A/N: Hello there! As a frequent watcher of Hollyoaks, I decided to write a story dedicated to the Roscoe's family history. I've been walking around with this idea for a long time. Unfortunately Channel 4 isn't available in The Netherlands, so I decided to write it in English instead of Dutch. This may cause some mistakes in spelling and grammar. I hope you don't mind and enjoy! At some point this story will differ a little from the storylines around the Roscoe's, but most of it stays the same. For later chapters I have to warn you for abusive language, eating disorders and other issues that may be triggering. For now: enjoy!
XOXOXOXOXO
They have to move. It's necessary, she hushes as all five of them open their mouth to start a joint protest. No time for arguments, they need to pack their stuff as fast as possible.
'It's probably his fault that we have to move,' Robbie says with a small and relatively invisible nod to Freddie, the second oldest of five. 'Fat chance his "so-called" friends have threatened him.'
'As if your friends aren't as shady,' Jason points out, which causes Robbie to turn red, since Trouble would be Robbie's surname if it weren't Roscoe. The excuse Sandy has for the move comes close to her youngest son's suspicious, it is almost a reproach for Robbie's misbehavior.
'A village is not as bad as it seems,' Sandy says during diner, 'and it is the perfect place to cool down for some of us.'
They live in one house, all seven of them: five sons, a mother and a fiancée. Crowded as it might be, the lack of personal space never really bothered any of them. They were all born and raised in London, the place-to-be if you desire anything busy.
'It'll be a new start, for all of us.'
As her sons and Lindsey leave the table and she places the used plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, she thinks about the letter hidden under her mattress. Ever since she cut ties with Rick, she has feared he would fulfill the promise in the overtone of his last words: 'If they turn sixteen, I'll return, and I promise to tell them what kind of a slut you are.'
It could have happened yesterday, as fresh as those words are printed in her mind. This specific memory takes place almost four years after Alan's funeral. She must've been doing something really important, discussing Freddie's misbehavior with the headmaster on the phone maybe, she doesn't remember. There was no tension, not even a hint of, when she walked to the door on command from the doorbell. Afterwards she blamed herself for not paying attention to the window near the door, as she would normally do. This time she didn't. And she wished she had, just a little bit, to simply recognize the face she desperately hoped to never meet again.
Rick Spencer, her ex-husband and high school lover, stood in the doorway. Slightly grinning, he held up a letter.
'Delivery for miss Roscoe.' His teasing voice, the ability to ruin everything she had built up over the past four years after Alan died – Rick hadn't changed.
Sandy didn't know what to do. Let him in, sent him away, treat him like the stranger she wished he were? There was no time to discuss, however, because Rick was Rick, and Rick felt home wherever he went. Without a sign of shame, he walked past the family pictures in the hallway, touching some of them as though he wanted to bring them to life.
'They've grown up fast,' he said.
Finally Sandy could say something. 'What do you want, Richard? Are you here for trouble, because if so, you better leave or I'll ask Joe to -'
'Why won't you let me open that letter for you.' Rick came dangerously close, taking over the letter which he had given her only moments ago. Sandy had no time to even observe the sender, but she recognized the logo of the hospital where Alan had died. She noticed the letter had been opened before, making the fear inside her rise to unknown zones of anxiety.
'What I've asked for,' Rick started, 'was a little information about Alan Roscoe's illness. Just a little bit here and there, you know. And, my dear Sandy, I discovered something really weird. Look.'
He was so close now, Sandy could hardly breathe. Through the wet layer on both her eyes she could distinguish a group of words marked in blue.
No.
'No,' she whispered, tears now running down her cheeks. 'No, it isn't true.'
Ignoring her tears, Rick read out: 'As a side effect of the chemo's, Alan's sperm production stopped, resulting him to be unfertile for the rest of his life.'
'Rick,' Sandy begged, 'please, don't.'
'I'm sorry, Sandy, but it is true. You, the dirty little whore you were, became pregnant while he was officially unfertile. Isn't that the funniest joke you've ever heard? Hasn't anyone told you that lying is bad? Lying children will be punished, but lying adults…' Rick strangled his hands tightly around her wrists, making it impossible to escape.
Not that she would. Sandy could only cry.
'Do they know?' When Sandy didn't answer, Rick tightened his grip, pushing her against the wall. The pictures of her sons burned in her back. 'Do they know what kind of a slut you are? Do they know?'
'Rick, please,' Sandy cried, 'stop it!'
'You haven't told them, have you?'
'You are not their father! You're a monster!'
'And their father. I have the right to see them, Sandy. Where are they?' He suddenly let go of her, pushing the tables with pictures aside as if they could be there.
'Please, stop! Stop it!'
That is all she can remember from that fearful day. The rest is a blur, the kind of when you drank too much and the previous night isn't complete, just fragments now and then passing your mind. It must have been Joe who discovered the mess Rick made, the broken pictures and torn-off curtains and Sandy in the middle of it, unconscious. She never told the police what truly happened that day, that she actually knew the robber, and her sons did, too. He was, indeed, the father of her youngest sons.
And he would return. The day Jason and Robbie would turn sixteen he would be there and God knows what he would do to them.
They have to move. It's necessary, she reminds the face in the reflection of the spoon she's holding, but she can't stop herself from crying silently. If only she hadn't been so stupid, so selfish, so unbelievably wrong…
