The Protective Mother

[i][i]''You’re young. You are standing in front of a shop window watching something on the black and white television inside. A woman grabs your hand and runs down the street, pulling you al[/i]ong[/i]…''

I was challenged to write a story from the above quote...so this is my take...



''Mummy, Mummy it is Daddy on the TV....'' I was only 7 years old, but I remember that day so well.  My dear Mamma was pulling me away from the TV screen in the shop window.  To onlookers it could have looked like I was being kidnapped, but she was protecting me from knowing who my father really was.

I never saw my Father again on television or in real life. We didn't have a television back home in Yorkshire then and within a month we had moved to live with my grandmother in Spain.  

I had a happy childhood, but occasionally tinged with sadness and query as I was forbidden to talk of my father.  My mother married a Spaniard, Paco and he cared for me as I was his own, calling me Maria even though I was just plain Mary.

My mother had news from England when I was 15, her brother was dying of cancer and we had to visit.  It was a sad time, but I was looking forward to seeing my cousins who I hadn't seen for a few years now.

My cousin, Sarah was distraught that her father was suffering and had been moved into a nearby hospice.  ''Why my father?'' She sobbed.

''I am so sorry Sarah'' I tried to comfort her and stretched my arms out to hug her.

''It should be your father, the evil one'' she spat out at me.

''Paco is not evil he is good and kind'' I shouted back.

''Not Paco your real father the killer, the one who buried the old couple on the moors'' She spat back at me.

Now I know why we fled to Spain and my mother dragged me away from the Televison in the shop window that day.