This is a true story only the names have been changed.
To the best of my recollection 100% is fact. The only reason I’ve used a pseudonym is to avoid any publishing firm being sued for publishing it under my real name.
Not many people like a brash outspoken female who has an opinion on almost every subject. But that describes me. I am the most unconventional seventy-six year old, anyone could meet and most people can only tolerate me in small doses and that has never bothered me.
Self-analysis:
I don’t suffer fools gladly I have no co-ordination between hand and foot and definitely no co-ordination between brain and tongue. I swear worse than a Trooper in the privacy of my home, very rarely in front of friends, and never in public (unless provoked). I make idle threats to intimidate.
You could lock me in a cellar for years without windows and without any form of communication and I guarantee someone would accuse me of something and everyone would believe them.
I am my own worst enemy.
I have learnt that most people would prefer to believe a pretty woman’s lies than an old battle-axe who seems to be as hard as nails.
There are many things in this book that I’m ashamed of and I would love to go back in time to change. They are true accounts and I could either not share my dirty laundry in public. OR I can share with you the reader the truth of what my journey through life has been.
Everyone knows that lawyers love to get paid handsomely, they love money. Before anyone wants to bluff a No Win No Fee lawyer into believing I have slandered them only for the lawyer to realise they have wasted many hours to get paid nothing. I’m prepared to have a polygraph test to prove that everything I’ve written is true. I’m also willing to pay for a polygraph test for anyone else who feels they’ve been slandered and believes they can prove me wrong.
I realise polygraph tests are not permissible in courts of law in Australia. But I’m confident that Judges and Jurors would realise the results of polygraphs should be enough to sway their decision in my favour.
I welcome the challenge.
Chapter 1
The Living Nightmare
Detective Kennedy lowered his bulky frame onto the wool covered lounge.
‘Amelia, can you identify this as the knife you used to stab Frank?’
He produced a knife from a large plastic bag and held the base of the blade between his thumb and index finger. I felt an instant flash of horror, as I stared at the eight-inch, blood caked weapon. I murmured, ‘Sweet Jesus, have mercy on me.’
Norm Kennedy leaned forward and rested his massive hand on my quivering arm. His rugged sunburnt face told a story of a man who had dealt with people from all walks of life. At that precise moment, his eyes showed compassion for me as I sat almost motionless beside him. My voice broke the silence as I stammered in disbelief, ‘I … I didn’t think it was as big and as sharp as that.’
‘What sort of knife did you think that you had picked up, Amelia?’
‘I thought it was the blunt headed, ham knife that Frank had used to cut the ham. Some happy Christmas isn’t it?’
I buried my face into my hands and sobbed uncontrollably, and my mind flashed back over the events that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. I wondered, what in the name of God had caused this tragedy to happen?
I could see myself sitting in our late model Ford outside the butcher shop where Frank worked. ‘Please God, don’t let him be drunk. Where the hell is he? The shop doors have been closed for half an hour. Don’t tell me that they’re all in there celebrating Christmas.’ I recalled saying to myself.
I kept thinking about all the times I had waited outside different butcher shops thinking similar thoughts. My mind was in turmoil sitting in that car, remembering all the beatings I had taken. The weekends had become a nightmare of constant arguments, which had often turned into violent outbursts. I shuddered as I remembered the many agonising hours I had suffered both physically and mentally. Sitting in that car was another form of torture, just waiting and worrying. And I wondered when the hell it would all end. Look at the time, the kids will be wondering where we are. But Vivian’s a fairly worldly kid for almost fourteen, she’ll get the two younger ones to have their bath and they’ll probably be watching TV. They’ll be okay. I had assured myself.
I wondered again why Frank didn’t drink in front of me anymore. I thought, he knows damn well I’m not completely stupid, so why bother to hide the obvious? I tried to comfort myself with positive thoughts. Telling myself that he hadn’t had a drink in the past five weeks and I reminded myself, that’s the longest time he’s been sober, he’s really trying to get off the grog. I kept thinking it must be hard for the poor bastard I’d hate to have to give up cream in my coffee. I wonder if I’m a coffee and cream-aholic? What a ridiculous thing to think of, Amelia, God you think idiotic thoughts, I’m glad no-one can read your mind, because they’d have you put away. Oh. Thank Christ. Here he is now. Oh shit no. He’s been drinking. Oh, please God let him be in a good mood.’
‘Hi, honey, had a beer with the boss, they’re all in there still grogging on. This is Russell the apprentice I’ve told you about. I told him we’d give him a lift home. Russ this is my old woman, Amelia, she’s not a bad old scout. Amelia, this is Russ.’
The drive to Russell’s house was, to anyone observing, a pleasant, chatty excursion. Just three people discussing the events of the day, the weather and Christmas. Frank pulled the car into the driveway of Russell’s parent’s home and Russell alighted offering us thanks for the lift and wishing us a Merry Christmas. Frank drove away, tooting the horn and waving. As he lowered his arm,
Frank snarling ‘What’s wrong with you, ya bitch?’
I was always very aware of his change in moods, but I was really taken by surprise at such a sudden transformation and without stopping to think about the question I replied, ‘Oh Frank. Why did you get on the grog? It’s Christmas, couldn’t you just this once have stayed sober? Every bloody Christmas it’s the same, you’re always drunk and in a crappy mood.’
Frank ‘Don’t start nagging. That’s all you’re good for is bloody nagging.’
Amelia ‘I’m not nagging, I’m stating a fact, every Christmas you get on the grog, you get dirty on yourself so you take it out on me. Why?’
Frank ‘Because you’re always bloody nagging.’
Amelia ‘If I’m such an old nag as you say, why do you put on a big front for your so-called friends and tell them that I’m not a bad old scout?’
By this time, Frank’s face had become distorted with rage his eyes were like that of a madman. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and started driving like a maniac. I clutched the vinyl seat in an effort to brace myself for a nerve-racking drive, which I had experienced many times before. I bit my lower lip and uttered a silent prayer. I focussed onto the traffic ahead, and saw in the distance that the traffic lights had turned red. The two cars directly in front were slowing down and I knew that if Frank didn’t ease off the accelerator now, he’d end up ploughing into the back of the blue Valiant. I knew not to say anything about his driving because that would only aggravate him more. I stiffened my legs and dug my fingers deeper into the vinyl seat until my knuckles turned white. My
