Character Sketch - or the start of a story?

   She was only thirteen and that meant she had no rights, no space and no needs. She was small and pale with long mouse-coloured hair, which she hated, but dad wouldn’t let her colour it. She was too young for that sort of thing. Too young for makeup, too young for fashion – but when they wanted her to do something, she wasn’t too young then.

   Then it was: Casey, pop down the shops for some groceries - because that stupid cow of a stepmother had forgotten half the shopping. Or Casey, just put out the washing - because Carol’s too pregnant to lift anything; or Casey go down the offy for some beer. It didn’t matter that she was only thirteen then, because Uncle Kev worked at the off-licence and he’d let her have cans of her dad’s favourite booze anytime.

   It wasn’t any better when she went to her mum’s house, because then there was that weasel she was with and the thought of him made Casey shudder. She was dreading the summer because she knew she was going there for half the school holiday. The two lots of adults were sharing her – which meant sharing the bother of having her around.

   She flicked her nails, making a clicking noise, which Carol hated. As expected, her dad told her off for annoying her mother. That’s not my mother, she thought, but no longer dared to say it out loud after the last time. Instead, she asked if she could go to the library – she had to research Henry VIII for History homework, she said. Of course they agreed; when she walked out of the door they were as relieved as she was.

   She walked steadily up the road and crossed at the junction towards the park. She slipped through the gates and took a deep breath of the green air; the trees were frothy with new leaves and the remains of the spring blossoms. It seemed warmer here. She heard the soft humming of bees and the sweet song of a robin from the trees above.

   She calmed and relaxed as she walked – if only they’d let her have a dog, she could cope. But she had nothing. When she moved between her parents’ homes, she could pack her whole life into one wheelie suitcase. Still, perhaps that was a good thing. When they ran away, it would be better to have very few possessions - a dog would just be a worry. Not long now and they would disappear for good.

   She reached the seat where they always met and her heart gave a funny little jump when she saw that he was already there.  She sat as close as she could, so they were touching as much as possible and she risked a tiny peck on his cheek. She drank in the warm sweet smell of his after-shave.

   ‘Ah, Casey, you’ve come for your History lesson,’ he said, smiling.

   ‘Yes Sir.’ She looked into his eyes and knew she was old enough.