood and had put a foot through my dolls’ house. I didn’t want to have to walk between Dad and the TV and risk starting him off on another rant and maybe getting a smack on the bottom.
    Eventually I could hold it in no longer. I slipped my knickers down to my knees, squatted and let it go, just on the spot where Eddie had done his wee, reckoning someone would have to clean there anyway. But as I did so, the sound on the television dipped for a moment and the hiss and splash I made on the floor could be heard clearly.
    ‘What’s that noise?’ Dad demanded, pulling himself up into a sitting position. By the time he got up to investigate, I had just managed to pull up my knickers. Terrified at beingdiscovered, I darted out in front of him and ran as fast as I could to try and find somewhere to hide.
    I heard him bellow to Mummy, who was in the kitchen: ‘’Ere, Donna. The kid’s pissed herself. Dirty little cunt.’
    Mummy managed to find me first, hidden amongst the dirt and dog ends under her bed, but it didn’t stop Dad rushing up behind her to give me a hard kick. I waited for Mummy to stop him as he dragged me back to the front room by the hair, but she did nothing.
    ‘Please stop him, Mummy, please,’ I sobbed.
    She thrust her face into mine. ‘Shut up