My mother gave up alcohol when I was still young, and so never really had negative thoughts about her drinking. My dad however only quit about two or three years ago.

He’s a new person now, so loving and kind while battling his addiction. But I can never forget the person he used to be. I would wake up in the morning, afraid of going into rooms because he might be there. You never knew what kind of mood he would be in, but it usually wasn’t good. He’d often be in the kitchen smoking, sometimes he wasn’t quick enough to hide the whiskey bottle he had bought the night before, now completely empty. He used to live for going to the pub with his friends – sometimes it seemed like it was all he could think of. I used to dread the nights he went out, knowing that he would come home too drunk to make it to the bathroom. My mum would often come in to my room crying because it was just too much, especially as a recovering alcoholic herself.

The worst night was when we all went to the pub as a family, and on the way home my mum and dad got into a fight. I can’t even remember what it was about. Mum had said something to someone that he wasn’t happy with. They were yelling and when we got home I sent my little brother straight to his room. I could hear screaming in the kitchen, lots of bangs. I don’t know what happened in the kitchen, and I don’t ever plan on finding out. All I know is that I brought my little brother into my room, called my nanny, and refused to open the door until she got to the house. That was one of the worst nights I’ve ever had.