Page 1 of Loving Jamie

Prolouge

1997 -Justin (age 5)

Justin sits on the sofa next to his mum, Lesley Flynn, as she grins. Fat tears trickle down her pink cheeks as she cheers, “You’re going to be a big brother, Justin!”

Justin looks towards his father who stands next to him, with a warm palm squeezing his shoulder. “Isn’t that great, son? A brand-new baby for you to play with.”

“A baby? I’m going to be a big brother?” Justin wiggles in his seat as he looks towards his mother, nodding his head to double check that he heard right. “When? Soon? I can’t wait! I’m going to be the best big brother. I’ll even share my toys and teach them how to play football.”

Justin’s father ruffles his spiky brown hair as he laughs. “Not for another six months, buddy. But I’m sure the baby will be here before we know it.”

Justin flies from the sofa and sprints out of the room, before rushing back to throw his arms around his mother. “Thank you, mama. I love you.”

1998 - Justin (age 6)

The sound of glass being smashed is loud over the steady beat of Justin’s Game Boy. Justin gently places his gaming console, that he received on his birthday, onto his bed, before he jumps up from the flattened carpet and runs out of his bedroom before rushing down the stairs.

He skids to a halt on the kitchen tiles as he takes in the scene in front of him. His father is backed into the kitchen counter as his mum thumps him, hard, in the chest. Her face is screwed up in anger as she hisses something too quiet for Justin to hear.

Justin slowly backs out of the kitchen and hides in the hallway. This isn’t the first time he’s heard his mum be mean to his dad, but he thought that the new baby would make everything better.

A loud bang thuds in the kitchen before his heavily pregnant mother waddles through the door frame, Justin sinks further into the wall and she walks straight past him before climbing up the stairs.

When he hears the bedroom door slam closed, he peeks his head around the wall and calls out, “Daddy?”

Tired eyes snap to Justin. He holds his arms out and whispers, “Come here, son.”

Justin shuffles into the kitchen, carefully avoiding the shards of glass decorating the floor. He wraps his short arms around his dad’s stomach and squeezes him tight. Eyes watering as he quietly asks, “What’s going on? Why is mum being mean to you again?”

Justin feels his father’s body start to shake, but he doesn’t let him go. Big strong arms hold him tight as they both stand in the kitchen in silence.

2000 - Justin (age 8)

Justin holds a crying two-year-old Jude to his chest as he rocks the infant to sleep. His mother’s screams echoing through the house. “Shh, Shh, Shh. It’s ok little brother. Mum just gets a little bit angry sometimes.”

Another feminine scream comes from the next room.

“It’s ok, Jude. Shh, just close your eyes. Your big brother’s got you.”

Baby Jude’s big brown eyes flutter as he falls asleep in his big brother’s arms. After a few more minutes, the screaming finally stops and Justin slowly places his brother on the travel cot that’s set up next to his single bed.

Even though Jude has his own bedroom, Justin feels better keeping his baby brother in the same room. It’s safer than being left alone or, worse, being left with their mother.

2001 - Justin (age 9)

The clock in the classroom tick’s way too slow. Justin taps his dirty trainers against the side of his chair. He can’t wait for the bell to ring so he can go home.

“RING, RING, RING.”

The bell chimes and Justin jumps out of his chair before rushing out the door, and speed walks towards the school gates. Justin’s mother used to wait in the playground after school, so they could walk home together. But since his brother Jude was born, Justin has to walk home alone.

The house is silent when Justin arrives home. He walks into the living room and finds three-year-old Jude sitting on the floor surrounded by a mix of old toys and household objects. The television remote and a pan lid lays cracked on the floor next to the infant.

Justin rushes over to pick up Jude, and checks to make sure no shards of glass are sticking in his brother’s delicate skin. Justin finds no pieces of glass, but he does spot specks of dried blood on the toddler’s finger tips.

Holding Jude in his arms, he carefully steps over all the mess and walks into the kitchen. Their mum sits at the kitchen table, a glass of wine and a cigarette in each hand. Tendrils of grey smoke filters the stale air.

“Mum, baby Jude cut his fingers. I need to wash his hands.”

---