My Fight to the Top Read Free Page A

couldn’t make sense of what they were saying.’
    ‘What’s happened? I said.’
    “Michelle is lying on the stairs. She’s been beaten up,” the kids told me.
    ‘My heart stopped. I found Michelle lying there. Her whole body was red because the bruises hadn’t even come out yet. I called an ambulance and went with her to The Royal.’
    I couldn’t remember anything of what my mum had just told the man. I started to cry but the tears burnt my cheeks.
    ‘Michelle, are you okay to tell us what happened?’ The CID officer turned to face me.
    ‘Uh-huh,’ I said, wiping my eyes with my bruised hands.
    I told him everything I remembered before I had passed out.
    This wasn’t the first time I had been bullied. The school I went to was really tough – kids had already threatened to beat me up. It had got to the stage where I was petrified to go to class. I think it was because I wasn’t like the other kids, so I got it in the neck for being ‘different’. One day, I woke up, and realised that if I didn’t stand up to them, my life would become an utter misery. That’s why I pushed the girl back when she went for me.
That’s what you’ve got to do with bullies, stand up to them or they will keep on bullying you.
    ‘Do you want us to press charges? That’s not just a hit, they were kicking your wee girl,’ the CID officer asked my mum and dad.
    ‘No, I just want to give them a serious warning, make sure they don’t ever do it again,’ my mum decided. My injuries were so bad I was in hospital for three days before I was finally allowed home.
    By now we had moved into a ground-floor flat across the street from our old flat because Dad was too poorly to walk up and down the stairs. We’d moved nearby because that was what happened in the East End: if you moved, it would be to the next street or the same street but across the road. I finally had my own bedroom with a side table, an addition which meant a lot to me.
    My mum and dad were really worried about my injuries and mum kept popping her head around the door to check if I needed anything. But I’ve never been one to sit around and mope. I came from a place where you learn to shut up and get on with it. I know it sounds like a cliché, but what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. With every knock, with every beating, I felt stronger. I went back to school with my head held high because I’d stood up to those bullies and the ‘serious warning’ helped because they left me alone for a while. I was soon at Whitehill secondary school where I was focused on finding another job, earning more money.
    This is what I had: passion, determination and a ‘can-do’ attitude. If you’ve got those ingredients, nothing will stop you.
    My mum had worked for George the Fruitie at the weekends so when I was 12, I decided to ask him for a job. His shop was on the high street – Duke Street – not far from our flat. I can’t remember how much he hired me for but it wouldn’t have been much back in those days. My job was to pack all the potatoes, weigh all the fruits and help George with his ‘marketing’ and ‘customer services’.
    As soon as the school bell went at 3.45 pm I’d run down to his shop, ready to start working at 4 pm. My friends would ask where I was going, wanting me to stay on and hang out with them, but I had work to do. Nothing was coming between me and work. I worked a full day on Saturday as well.
    The fruit shop wars were going on in the East End, so I wanted to do everything in my power to make George Number one. I used to slice up a few strawberries from new deliveries and hand them out as samples. ‘You really need to taste these,’ I smiled, holding out a sliver to try. On the Saturday morning I spent most of my time outside, fixing the display. I built all the boxes up and tilted them onto their side. It was the best show of fruit you could imagine.
    I must have done a good job, because a year later, I was headhunted by the sweet