Memories are made of this

Esther, gazing through their window,windolene in hand,one pane boarded up following another drunken episode, wondered how her mum could have married such a sad soul. How could one seemingly inocent bottle of booze smash lives such as theirs apart?

It wasn't as if he was a big powerful man with enormous shoes and hands with a bellowing voice to match. In fact quite the reverse! She looked through their window of hell, cloth in hand, wobbling on the mismatched chair that balanced on the stones and the mud that was their garden. Puny.Stone faced;to match the stones she stood on. His grey hair brushed carefully back to reveal a high forehead and sharp face with blind eyes; that seemed to sum it up for her!

"Where is my f....ing tea women; she never heard him call her any endearments such as darling, love or honey; although he did become smooth as butter when the social workers called; as they did from time to time.
Esther continued to clean the windows on her wobbly chair as the rest of the world balanced their world and hopefully love to make up for what was missing in her home.
Again he shouted in his own dark world; which was in fact his prison. "Where the f...ing hell is my tea women; expect you have gone to China to pick it! He reached into his corner, where his poor guide dog was pinned; cuffing her on the nose for no particular reason at all apart from the reason he felt like it.

Desert Island discs and Roy Plumley was dancing from his wireless; that stood near his empty bottles; left from his previous evenings solitary escape into another world she hoped she would never know about. He moved slightly to reach his braille radio times from the shelf to his left. He dropped it though and it landed in with his collection of bottles so he swore again whilst waiting for his servant, that was her mum, to bring him his tea.