Daring to Dream

by Sam Bailey

  I think my parents only regret at moving to North Cray was that my brothers got in with a really bad crowd and became involved with drugs and all sorts. Charlie could handle himself but even though Danny was much bigger he wasn’t as tough, so Charlie always took the lead. They felt a need to fit in because they knew they’d be targets for the local gangs if they weren’t a part of it. Peer pressure was a big part in their downfall because they did things they probably would never have done if we’d stayed in our old house. They were doing a lot of acid and getting into fights; my mum used to despair but there was nothing she could do. By this time the boys were in their mid-teens and as anyone who’s got teenagers knows, there’s no telling them.

  I started to get into a bit of trouble myself when high school rolled around. The first one I went to was called St Mary’s and St Joseph’s, which my mum chose because a lot of the kids from my primary school were going there. Kate Bush also went there when she was young, which I always found quite exciting. I formed my first band there. We didn’t have a name or anything; we just used to meet up and have jamming sessions in the music room. I played the drums, a lad called Martin Molly played piano, and another guy called Steven Austin was a violinist but he was learning guitar. Steven was my boyfriend for a short time but then he split up with me to go out with another girl called Siobhan for a week, the cad. Then he decided he wanted to get back with me for a week, and then he went back to Siobhan, and the pattern continued for several weeks. At one point he made us have a physical fight over him to decide who would win his heart. I won but he definitely wasn’t worth it!

  The first few months of high school were hard because, again, I got bullied. Also, Jenny, the woman my dad had the affair with, had two children at my school, which felt a bit weird. One day I was walking home and Jenny kerb-crawled me and started shouting abuse out of her car window, calling my mum all sorts of names. When I told mum she went mad and said I couldn’t stay at the school, which I felt relieved about if I’m being honest. I didn’t have any real friends there and I felt different somehow. I was still into sports and I did a lot of athletics and played hockey for the school. I had county trials and all sorts, but I still didn’t feel good enough.

  I even started doing a little bit of singing so I could try and get in with the cool group because the leader of the gang, Rebecca, loved singing and she was the one who bullied me the most. But rather than make her warm to me it made her like me even less because she felt she had to compete against me. I didn’t think I had a very good voice back then, but she obviously saw me as a threat and was constantly trying to outdo me. Once after PE we were in the changing rooms and she punched me square in the face for no reason at all and gave me a nosebleed. It made me feel so crap about myself, and rather than rush to my aid the other girls ignored me in case she turned on them too.

  All I wanted to do was grow up, get a pair of boobs and start my periods so I could be like the other girls. They would all be in the changing rooms after sports showing off their bras and talking about their periods, and my own didn’t start until quite late in life, so I felt like the odd one out. I remember wanting to be grown up so much I nicked one of my mum’s Tampax to try it out and I was found collapsed on the bathroom floor. I was taken to hospital and it turned out I had toxic shock syndrome and I was told I could never use them again. That was the last time I did anything like that!

  Thankfully, within 48 hours of the Jenny incident I had been moved to a new school, Cleeve Park, where a lot of my friends from the estate went. I walked in there on my first day and I said to myself, ‘You need to make a difference today. You’ve got to make it clear to people that you are not going to be bullied.’ The minute one girl came up and gave me a bit of attitude for being the new girl, that was it. I followed her down the corridor and pushed her really hard so she fell over. Everyone was standing around shouting ‘fight, fight’ and cheering. We totally laid into each other and were both punching each other repeatedly. It was my first proper fight and I was scared, but equally I had to let people know that I could stand up for myself.

  I was sent home that day with a stern note and my parents weren’t happy, but I think they kind of knew why I’d done it. I was sat watching telly in the living room with a giant lump on my head when dad turned to me and said, ‘So, you had a fight today then. I see you head-butted her?’ I was waiting for him to send me to my room and tell me girls shouldn’t fight, but instead he sighed, ‘You’re doing it all wrong, come here’, and he stood up and taught me the proper way to head-butt someone, telling me, ‘Short, sharp shock.’ I think he realised that I needed to be able to handle myself. He didn’t want me to be the kid who was forever getting beaten up.

  You had to have your wits about you at Cleeve Park. A lot of the travelling community went there and I had to toughen up quickly, but after that day no one bullied me. In fact on a few occasions I became the bully to prove my worth to other people, which I’m really ashamed of now. If I could go back and change it I would. I’ll never forget this one kid who was sitting down and for some reason everyone was spitting on him. I walked up and I spat on him too, to show that I was as hard as everyone. That poor kid was probably so traumatised. I know how I’d been affected by the horrible things that happened to me and I really wish I’d stuck up for him instead of joining in.

  I was never the ringleader and despite that fight on the first day I never actually started any fights because it wasn’t in my nature to behave like that. I’d be one of the ones in the background going, ‘Yeah! Whatever she said!’ But if things kicked off we’d all pile in. I remember a big fight breaking out and someone lending me some sovereign rings because travellers used to wear a lot of gold. I punched this girl and when I looked down at one of the rings I couldn’t see the coin because it was covered in blood. It was horrific. I’ve still got scars on my hands from where I wore those rings when I was fighting. I guess I did what any normal 13- or 14-year-old in that situation would do. I kept my wits about me and I stayed on the safest side.

  Aside from the fighting, Cleeve Park was a fantastic school. The teachers were amazing and Mr Pike, the maths teacher, was my absolute favourite. He had a yellow rubber duck and if someone wasn’t paying attention he would throw it at them and shout ‘Duck!’ Teachers couldn’t get away with doing that now but it was what kept us in check in the classroom. He talked to us like we were adults and not kids and because of that we had a lot more respect for him and most of the time actually did behave.

  I carried on with my cross-country running at Cleeve Park and I ran in the Bexley and English Championships. I also went on to run for England in the European Championships. I was still a tiny little thing, so I was very fast. I was in Dartford Harriers Athletics Club for a while, but I didn’t like it because they took everything far too seriously. I just wanted to have a laugh and run, not have loads of pressure heaped on me.

  When I was 15 I went on my first ever holiday without my parents. I went to a Haven holiday park with some of my mates from the estate and I’d had to beg my mum to let me go. While I was there I fell head over heels (well, trainers in my case) for one of the Haven Mates. Nothing happened between us but on the last night we slow danced to ‘Superwoman’ by Karyn White together and I was on cloud nine. I kept singing it for days afterwards, and from then on every day when I was with my mates they’d ask me sing it for them. That’s when I first really started to get the singing bug. My friends kept telling me how good I was and finally I started to believe that they could be right.

  After that I started singing at home in my bedroom, and also writing songs. I didn’t have any professional lessons but I started teaching myself to sing like the big divas. I’d write down the lyrics to songs and I’d use a red star to mark wherever Mariah or Whitney breathed, and then I’d try and do the same as them with a backing track. The first song I wrote was called ‘I’m So In Love With You’, and it’s the most hideous thing you’ve ever heard. I will never, ever sing i
t again as long as I live. But back then I thought I was the next Mariah Carey, so I proudly sang it for my parents. Afterwards my mum said I should start entering talent competitions. It wasn’t something I’d ever thought about until then, but I had nothing to lose. I still wasn’t very confident in myself but for some reason when I sang it made me feel better. I wanted people other than my mum and friends to tell me that singing was the path I should be taking. Mum always used to say, ‘Oh, you sound just like that Mariah McCrarey.’ She could never say her name right and I still don’t think she can. She always gushed about how wonderful I was, but all I’d get from my dad was a measured nod and sometimes he’d say, ‘That was fucking handsome.’ He wasn’t the type to go over the top.

  The first competition I entered was Bexley’s ‘Search For A Star’ competition at Crayford Town Hall. I sang ‘I’m So In Love With You’ and, knowing me back then, either Whitney Houston’s ‘Greatest Love of All’ or Mariah Carey’s ‘Hero’. I also played the drums and I had to put my dad’s coat over my legs because, amazingly, I was wearing a dress and I didn’t want to flash everyone. If I remember rightly it was one of Mum’s dresses because she said I should look a bit glam!

  I ended up coming first and I’m sure there are some very dodgy pictures of me from that day out there somewhere. My parents were so proud of me. I think I was their last hope. My brothers were still wayward and flitting between jobs. Danny wanted to be a chef and Charlie wanted to be a footballer, so they did have aspirations when they were young, but they were forever getting into trouble. If they weren’t fighting with each other they’d be fighting with someone else and they didn’t have the best reputation.

  I was so buoyed up by my win I started entering more and more competitions. I went in for one in Deptford and one of the members of Damage was on the judging panel, which to my mind meant it was akin to being on TV. I won there too and when people said to me I should sing professionally it made me feel amazing. I sang anywhere and everywhere I could.

  My parents would send me up the chippy on a Friday night and there would be karaoke on in our local pub, The Albany. While I was waiting for the food to be ready I’d go in and sing a song. Then I’d disappear again and everyone would be left thinking ‘Who the hell was that?’ I’d get a round of applause and then go and get my chips. I started entering local karaoke competitions when I was out with my friends without my parents knowing. I used to come home with a trophy and a £50 note having just won. I used to get £5 pocket money every Saturday, so that £50 was a hell of a lot of money to me.

  When I was young I used to spend all of my pocket money on sweets, but as I got older my friends and I started pooling our money and going to the off-licence. We’d wait for someone older to come along and ask them to buy us alcohol, but I rarely used to drink mine. I’d pour it away when no one was looking and pretend to be pissed because I didn’t like the taste or what it did to people. One of the rare times I did get drunk was when I was going out with a lad called Grahame Pink who had a motorbike. He gave me a lift home one night and I was leaning to the side trying to get some air because I was so plastered. I went straight upstairs and lay on my bed face down and I felt awful the next day. My hand/eye coordination used to go after a few drinks and I remember sticking a burger in my eye instead of my mouth once because I was seeing double. Me and booze definitely do not mix.

  Drinking didn’t ever feel like fun for me, even when we started to go to under-18s clubs. I started wearing all of the luminous clothing that was really fashionable at the time. I’d built up a collection of luminous sunglasses which were given away free with McDonald’s Happy Meals, so I always had a pair of those on. I also had ra-ra skirt, which I wore very occasionally, and loads of shell suits. There was also a really cool (for the time) silky tracksuit called Black and White. It came in loads of different colours and all my friends and I had one. We looked like a bloody girl band with our Fila and LA Gear trainers or Wallabies. My mum and dad didn’t have a pot to piss in, but my mum would spend every last penny she had making sure I had something nice to wear so I could fit in with the other kids.

  My brothers were really into acid house, so they were always out clubbing wearing stupid clothes. My parents had allowed them to have a mural on a wall in their bedroom, so they’d painted a ridiculous Union Jack with a British Bulldog in the middle of it. I came home one day and heard all of these noises coming from their room. I pushed open the door and before I knew what was happening one of them had grabbed me and thrown me onto the futon. When I looked up they were both standing there shaking. They were tripping on acid and they thought the British Bulldog was coming out of the wall and trying to lick them. They were trying to explain to me what was happening to them, but I’d never tried drugs at that point so I couldn’t really get my head around it. In the end I had to literally pull them out of the room one by one. It was like something out of Poltergeist. They were absolutely terrified. Not surprisingly, that put me off trying acid for life.

  I did, however, start smoking when I was 15. Either a group of us used to buy ten Benson and Hedges between us (which cost £1.10!) or I’d nick my mum’s fags and go down the alley with my friend Maria. We’d smoke as quickly as we could so we didn’t get caught. If there was a group of us smoking in the playground we’d play chew the butt, where everyone had to take a drag of a fag and then pass it to the next person. Whoever was holding the cigarette when it finally went out had to chew the butt. I have no idea why we did it but everyone did back then.

  When I was 15 we moved again, to Albany Park in Bexley, which was a safer place to live in that there were fewer fights and break-ins. It was near enough our old place that I could still hang out with my mates, so I wasn’t too upset. By that time my brothers were moving in and out of home all the time. They wanted their own space and some freedom, so they rented bedsits together and I’d go round and visit them. They weren’t always nice places but they were theirs and that’s what mattered to them.

  The first day we moved to Albany Park, Dad promised me that he would make sure he did my room up first and make it exactly how I wanted. I got some shabby chic furniture and he was going to put my bed up and make it look really cool. But then one of his mates came round with a few cans, and the next thing you knew he was drunk and my room was still filled with boxes. My mum was running around trying to unpack and get things done and I was so furious with my dad because he was doing bugger all. I was standing at the top of our bannister looking into our new living room and I could see him laughing and joking with his mate and I shouted, ‘I hate you!’ at him. He completely ignored me so I shouted it again. Once again he totally ignored me. I was at boiling point and I really wanted to get his attention, so I called him the ‘C’ word. It’s the only time I’ve ever used that word and meant it because I loathe it, but it certainly got his attention. I ran into my room and slammed the door, and he came flying in a few seconds later.

  I was so wound up I got him in a headlock and I was screaming all sorts of things at him. It had got to the point where I didn’t feel like I was his priority anymore. Alcohol was. When I told him how I felt he was crushed. He was genuinely upset and I felt so bad, but thankfully it made him take a long hard look at himself and prompted him to go to rehab and get help. We all knew he was a full-blown alcoholic and it was heartbreaking to see how much he’d changed over the course of my life. He was like a shadow of the man he’d once been. His vibrancy had gone, he barely worked and he was constantly lethargic. He had to try and sort himself out.

  My dad was in rehab for six weeks and to start with he did really well. But then one of his drinking ‘mates’ started visiting him and sneaking in beers. What a great friend, eh? Needless to say the treatment didn’t work and he was soon back home, drinking beer after beer on the sofa. The big problem was that my dad was a nicer person when he was drunk. When he was sober he’d get the shakes and feel so ill he’d get really grumpy. As soon as he had a drink, he’d feel calm again an
d was much easier to be around. So he pretty much drank constantly when he was in the house.

  One day, after a big session the previous night, my dad drove to the shop around the corner from us to get some cigarettes and he got stopped by the police. Even though he hadn’t yet had a drink that day, he was still over the limit so he lost his driving licence. As a result of not being able to drive he was unable to work at all, which was the last thing he needed. Now he had an excuse to sit at home and drink full-time.

  My mum was working as a market researcher by then. She had to stop people in the street and ask them about everything from cheese to cars. Now my dad didn’t have a job she was grafting harder than ever and so she was knackered most of the time. One day she came home from work and I was playing one of my dad’s acoustic guitars. She said she wasn’t feeling well and the next thing I knew she was unconscious and her eyes were rolling into the back of her head. I screamed upstairs for my dad to come down and by the time he got downstairs mum’s tongue had gone down the back of her throat and she was having a convulsion. We rang an ambulance and she was taken to hospital where they told us she’d had a fit because she was so run down. She had to take time off from work and I was so worried about her. I think she was physically and emotionally exhausted from working non-stop and worrying about my dad.

  It didn’t help that my parents were rowing more than ever. Dad still had his mates round all the time, making noise and drinking, and it was the last thing mum needed after being out all day working. I’d got to an age where my mum could be open with me about things and she started to say to me, ‘I want to leave your dad.’ I felt like I was being disloyal to dad but I’d say to her, ‘Well, do it then. You’ve got to do what’s right for you.’ I knew they would be better off apart because dad was becoming more and more difficult. Mum would take ages cooking him a dinner and he’d take it and throw it on the floor to wind her up. They really knew how to push each other’s buttons. But for some reason she couldn’t walk away. Not until much later on anyway.