"Yes, well, she's an obstinate little cow," the woman says, shaking head.

"Her cousins seem to just get on with it, I don't understand why she has to make everything so bloody difficult all the time."

Rebecca, eavesdropping from the landing felt her shoulders slump. She turned and walked to her room, and stared in her full length mirror. The morning light highlighted the smattering of freckles over her nose. She ran her hand over her flat stomach, turning to the side a little and jutting her hip out, trying to make a curve.

The voice floated up the stairs, it's strident tone making her wince.

"Well, she's gained a few pounds you know. The Osborne side of the family is a little on the heavier side, I hope she doesn't take after them…", followed by a deep sigh.

"No, No! That's not what I'm saying! I'm not suggesting you're fat. I meant her father, he does like an extra potato on his plate in the evenings. I peel enough potatoes for three on every plate….what's that? Oh, okay. Uh. Bye then, talk soon."

Rebecca cringed as her mother's feet clipped rapidly up the stairs, one two one two three four. Her mother barged into the room without knocking, slamming the door back against the frame.

"Me and my big mouth, I think I just upset your aunt again," she announced, reaching around Rebecca to straighten her make up carefully aligned on the vanity. 

Yes, she's not the only one, Rebecca thought sourly, her mother already changing the subject to Rebecca's inability to keep her room spotless.

"What do you mean, you got fired?" 

"I…." 

"But I got this job for you! I recommended you! How dare you show me up like this? What will people think. Oh my God, I have to see Mr. Benedict every Thursday, and now this. What reason did he give you?"

"He, He..uh...he said I lack social skills," Rebecca muttered, looking down into her lap. "I upset a customer that was drunk."

"Well, of course you did. What did I expect? You are always coming out with something completely stupid in front of people, why am I not surprised?'

Rebecca felt the tears rise in the back of her throat. She scraped her chair back, mortified, and headed for the dining room door.

Her mother's voice followed her up the stairs. 

That evening her father sat opposite her at dinner.

"So what did you say to this client that upset him so much?" he asked, his eyes drilling into hers.

Rebecca reached for the ketchup, stalling. Her father reached over and snatched it rudely out of her hand.

"I was using that," he snapped.

"But, you weren't even touching it…" Rebecca stammered.

"Talking back, that was the problem no doubt. What do you think Pam?"

"Yes, you are probably right, she does love to be argumentative."

Rebecca sat looking at her plate, feeling nauseous. 

"I'm not hungry," she announced, moving to rise from her chair.

"Don't you dare leave this table," her mother hissed. I didn't spend the last hour cooking you a meal for you to leave it on your plate. You had better finish that, young lady."

"But, I'm not hungry, and you said I gained a few pounds, I don't like liver anyway, you know that."

"You don't get to decide what we eat in this house. Your father likes liver, and that's what we are eating. Finish it."

Rebecca looked at the congealed piece of meat on her plate, her gorge rising. Fresh tears rose and spilled over her cheeks. She wiped them away roughly, furious with her seeming inability to control her emotions.

Two hours later she sat in the same chair, the plate still in front of her, the light fading across the opposite side of the house. A seventeen year old girl sitting like a punished toddler while her furious mother banged pots and pans in the kitchen behind her, lamenting such a criminal waste of food.

Rebecca ran down the stairs and checked her appearance one more time in the hallway table. Her father opened the living room door suddenly, startling her.

He sniffed and pulled a face.

"You smell like a whore's drawers, go upstairs and wash that crap off," he barked. 

Rebecca turned and looked at him.

"I just bought this, it's my favorite spray…"

"I said, wash it off! Get upstairs before I clip you you mouthy little cow."

Rebecca turned quickly and tripped on the bottom runner, falling forward with the momentum before she had a chance to stick her hands out and struck her chest on the fourth riser, knocking the wind from her instantly.

Stunned, she tried to take a breathe. Her chest heaved, and all she could think of was air, precious air. 

"You winded yourself. Get up," her father said gruffly, pulling her by the elbow.

Still, Rebecca floundered like a fish out of water, unable to breathe in. Tears streamed down her face with the effort.

"Oh for God's sake, stop being so dramatic!" Her father dropped her unceremoniously back onto the bottom step.

"Pam! Come and deal with this, I'm missing the football!" he shouted toward the kitchen, turning and closing the living room door, raising the volume on the television as he sat back in his favorite chair.

Pam bustled out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"What happened?" she said impatiently, looking harried.

Rebecca, finally able to take a deep breathe rolled over and sat on the bottom step, cradling her ribs.

"I was rushing and my foot slipped on the bottom step, I'm wearing socks," she gasped out.

"Well look where you're bloody going will you? I thought something serious happened!" Pam turned and slammed the dining room door to keep the cooking smells in.

Rebecca slowly rose to her feet. Her friend honked, once twice from the street outside.

"Fuck it," Rebecca muttered under her breath, eyeing the two closed doors. She slipped her feet into her shoes, and headed outside in a trail of sweet scent.

A low Datsun sat curbside, loud music leaking from the windows. Freddy, telling everyone to relax. Her friend Sally leant over to the passenger side door and jiggled the handle. The door swung towards Rebecca with a thunk, dropping three inches. Sally went to take off with the door still open, causing the car to stall violently. Rebecca was thrown forwards, her forehead striking the dashboard loudly.

"You stupid moo!" she shouted, rubbing the red spot blooming furiously. "What did you do that for?"

"Sorry, just can't wait to get away in case your mum wants to talk to me," laughed Sally, snorting cigarette smoke in a perfect dragon imitation.

"Think yourself lucky you don't have to live with her," Rebecca muttered, craning outwards to lift the door back into place. "What kind of limo service is this anyway? I thought I requested the Daimler?"

Sally restarted loudly and roared away downhill, shifting from first to third. She passed the dangling cigarette to Rebecca who waved it away. 

"Aww, come on, a little drag won't hurt," she giggled glancing at Becky sideways.

"You don't understand. My parents will fucking disown me. Seriously."

"What you need to do is live a little. You're gonna stink of smoke by the time we leave anyway, they won't know," Sally cut her eyes sideways as she took a bend at 50mph.

"The problem is, if anyone sees me. My Mum shouted at me the other day because someone saw me drinking a can of Saska at the bus stop. Can you believe that? I bought it with my own money and she was still furious," Becky sighed.

"Your Mum is a nutjob, seriously. The faster you get out of there the better.". She had seen Rebecca's tears on a regular basis, the way her mother tied her in knots with her constant criticism. Thank God her own mum was not like that.

"Anyways, Jamie is going to be there tonight," Sally smiled.

"Really?" Becky squealed, bouncing excitedly in her seat.

"Oh my God look at the state of me! I'm wearing the same outfit I wore two weeks ago."

Sally glanced sideways, taking in Becky's tight pants and glittery top. 

"You look amazing as always, I don't know what the heck you are worrying about. I mean, look at you. All the blokes at school want you! Which is more than I can say, that's for sure."

Becky blushed. She thought back to her mother's conversation.

"My mum was complaining I'm getting fat."

Sally slammed on her brakes. She turned to look directly at her friend.

"Are you fucking serious? You, fat?"

"Yeah she was moaning I take after my father's side of the family, she upset my aunt again," Becky half laughed and half sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand. "She's cutting down on how many potatoes she puts on my plate."

Sally's face darkened. 

"What the fuck is wrong with that woman? You have the perfect figure. You know how many girls at school secretly want to look like you?"

"How many?" laughed Becky. Her friend could always make her smile, no matter how miserable she was feeling inside.

"Well, that nasty cow Karen for one, she's always talking shit behind your back," Sally said, looking forward through the windscreen.

A car came careening around the corner behind them, horn blaring. It cut to the right hand side of the road, barely missing the opposite hedgerow and raced ahead. The lights faded into the distance.

"Was that Simon?" Becky asked now, squinting, their conversation forgotten.

"I think so, looked like his old banger," Sally said, pulling away.

"You know that car is in such bad shape you can see the road through a hole in the floor. It's mad! He just drops his fags right through it, doesn't even roll down the window!" Sally laughed.

"Come on, let's put the radio back on."

Becky leant forward and turned the radio up loud. They drove the lanes singing loudly and off key, her mother forgotten, a night's dancing beckoning.

Rebecca's bedroom door slammed back against the door stop, making her jump so violently her entire body left the mattress momentarily. 

"Time to get up," her mother announced marching to the window and throwing the curtains open. The bright morning light hit Rebecca directly in the eyes, making her recoil like a salted slug.

"Is your radiator on? Why is your radiator on?" Pam screeched. "I pay for the heat in this house. Not you! I tell you all the time to turn it off when you go to bed!"

"But I was cold, my wall is damp."

Rebecca's bedroom was at the end of the house where rising damp crept through the walls. Her bed was pushed up against the far wall.

"I don't care if you're cold. My parents didn't even have central heating and I survived. You kids are spoilt these days."

Her mother reached over, pulled the duvet out from under her chin and threw it on the floor.

"Get up." Pam stood staring down at her daughter.

"I'm going to work and you are not laying in bed all day. Do the dishes and peel the potatoes. You are going to have to start looking for a job immediately, I'm not having you laying around the house using the electricity all bloody day."

Rebecca stared up at the crack in the ceiling and felt her insides run cold. She had been hoping for at least a day or too off to think about what she was going to do next. Her parents expected her to work every weekend, until she left school. She had one more year left until her A levels.

"You'll have to see if you pick up some waitressing or something. Try the fish shop too, they are open Sundays."

Pam bustled off down the hallway, leaving Rebecca's door wide open. Her mum had not woken her brother, she noted.

Rebecca's brother Andrew was something of a child prodigy. Fourteen months older than her, he was the apple of her parent's eye. Their bragging when it came to their son knew no boundaries. Andy had received the best exam results ever recorded at their high school. Fourteen Straight A's at O level, and five at A level. And, he never studied. He had a freaky photographic memory that meant he never had to revise for exams. Rebecca meanwhile had crammed for weeks before the exams, only to be rewarded with five B's and four C's, a fairly decent result compared to some of the gormless eejits in her year. Her mother's only comment had been 'well where are the bloody A's?'

Andy was allowed to sleep late on the weekends. Andy was also almost never expected to peel potatoes or wash dishes for that matter. It was important that he rest, according to her father simply because he was a boy. Her dad had infuriated her one night earlier that week. As everyone finished the evening meal he had demanded she go help her mum with the washing up, the fourth night in a row. 

Rebecca had understandably chafed at the unfairness of this arrangement and spoken up, only to get instantly slapped down verbally.

"Andy, come in the other room with me. That's girls work, come and watch the football."

Andy had sneered good naturedly at her and sloped off to the other room. 

He hated football.

"Hey, Big Head!" 

A car horn blared as an egg whizzed through the air, hitting her brother between the shoulder blades, splattering goo all over his brand new coat. Peals of laughter followed a squeal of tyres.

"Stupid fuckers!" her brother shouted, and turned to look at her, his face stricken. She watched in sympathy as he fought back tears. 

Being the smartest kid in class wasn't all fun and games she had noticed.

Andy had recently begun martial arts training, and practiced wholeheartedly in the way that only the young and aimless can. He attended practice sessions twice a week, and spent at least an hour per evening huffing and puffing doing calisthenics in front of the TV until their father shouted at him to fuck off upstairs, he couldn't hear the telly.

"I'll get him when he's not expecting it," he muttered to her as they arrived at the bus stop. He took his jacket off and rubbed as much of the goo off as possible with grass. The jacket now sported a wet brown match.

"Mum is going to kill me," he said, looking dejectedly as his new coat.

Andy had agreed to ride into town with her to go to the library while she looked for a job. Bus service in the village was their only means of transport, it was that or walk the five miles to the nearest town.

"Maybe you can drop it off at the cleaners near the library, see if they can fix it for you," Becky said thoughtfully.

Her brother looked at her gratefully.

"I would never have thought of that. See you're not as stupid as you look," he laughed, ducking a blow. 

"Well one thing's for sure, brains and common sense are mutually exclusive," Rebecca parried.

In the distance a milk tanker appeared, seemingly taking the turn in the road on two wheels. As it hit the straight on the outskirts of the village where the speed limit signs started, the driver accelerated. Andy stuck his arm out to pull Rebecca away from the kerb. The loaded tanker roared past them at close to 70mph in a thirty zone, the wind sucking them forward toward the road in its wake.

"Jesus Christ," Andrew muttered. "That bloke's off his rocker."

"Dad said they're talking about closing the milk factory, did he tell you?"

"No, no he didn't," Andrew said thoughtfully.

"Where would they process all the milk though? This is the biggest plant in the southwest."

They unconsciously both turned and gazed at the silver factory gleaming in the distance. Originally situated in the bottom of the valley to take advantage of the river and freight line, it loomed over the surrounding countryside. 

They valley dropped away from them, rolling fields visible for miles, dotted with the black and white of dairy cows.

Their village was dominated by two large farms, two brothers who waddled with bandy legs, and a gentleman farmer who was way ahead of his time, eschewing chemicals for a more natural approach. 

Both Rebecca and Andy's accents hinted at their London origins, their parents having moved to the southwest when they were eight and nine. Leaving London had been a double edged sword for both of them. Andrew's ambition was to become a naturalist with the stature of the great David Attenborough. He spent every available moment collecting, observing and cataloging the local wildlife. A terrarium in his room frequently held terrified new tenants, including a wild vole that promptly gave birth to eight miniature pink babies. 

Rebecca had struggled socially after the move. As much as she loved the farms, and especially the proximity to horses, she desperately missed her best friend since nursery school, Jane. She also missed the short ride to her cousins and grandparents. When she wanted to see them now it was a three hour drive fraught with stress. She was incurably motion sick, much to her father's disgust. Her insides were in knots before they even got into the car, and shouting ensued the moment she announced she was nauseous. Her dad, determined to make the journey in under three hours refused to stop, which frequently ended in her vomiting in the back seat of the car. Her hysterical mother would spend the remainder of the journey alternately berating their father for his impatience, while wailing about the damage to the seat fabric. So, even though she missed London terribly, she would prefer to go once a year at most.

The other reason that they had both struggled was that even now, after ten years they were still considered outsiders. Grockles was the local term. Children everywhere can be vicious, and they were particularly cruel once they realized how sensitive Rebecca was. She truly wore her heart on her sleeve, and could never simply keep a stiff upper lip and pretend she was not upset about the latest taunts. The bullies of course, ran with it. Hoots of derision followed her down the halls of the ancient primary school every time she tried to hide her tears, which of course made her even angrier. The angrier she got, the more she cried. Her mother, harried with the pressure of a new job, and a cottage that needed lots of renovation simply did not have the time or energy to coddle her. The first year after the move was a memory that still made Rebecca shudder.

Thankfully, Sally had befriended her in her first year of secondary school. Although she would never be truly popular, having a best friend was enough of a balm she could navigate a little less painfully through the halls of their top comprehensive school. 

The bus finally arrived as the drizzle was turning to real rain. The doors hissed open. The driver, an elderly curmudgeon grunted at them as they paid their fares. He took off before they got to their seats, making them shuffle run to the back row and fall giggling into opposite sides.

"I'll jump off by the Guild Hall," Andy said. The library was steps away.

"Nah, I'm going to stay on to the bottom of town, and work my way up," said Rebecca. "I'll  end at the chippie."

In her purse she carried several handwritten resumes on A5 paper. 

"Jeez, look," Andy squeaked, his head whipping forwards. In the distance they could see the lights of a police car, and the milk tanker laying on it's side in the middle of the road, a white circle slowly widening on the black asphalt. 

The bus driver pulled over to the side of the road.

"Well, we won't be heading thataways by the looks of things, will we now," he commented drily. 

He signaled and turned the little bus through the housing estate, taking a shortcut through the village as he headed for the A road that connected them to town.

"Let's hope no-one is waiting at the next stop," he commented loudly, his voice belying his excitement. Not much happened in this area at all, and a dramatic accident would be fodder for the old lady gossip mill for weeks to come. 

"We saw him just now, must have been doing seventy," Andy said. 

"Was he now?" said the bus driver, filing this little tidbit away. 

"Did you see who was behind the wheel?" he shouted back at them over the noise of the engine. 

"No we were just staying back as far as we could, honestly."

The bus pulled up to the final stop in the village, in the lay-by next to the red phone box. An elderly lady shuffled forward, taking her time creeping up the stairs. She turned and half fell half sat in the front seat, breathing heavily.

"How are you Mrs. Stoneman?" the driver asked, waiting for her to get settled before he pulled back out into traffic.

You're rather early. I had to hurry, saw you coming up the hill from the gate," she puffed, trying to catch her breathe.

"Well there was a little excitement on the other side of the village, a tanker overturned took the bend too fast it seems. Milk all over the road. We had to cut through Weatherhayes which is why I'm a bit early. The young man back there said he was doing seventy."

The lady took her time turning her entire upper body to the side, unable to turn her head independently. 

"Probably doing drugs," Mrs. Stoneman blurted. She turned back towards the front of the bus, and patted her blue hair happy with her announcement.

"You know, you might be right," muttered the driver. "You might be right."

Becky glanced at Andy and rolled her eyes.

This, she thought, is how rumours start.

"Your Dad and I are going on holiday next month," Pam announced as she flitted around the kitchen. She whipped the bowl out from under Rebecca's nose the moment she put her spoon down.

"I was still drinking the milk!" Rebecca blurted. 

"I don't have time for you to scrape the bowl for ten minutes, I have to leave. Anyway, I was saying. We are going to Penzance for a week without you and Andrew."

Rebecca looked at her mother in disbelief.

"You're leaving us here...alone?"

"Yes, you are quite old enough to look after yourselves. It's the school holidays that week, so you can take the bus into town if you're bored. But I am warning you there will be no parties here while we are gone. Do you understand?" Rebecca locked eyes with her brother for a fraction of a second, both suppressing a smile.

"I'm serious you two. I expect this house spotless when I get back. Rebecca you can have Sally over. That's it. And I'll talk to her mum so you can stay there too. It'll save me some money on food if I can persuade her to take you for a couple of nights."

"Uh, who can I invite?" Andy asked, a picture of innocence.

"Robert, that's it. Like I said, no parties."

Andy and Rebecca watched their mum drive away up the lane, as they pulled their shoes on.

"Is she definitely gone?" Rebecca asked, nervous.

"Yeah." Andy turned to her with a huge grin. "A week! A week with no nagging, oh my God we can sleep late. And watch what we want. And play music!" he squealed, his voice breaking, a leftover teenage curse that still visited him when he was excited.

"But she's right, no parties. Can you imagine if someone spilled something, she'd be hospitalized with horror if she came back to a stain."

"Don't forget the fringes. Can't mess those up either," Rebecca joked.

The living room in their cottage had rugs with fringes. Why they had to have rugs over wall to wall carpeting she never understood. But God forbid anyone kicked the fringes on the rug when they were moving around the room. Nothing could instill her mother's rage faster. Pam wasted at least twenty minutes of her life every day on her hands and knees straightening the tassels so they lay in smooth uniform rows.

Rebecca laughed. Even though her brother was the golden child, the one thing they always saw eye to eye on was their mother's hysterical behaviour. Any time either of them put an object down that they were using, it disappeared. Their mother's overwhelming need for regimented cleanliness was a running joke between them. Their father had given up trying to fight her iron will years ago and went along with whatever she said. He had the occasional explosion when it just all became too much for him, which would lead to sulking, slamming of dishes in the sink, and threats of her leaving so they could all deal with the house on their own, and where would that get them all, huh? Up to their ears in filth no doubt.

The next week was filled with threats. They were not to take anything from the freezer that wasn't marked. They were allowed one biscuit a day, the packet had to last the whole week. They had to run the dishwasher daily. And neither of them better dare attempt to do laundry.

The day before their parents returned they were under strict instructions to clean the house thoroughly to Pam's standards or there would be hell to pay. As the week worn on Rebecca's anxiety grew worse and worse. Was a week alone really worth all this stress? She was breaking out in spots all over her chin.

The evening before they were due to leave, Pam was talking loudly on the hallway phone to her younger sister, her usual monologue which did not invite interruption or a two sided conversation.

"Well, you know what I say, it's just like having a baby bird. You get to the point when it's time to kick them out and get on with your life, isn't it? I don't know about you but I'm tired of all this raising kids stuff. I can't wait for them both to hurry up and get lost. No really. You get to a point it's just all too much for you, you know? I want my house back. I'm sick of looking at all their stuff everywhere. What? Oh no, once they are gone they are gone. I won't be letting anyone move back in here. Oh no. Especially once they have more crap. You know, stuff. Furniture and things. They are not storing anything here. I don't care, they'll have to figure it out for themselves."

Rebecca, listening from her room saw her future yawning ahead of her. Where would she go if she couldn't come home? What if she screwed things up? Then where would she be? She wiped away hot tears, not even aware she was crying.

Saturday morning. Rebecca woke up and stretched lazily. The light in her room was all wrong. Shadows filled her pillow. She sat up and picked up her bedside clock. One o'clock. That's not right, she thought. She turned and put her feet on the carpet, her head buzzing.

Rebecca padded downstairs. Her brother sat at the dining room table eating a sandwich.

"They're gone!" he announced, sweeping his arm out to the side.

"They set off at like 4am. God knows why. To get a jump start on the traffic probably," Rebecca sniffed. "What time is it anyway? My bedroom clock is wrong."

"It's 1pm."

"That's….that's not possible. I never sleep that late," she said, shocked.

"Well I figured you needed it, seeing as Mum's been waking you up every weekend about work," he smiled at her in commiseration.

Work was a four letter word for Rebecca in recent weeks, in more ways that one.

She had not found a new part time position, much to her mother's disgust. To be honest, she didn't want to find one, and hadn't been putting much effort into her search, spending her Saturday morning in town browsing the racks instead of job hunting. On one memorable morning, she was standing in the local newsagents reading a teen magazine when she looked over and saw her father at the opposite end of the rack of shiny publications reaching for something on the top shelf. They had locked eyes for a moment. Her father nodded solemnly at her, winked and turned to leave. Her secret was safe with him, she realized. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Twenty minutes later she exited the store and he was parked outside in his work van waiting to give her a ride home in the pouring rain.

"I made you a sandwich, it's in the fridge," Andy said.

She glanced back over at the table and realized a half empty packet of chocolate biscuits was sitting in front of his plate. Rebecca laughed out loud.

"You just couldn't wait, could you? Just leave some for me you greedy pig," she smirked.

She reached into the fridge and pulled out an overstuffed sandwich. She turned to look at her brother.

"Mum is going to kill you if she finds out, you know," she laughed again.

"What?" Andrew's face was the picture of innocence. 

"Three slices of ham, really? There's starving children in Africa, you know. You better not waste that!" Rebecca spat in a perfect imitation of Pam's strident tone. A golden rule in their house was one slice of ham and one slice of cheese per sandwich. 

"I don't want to sound like Mum but this food has to last us for a week, you know. There's no need to eat it all in one day."

Andrew rolled his eyes at his sister.

"Don't you bloody start."