When I Turned Fifteen, My Parents Decided That They Absolutely Needed Another Child.

When I turned fifteen, my parents decided that they absolutely needed another child. Thus my little brother, James, was born. Everyone offered their congratulations and good wishes, yet I felt no cause for celebration. I do not relish recalling those days, but I feel compelled to share the tale.

Mother was pleased not so much because she loved me, but because my presence meant a free babysitter. As soon as James turned one, she ceased nursing him and went off to work fulltime. Grandmother would drop in each morning, and by the time I returned from school she was either asleep or already back home. The infant lay in my charge; he cried incessantly and I could not soothe him.

My own time vanished. I had to change his nappies, bathe him, feed him, and prepare fresh meals constantly. When my parents came home in the evenings and saw dirty dishes or unironed shirts, they scolded me for laziness and parasitism. Only then could I sit down to my homework, which I had been unable to do earlier. School performance suffered. Out of pity the teachers marked me with a flat C, which only earned me further reprimands.

the washing machine does the washing, the dishwasher the rinsingwhat do you do all day? You must be thinking only of parties! my father shouted, while my mother nodded in agreement, as if she had forgotten what it felt like to spend a few hours with a restless child and tend to chores.

The washing machine may indeed wash, but someone still has to load it, hang the clothes and iron the leftovers from yesterday. I was forbidden to run the dishwasher during the dayit was said to draw too much powerso I washed the childrens crockery by hand. No one envied my daily floormopping, for James was a lively crawler, always on the move.

Life eased a little when James started nursery. My parents insisted that I collect him and feed him when I returned home, which at least gave me a few spare hours each afternoon. I pressed harder at school and managed to finish my exams without those C grades.

I dreamed of studying biologythe only subject that truly interested mebut my parents dismissed the idea.

The university is in the city centre; youd be commuting an hour and a half each way. And when will you be back? James needs to be picked up, then you must look after him. Dont even think about it!

Their obstinacy forced me onto another path. The nearest vocational college offered a course in cookery, where I trained as a pastry chef. I can barely recall my first term; I was, as they say, down in the dumps. Yet I threw myself into it, learning to bake cakes, prepare biscuits and a variety of desserts.

From the second year I worked parttime at a tea room near our flat on weekends. At first my parents complained that I was not at home, but I managed to carve out that little slice of personal time. After finishing the course I was taken on fulltime.

Soon a new head chef arrived at the tea room. We began seeing each other late in the evenings, and my parents resumed their scolding and swearing. On several occasions my father came home after my shift to stop me from strolling with my boyfriend. One day they organised a family gathering.

They invited grandmother, Aunt Margaret and her husband, placed me in the centre of the room and ordered me to forget about engagements, walks and any sort of conversation.

Youre quitting the tea room! Aunt Margaret exclaimed. Ive arranged a kitchenhand job for you at Jamess school.

The best news of the day! Mother shouted joyfully. James will always be looked after, and you can go straight home in the afternoon. Youll have time to help us.

To abandon the tea room where I was valued, paid, and where my boyfriend also worked? I pictured a bleak future in a school canteen with slick schnitzels and sticky pasta bake, evenings full of chores and a life devoted entirely to James.

Until your brother finishes school, dont even dream of a boyfriend, my father warned sternly.

The next day I confided everything to my boyfriend, and together we devised a plan. He had long wanted to open his own café; he had saved some money but it was insufficient. We would need a loan from the bank or investors. At home I told my parents I would need another two weeks of work. They agreed to let me serve out my notice period.

We failed to secure a loan, but a new avenue appeared. A friend of my boyfriends managed a large restaurant and offered him a project opening in Manchester. He travelled there for an interview and persuaded the owner to speak with me via video call. While I described myself, he sent over a box of the desserts I had made for her to taste.

On my final working day I left early, hurried home while the house was empty, packed my belongings, took all my documents and savings, and caught the train to Manchester.

Now I lead a life of my own choosing, devoted to those I select rather than to those who once forced me. I still love my brother and truly hope that, one day, we will enjoy a good relationship. I bear no lasting grudge against my parents, yet I know that had I remained under the same roof or in the same town, I would have stayed within their grasp. I was never strong enough to stand up for myself, so I fled. I pray that in our new city everything will fall into place and that we will find happiness.