Before Trichotillomania.

It’s 1976 and we are split up. I am 9 years old. My brother stays in the city with his father, the man I call Daddy, even though he’s not my father. My grandmother told me that Mother had been married before. I understand my brother is not allowed to come with my sister and I because mother’s new man, soon to be her new husband does not like boys.
The new husband, Number 3, is a lot older than mother. He has a nice house, full of very nice things that I’m told not to touch. I have nice clothes and shoes because Number 3 is wealthy. I share a room with my sister. The room has pretty wallpaper which Mother tells me is very expensive. Mother tells me that I am very lucky to be living with her and Number 3. I think Number 3 must be very important because I have to behave myself and be quiet. Number 3 thinks children should be seen and not heard. I do not feel lucky, I am very frightened of Number 3.
Everything is different now; we even have different names for things. I no longer have dinner and tea time, it’s now lunch and dinner. But dinner is in the evening and this makes me confused. At the table everything is different; it’s now covered with a cloth. There are lots of glasses, plates and different sorts of cutlery. There are pieces of cloth by the plates, they are pretty and soft. I am told they are called napkins and I’m instructed in their use. I must place the napkin on my lap and dab the corners of my mouth with it whilst I’m eating. At special times like Easter and Christmas I am given grown up drinks of wine, watered down or a Snowball. I am instructed to drink very slowly and am told that I must learn to treat alcohol with respect. I don’t like the taste and I don’t understand the word “alcohol” but I do as I am told.