Winter
In the first memory that actually means something, I am eight years old, and it is snowing. I only know that because I can watch it out of my window, it's too busy in my house for me to get outside, for anyone to even notice the flakes of snow forming the carpet of white on the grey slabs outside. My mother's shouting, screaming, even, at Mick, the man who's been sleeping in her bed for six months and on the couch for two more. He's standing too close to her; something makes me uncomfortable about the way his fists are clenched by his sides. I know how this will end. Even at my age, I've seen the age old dance time and again. He'll hit her, she'll cry, he'll storm off. Maybe he'll be back for another round, maybe not. But sure enough, soon enough, there'll be another variation on the same man, the same, angry, drinking, not-my-dad man, sleeping in my mother's bed.

I'm humming something, the theme tune to a cartoon, maybe, and I'm just about able to shut the noise out. I stopped worrying about my mother getting hurt a while ago; I'd seen her throw a punch back too many times. It is easier to watch the snowflakes falling and imagine what they would feel like grazing my skin, crunching in my hands and aimed at someone else. Someone nameless, someone…

They come rounding the corner, the four of them, laughing. Looking back, I wonder how they stumbled into a neighbourhood like mine on that day but I guess… I guess their supervision was less than satisfactory. The tall boy, about fourteen, and the blonde girl he has his arm around, strolling behind them, sharing a kiss at every stolen moment. The two of them, well, I can immediately tell they are different. The boy's coat looks like something off one of the old detective dramas my grandmother used to watch, long and straight with a number-six domino pattern of buttons on the front. He has wavy dark hair flecked with tiny snowflakes, and a thousand watt smile I cam only guess is brought on by the girl skipping in front of him.

She's like nothing I've ever seen before, something too bright to be in a place like this. Her skin is almost as white as the snow, her hair a stark red in contrast, curling over her shoulders, wreathing her in richness. She seems out of place from the first glance I give her, her chocolate brown button down coat slightly too long, her cream wool scarf blowing across her face in the wind as she tosses snow at the boy, eyes lighting up with laughter as she does so. It's then that she sees me. Her eyes meet mine through the window, and she stops short, mouth moving, saying something to the boy, but I can't hear her. I can't understand myself, how I want to look away, how I wish she hadn't seen me here, but I can't. Her eyes are the blue of the sky in the morning, and they stare right at me, unabashed, solemn. She moves then, gestures between them and then to my front door. It takes a moment for me to realise she's inviting me out there to come and play.

It only takes another moment for the older boy to catch up with her, the girl still twined around his waist. I'm already shrugging on my anorak, kicking my feet into the old pair of sneakers discarded by the side of the couch. I run out of the chipped front door, because every second lost was a second my mother could call me in to wash the dishes, or something else, and so I run, the door slamming loudly behind me. The snow crunches beneath my feet, and the air's warmer than I thought it would be… this snow won't last long. The girl grins at me wickedly; an expression that hardly fits her features, and before I can even think she's scooped up a handful of snow and aimed it.

It hits me on the shoulder, and I can't help the laugh that bubbles up inside me. In an instant, I'm reciprocating, this time hitting the boy on the side of the head, the snow colder in my fingers than I'd expected. They're both laughing, and the older boy seems to have relaxed a little and returned his attention to his girlfriend. Snow flies in all directions, down my back, slipping over warm skin, melting a path downwards, in my eyes, stinging for only a few seconds, in her hair, melting into water, turning the red a few shades into brown with the weight of it. I learn that her name is Addison, his name is Derek. The older boy is her brother, Archer. They don't live on this estate… they'd gone out to play in the snow and taken a wrong turning.

I think that day was the first day I ever learnt anything about love, friendship, and acceptance. They both hug me goodbye when Archer tells them they have to leave, they both turn to wave as they walk away down the street. I sneak back in through the back door, rubbing my hands together, barely noticing they've turned blue, a result of gripping snow in un-gloved hands. There's no sign of my mother or Mick as I creep upstairs, no sign they even noticed I was gone. I rub my hands together under a tap for a while to keep them warm, thinking solemnly in my head that I'll never see either of them again.

As it was, the next summer is the summer my mother leaves me, and I am sent to live with my rich grandfather who has no idea how to raise a child. The one thing he does for me, however, is pay the fees to a private school, on the nicest nearby estate. I happen to be in Derek's class, and that's the beginning of everything.