But once I turned thirteen it got much worse. My parents laughed about it in later years, although the laughter always seemed to be tinged with caution. They never knew when I would fly into a rage, or what would set me off.
The trouble years started when I was about thirteen. I was always a volatile child, at least as far as I remember or what I was told.
It wasn’t until the trouble years started that I began to take more notice of her.
I didn’t pay much attention to her at first. She was just there.
The first time I saw her she was 5-and-a-bit, exactly the same age as I was. We’d just moved out of the apartment on Mountain Street and into our new house on Heine Avenue.