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which as far as she was concerned just meant she could pick and choose.) This Peter was a recovering heroin addict and Mum seemed to be intent on helping him through it. Never once did I think she’d turn to heroin, because of my dad, so I was OK with it to start with. But I did wonder what the hell she saw in him, because it was clear he’d been through the mill. In fact, he looked bloody rough. And, after her relationship with my dad, I thought she’d learnt her lesson.

      Peter seemed like quite a nice bloke. But my mum is very easily persuaded, and unbeknown to me Peter had introduced her to a crowd of people who were his ‘mates’. And these so-called friends were all into crack. Peter was on it too (what’s the point of coming off heroin only to get hooked on something just as bad?) and before long Mum was becoming part of that world.

      When I found out he’d got her on crack I wanted to stab him.

      I remember the first time I came home and realised what was going on. I walked in and noticed my mum was all sweaty and seemed preoccupied and scatty. Straight away I had a hunch.

      ‘It stinks in here,’ I said, turning up my nose. And it did, although back then I didn’t recognise the stench of crack. Now I can smell it a mile off.

      Mum suddenly looked a bit worried and started tidying up. Then I noticed some ashtrays that had been washed up. There were loads of them. I was used to Mum smoking a bit of puff, but she would never have ashtrays all over the place. Something didn’t fit.

      ‘Why did you wash the ashtrays up? They’re not dirty.’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she mumbled. She was so nervous, it was obvious. ‘I, er, I need to go out, Jade. See you in a bit.’ And with that she was gone. She literally fled out the door – and she didn’t come home for about two days. By which time she was acting as if nothing had happened.

      Once Peter had introduced her to crack, it didn’t take long before Mum had a whole heap of new ‘friends’ feeding off her addiction. One of these was a woman called Mel. (I mentioned her briefly in my last book, but didn’t quite fill you in on the extent of her influence on my mum.) She was a nasty, ugly, dirty user of a woman. And I hated the sight of her.

      Mum must’ve been using for about three years. In that time all her usual priorities just started disappearing. I’d get home and the fridge would have nothing in it apart from maybe a bottle of milk – if I was lucky. Not that Mum has ever been one to have a fridge packed full of groceries (now I’m older I always have to have the fridge crammed, because I never had that when I was growing up), but she’d always buy what she could with her disability allowance. That was, until drugs became more important than food. During that time she lost all sense of normal, acceptable behaviour. She stopped caring about anyone apart from herself.

      Mum knew perfectly well I was on to her. I ended up taking lots of time off work because I was too worried about leaving her alone for fear of what she’d get up to. I was always especially scared on the day she got her disability allowance, because that was money – drug money.

      This is the kind of low life that Mel was: Mum would go to the Post Office and tell me she’d be back in a few minutes. Meanwhile, Mel would be lingering at the Post Office ready to pounce on my weakling of a mum and tempt her away to buy drugs before she could so much as protest. As a result, I’d be sitting indoors waiting for my mum to come home, but she’d be gone for hours, sometimes even days, blowing her allowance on drugs.

      I didn’t want to tell any of my friends, though. I was too scared and embarrassed. In those days I was going out with a guy called Danny who was heavily into coke and liked to beat me up in his spare time. So back then I didn’t really have a great deal to choose from. Neither option was very appealing. All I could do most nights was hide in my bedroom and hope it would all go away. You always want people to think you’ve got the perfect mum and the perfect dad, don’t you? Well, all my mates already knew my dad didn’t fit into that category, so I was desperate for them to believe that my mum was amazing. And for the most part she was. But to have to admit to my friends that Mum was a drug addict! They would think she was dirty, and I couldn’t stand that. So I hid the truth. And I didn’t tell one single person.

      Mum actually won the lottery once, believe it or not. She and one of her ‘mates’ got something in the region of £15,000, which they split between them. It embarrasses me to talk about it now, and you can guess why. She blew the lot on drugs – all £7,500 of it. Oh, except for one present she bought for me – a light-green plastic mac from Mark One that cost about £6.99. She’d even tried to keep her winnings a secret from me to start with because she knew I’d want to know what she was going to spend it on.

      Every night I would go home and frantically search for evidence of my mum’s drug use. Would she be on crack? Would she even be alive? I used to argue and argue with her, and I hated it. In the end we were fighting like cat and dog.

      Mel was still on the scene and it made me feel violently ill just to think of her. Ultimately, one day she made me feel plain violent.

      Mel lived near to my nan and granddad, the two cutest and gentlest people on earth. I mentioned in my last book that I raised a hand to Mel because one day she walked past them on the landing and muttered under her breath to my granddad, ‘You bastard.’

      Well, that wasn’t the half of it.

      I was always telling my nan and granddad that Mel was bad news and that Mum was getting involved with her, but they didn’t like to interfere where Mum was concerned. They’ve always known Jackiey has a mind of her own and I think they feel better just staying out of things and leaving her to her own devices. But at the same time they could see how much it was all upsetting me. And that hurt them.

      I remember one afternoon I was round at their house eating lunch – my granddad makes the best sandwiches, ‘doorsteps’ he calls them, and that day he’d made me a ham and cheese one – and all of a sudden there was a banging on the front door. My nan went to see who it was and scuttled back after a few moments and said to my granddad, ‘John, it’s that Mel woman.’

      My ears pricked up instantly and I dropped the doorstep sandwich in my lap. ‘Who?’ I stood up. ‘What does she want, Nan?’

      ‘She asked me for some money.’

      That scavenging, disgusting drug addict of a woman had so little shame that she had actually asked my little nan for money so she could buy drugs! That was it. I was at the door in a second. ‘Do yourself a favour, Mel, and get away from the door now.’

      Her face was pulling all sorts of contorted shapes, she was so bloody out of it.

      ‘Oh, Jade – where’s your mum? Come on, lend us 20 quid, will ya?’

      I am not proud of what I did next. And anyone who already thinks I’ve got a bad temper will just think they’re being proved right after hearing this. But put yourself in my shoes and imagine what you’d want to do to the person who was encouraging your mum to take drugs.

      I pulled Mel by the hair, then shut the door, dragged her outside and proceeded to hit her uncontrollably.

      ‘How dare you bring your dirty self to my nan and granddad’s and ask them for their pension so you can buy more crack!’

      I was livid. I hit her over and over again until physically I couldn’t fight any more. When my mum appeared round the corner I turned on her as well. ‘Take your fucking scummy friend away. You’re welcome to each other. I don’t want to see you again. You make me feel sick. Go and fuck off to your crack den!’

      Of course, it wasn’t long before she was back home wanting more money from me. The worst thing was, I couldn’t not give it to her, otherwise she’d just go and beg it from someone else. Towards the end of her using she didn’t even bother going to other people’s houses to do her drugs. She’d do it at home, while I sat in my bedroom knowing what she was up to but not having the strength to stop her. I knew full well that those drugs had more influence on her than I ever could.

      My mum

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