Daddy's Little Girl ...?

I've been thinking about my dad's death a lot lately. I don't really know how to deal with it. For the best part of my life I've tried to pretend he didn't exist, or at least that he wasn't the heroin addict I knew him to be. As a young girl I'd sit and daydream about him taking me to playgrounds and fairs and on nice family holidays, but the reality was quite different. OK, so he'd come and visit me once or twice a year, but that would be on the rare occasion he was out of prison. He was behind bars his whole life: 54 convictions, or something like that, I think he had. He wasn't just a drug addict you see, he was a thief. I guess the two things go hand in hand – you steal to pay for your next hit.

I've only ever received two gifts from my dad in my whole life. One was an Armani denim jacket that he'd bought with a stolen credit card. The other one was a picnic box. I'll never forget it. It was white and red with a see–through lid. He'd nicked that from someone's bag. He only gave them to me because he felt guilty for hardly ever seeing me. Otherwise he would've sold them.

He didn't even try to hide his thieving from me – I was often a pretty useful accessory. For a time he had a girlfriend called Vicky who was a heroin addict as well. When he was out of prison they would both come to visit me and take me out to one of the local pubs. Then they'd swipe people's handbags right in front of me. Once, when I was about 7, we were chased down a high street because someone saw him do it. It was horrible.

Dad wasn't a drug addict when he first met my mum, though. He was just a robber then. Oh, and a pimp apparently. I've only just found out how my parents got together. My mum said they first set eyes on each other when she was picking up her social security cheque in the benefit office. Dad was in there with a mate of his and thought she was a bit of all right, so he asked her out. When Mum told me what he did I said, 'A pimp? Please don't tell me you became one of his hookers?!' She looked at me and laughed. 'Nah! I was into all that way before I met him!'

She's joking, luckily. Well, semi-joking. Back in the day, my mum was what was known as a 'clipper'. A clipper is someone who pretends to sort people out with prostitutes but runs off with their money instead. Mum explained it to me the other night. What would happen would be this: she'd stand on the street, looking to any normal member of the public like a prostitute – God knows what she was wearing – my mum's a colourful dresser at the best of times. Then, when a bloke came over asking 'How much?', she'd tell him to give her £100, promising that she'd sort him out with one of her girls. After that she'd disappear round the corner to this local cab office – who were in on the scam because Mum was mates with the owner – then she'd leave the money there and either do a runner or hide upstairs. She laughs about it now. My nan has still got the newspaper cutting from when Mum got arrested. She keeps it like it's a souvenir or something. There's a proper word for what she did – 'soliciting' I think it's called. So as you can see, the fact that my dad was working the game too wasn't a big deal for Mum. Gave them something in common. Romantic, eh?

Dad was only 17 years old when he got together with Mum. He lied, though, and told her he was 21. She was 23 at the time and she gave birth to me nine months later. I wasn't planned. Dad also told Mum he was called Cyrus (his real name's Andrew). God knows why he told her he was called that, but Mum clearly believed him because she went and had a tattoo on her arm saying 'Cyrus' in black ink. Oops. Mind you, my mum has funny ideas about tattoos. Her latest venture is to get one on her la la. I didn't know anything about the fact she was planning to do this until she announced it on national TV. There was a Granada camera crew following me around for my TV series of Jade's Salon last year, and she decided to tell them. She'd booked in to our salon to have what is known as a 'Hollywood' (where someone waxes your privates completely bald) and was telling the camera crew about it. I think her exact words were: 'Jade doesn't know but I'm going to have a full tattoo done down there. It's a butterfly and has 16 colours on it. Jade isn't allowed to know until I've finished it. Once I've had my Hollywood I can have my tattoo done because hair doesn't grow back on tattoos – and when I'm an old lady I can say I've got a pretty fanny.' I was mortified. I would say I've never been so embarrassed in my life, but that would be a lie. My life is full of embarrassing moments.

* * *

I don't really remember Dad being around much when I was a baby. He first went into prison for stealing when I was 6 weeks old. The next time he was put away was just after my first birthday – then he was in and out of there forever.

When I think about my childhood, the first clear memory I've got is of McDonald's. Typical, eh? At least it's not a kebab shop. I had my first birthday party at Macky D's in Peckham. My mum was really friendly with this man called Kelly who worked there. There wasn't anything romantic between them, they were just mates. My mum's got loads of male friends – more than girls, really (yes, I know what you're thinking – and she's a lesbian!). Every morning Kelly would come past our house and drop off a breakfast for me and my mum. I used to love it. It was the Big Breakfast, the one with sausage and bacon and scrambled egg. Dad wasn't around for my birthday party. I don't actually know where he was. Mum was there, though, and my dad's sister, Aunty Ingrid. Oh, and Ronald McDonald came out and let us have a look around the kitchen.

Mum and Dad split up when I was about one and a half. My mum chucked him out because she found him hiding guns under my cot. I don't know what he was planning to do with them – rob a bank, probably, or sell them for drug money. Once he started on the drugs, that was it for him, a downward spiral of addiction. He couldn't see what he was doing to himself or his family and he couldn't care less.

Have you seen the film Trainspotting? Most people think it's an amazing film. Some think it's quite funny. I sobbed my eyes out when I saw it at the cinema. The scene where Ewan McGregor's character first injects himself made me physically sick. I threw up when it came onto the screen. Properly physically puked. Those faces that he pulls are the same faces I've seen my dad pull, you see. My belly churns whenever I even think about it. I don't want to remember my dad in that way, and I've spent the best part of my life trying to blank it...