by Maria Goodin
I looked up at the purple-tinged sky. It was a warm evening and the light was just starting to fade. I gazed at the narrowboats up ahead, their glorious colours blurring slightly after the drinks I’d had with Michael earlier.
I hadn’t hung out with my friends much since that night at the fairground. In fact, seeing as we were now all on study leave for our GCSEs, I hadn’t even been at school to see Michael. But on those few occasions we had got together, we’d got drunk in miserable, awkward silence until an argument had erupted, angry words, accusations and recriminations flying back and forth between us until we all sulked off in our own directions. Everything had changed for each of us, the bond we once shared now strained out of recognition.
“My mum knows this person—” said Libby, tentatively.
“I don’t need to talk to some psycho shrink person. I need to talk to you!”
“But then talk to me!”
“I do! I am!”
“You don’t! You don’t tell me anything! You flip at the tiniest thing, you shut me out, you drink, you got yourself suspended! Your GCSEs are happening and you’re barely doing any revision! This isn’t you, Jamie!”
“I know that!”
In anger and frustration, I grabbed a stone from the path and flung it up at the light. Glass smashed, flying in jagged, sparkling pieces towards the ground. In that split second, I felt a kind of satisfaction with my aim, a sense of release at the sound of my own petty act of destruction. But then I heard Libby cry out.
She was clutching at her face.
The realisation of what had happened hit me and I rushed towards her.
It took us less than five minutes to get back to where her boat was moored, but in that time, against my advice, Libby had tugged the shard of glass free from where it had embedded. I’d taken my T-shirt off and she was holding it against her cheek, blood seeping through the fabric. She was pale and silent in the face of my endless apologies.
After a hasty and fumbled explanation of events, Harmonie quickly bundled Libby inside the boat, but when I tried to follow, my entrance was barred.
“I think she needs the hospital,” I blurted out, anxious that Harmonie might be planning on using some new-age approach to try and heal the wound.
“Of course she needs the bloody hospital!” she snapped. “You could have blinded her!”
“I know,” I said, wringing my hands, “I’m sorry, I—”
She jabbed her finger at me aggressively, rows of bangles jangling on her arm. “I don’t want to hear it! You’ve caused her nothing but stress and unhappiness lately. I know you’ve had a hard time, but don’t push that onto her. You’re all the bloody same. Nothing but trouble in the end. Now get off my boat and let me deal with this.”
“But can’t I—?”
“No, Jamie! You’ve done enough.”
And with that she ducked inside, shutting the door on me, while I stood silent and shocked, wondering what I’d turned into.
I remember asking Laura if she was okay and knowing perfectly well the response I’d get.
“What the fuck do you care?”
I almost walked away right then, but as mean as she could be, she was still my sister.
“You just look kind of… washed out lately.”
“Wow, thanks. No wonder you’ve managed to bag yourself a girlfriend with that kind of charm.”
I sighed and stood up from the kitchen table, ready to take my sandwich elsewhere.
“Seriously though,” muttered Laura, popping two pieces of bread in the toaster, “why do you give a crap?”
It was one o’clock on a Saturday afternoon and I’d just come back from athletics practice at school. I was still in my jogging bottoms and T-shirt adorned with the school emblem. Laura, on the other hand, had just crawled out of bed and was wearing her pyjamas. I watched her spoon coffee and a huge amount of sugar into a mug.
“I know you like to think we all hate you, Laura, but it’s not totally true.”
She mumbled a comment that sounded like yeah, right.
Lately, Laura hadn’t been home much. She’d been spending a lot of time with Rocket, going to the clubs in London. When she was home, she was even more moody and distant than usual, and any modicum of motivation she’d had seemed to have evaporated. She’d lost her job for oversleeping too many times, but she didn’t seem to care.
It was clear from the start my parents had never liked Rocket, but I’d assumed that was because they were old and boring and wouldn’t know cool if it smacked them in the face. Now I was starting to wonder if they had a point. Even though I was slightly in awe of his bad-boy image, he didn’t seem to be a great influence on my sister. I knew he’d got her dabbling in drugs, and although I assumed it was nothing serious, I was starting to think Laura was easier and nicer before she met him, which was really saying something.
“Your family actually cares about you, Laura,” I added, really pushing the boat out now with my display of emotion, “not that that seems to bother you.”
I turned to walk out the door, taking a bite of my sandwich as I left.
“All you care about, Jamie, is being number-one son,” she retorted, bitterly. “Being Mum’s little superstar.”
I stopped and turned around. “What the hell are you talking about?” I mumbled through my mouthful.
“It’s always the same. It always has been. You’re such a little wonder boy, aren’t you? The hard-working student with his fancy new school and his sports trophies and now a cutesy little girlfriend to top it all off. So sickeningly perfect!”
“I was just asking if you were okay, for God’s sake. This has got nothing to do with me—”
“It’s got everything to do with you!” she snapped, throwing her teaspoon into the sink with a clatter and glaring at me. “Because everything is always about you! How well you’re doing at school, how well you’re doing on the running track, whether you’re being stretched enough, whether you’re working hard enough…”
“Jesus, I’m sorry for even asking!”
“God, I had to literally be thrown off my A levels before anyone even noticed I was struggling! Whereas you, you somehow deserve constant attention, constant monitoring—”
“Do you think I like having Mum on my back all the time?! Do you think I like feeling as if I have to measure up to her expectations?!”
“Yes! I think you fucking love it! Because it makes you her golden boy, the one who gets all the attention! Just like you always have done!”
“That’s crap, Laura.”
“Really? Then how come you’re the only one asking if I’m okay? I mean, I can literally do anything, can’t I? I can lose my job, stay out night after night, hang out with anyone and nobody really gives a crap, do they? Where as you, you’re a different matter. Everything Jamie does has to be considered in the minutest detail to make sure he’s achieving his potential—”
“And do you think that’s fun for me?! Don’t you think that’s stressful, having to worry all the time about whether I’m worthy of all this money they’re spending on me, whether I’m going to do well enough—”
“I think that’s love!”
We glared at each other, eyes blazing.
“You know, I have memories of me and Mum when I was little,” said Laura, sadly, “spending time together, doing stuff, being happy. And Dad. I remember potting plants with him, building that little wall at the end of the garden, making that old rope swing. But now, he’s always out there in his workshop, and if he spends time with anyone, then it’s always you—”
“But it takes two, Laura. I’ve seen Dad try to make conversation with you and you give nothing back. And the only reason I’m the one hanging out with him is because I actually like learning some of the stuff he can teach me. If you want to learn how to, I don’t know, build a circuit board or whatever, then you can just as easily go hang out—”
“But why should I have to?! Why can’t people come to me, ask what I’m up to, wha
t I want to talk about?!”
“Because we’ve all given up trying! You give nothing! You’re never here for a start, and when you are, you barely do more than grunt at people! It has to work both ways! You’re always just so… so mean! And angry! And no one ever knows what the hell about!”
“I’m angry at you! You’re the one I’m angry with! Because before you came along, I mattered! But I stopped mattering because clearly I was never going to fulfil Mum’s ambitions for her, so what the hell was the point in me?!”
I slammed my plate down on the kitchen table, refusing to be the scapegoat for all her problems.
“Well, I’m sorry for being born!” I yelled.
“Good! Because I wish you never had been!”
She strode straight past me and slammed the kitchen door behind her, leaving me with the echo of her hate-filled words.
I remember how Josh stood in the corner of the lounge, his face pressed against the wall, while Hellie crouched down nearby and tried to coax him out of his hiding spot.
“Come on, Joshie, come and give Mummy a hug.”
I hovered in the background, barely able to watch, but unsure whether to intervene.
Defeated, Hellie sighed, stood up and turned to me.
“What’s going on with him?” she frowned.
I stared at her, stunned by her question. Her fair hair had been bleached almost white by the Californian sun, and her skin has acquired a bronzed glow. The American in her accent had strengthened to the point that it now overpowered the blend of Scandinavian and cut-glass English. Everything about her testified to the length of time she’d been away, and yet her ice-blue eyes searched my face, waiting for an answer as to why her son was rejecting her.
“What do you mean, what’s going on with him?” I asked, incredulous. “He’s confused. You’ve been gone three months. He needs time—”
“Time for what? I’m his mum.”
I held my palms out, dumbfounded by her stupidity.
“Are you turning him against me?” Hellie asked, eyeing me suspiciously.
“What the…? You’re kidding me, right? You’ve been gone more than you’ve been here for the last year, and you’re blaming me for the fact he’s acting like this!”
“I don’t know what you tell him about me when I’m not here,” she stated, calmly.
“I don’t tell him anything! What the hell would I tell him? I don’t know what you’re up to any more than he does!”
“I just don’t think this behaviour’s normal,” she said, gesturing to the tiny figure in the corner.
“Of course it’s not normal! But it’s not normal that his mother’s never here!”
“I was raised by nannies all over the world. I went to boarding schools from the age of seven. I was sent to board in the UK when I was twelve. But do I treat my parents like this?”
“Yes! Your parents email me to find out what’s happening with you because they haven’t heard from you in months!”
“Look,” said Hellie, holding her palms up to me in a futile gesture that was somehow intended to calm the situation, “I do appreciate what you’re doing here—”
“You appreciate it?!”
“I do. I know at the moment my career is taking me away a lot—”
“Your career?” I laughed, bitterly. “Is that what you call it?”
“—but maybe if he had a bit more structure, a bit less chaos,” she said, gesturing around her. “Children need order.”
I followed her eyes around the lounge, taking in the mess. My sister – on a break from the most recent boyfriend – had temporarily moved back into her room, and Michael – when he wasn’t spending the night with God knows who doing God knows what – was sleeping on the couch. My dad – increasingly confused and erratic in his behaviour – was spending most his time tinkering in his workshop, and I was back at college, now on a vocational training course while trying to juggle parenthood. If it wasn’t for Brenda doing most of the washing and cleaning and cooking, I think we’d have descended into total chaos. As it was, toys and games littered the lounge floor, along with guitars, bags, blankets, books… But despite the disarray, every single one of us cared for Josh, played with him, read to him, tickled him, held him. Did Hellie seriously think the mess was the problem?
“You know, if you need money for a nanny or childminder or whatever they’re called,” said Hellie, scanning the mess, “then my parents—”
“I don’t want your parents’ money!” I yelled in disbelief. “He’s our son, we need to support him! I don’t want a penny from your parents, I just want to stop living in limbo, waiting to see what you’re going to do next!”
Three years of suppressed rage rose up in me like molten lava pushing up through a volcano. Three years of sleepless nights, exhaustion, confusion, not knowing whether she was staying or going, trying to be patient for the sake of our son. Three years of shelving every one of my own needs, hopes and ambitions while she swanned around the world on her trust fund, doing whatever the fuck she wanted. Three years of responsibilities I’d never imagined having at the age of twenty, all on my shoulders. I clenched my jaw so hard I thought I might crack my back teeth.
“You,” I said quietly, my voice trembling with barely contained anger, “are the issue here, Hellie. Not me. I’m here. I’m the one up in the night because he’s upset over you leaving again. I’m the one dealing with the fits of anger after you’ve gone. I’m the one dealing with the endless questions about where you are, the acting out, the scribbling on the walls, the bed wetting, the refusal to speak for hours on end. And the reason he’s doing those things is because of you, not me!”
Hellie crossed her arms and shook her head at the ceiling dismissively.
“You need to decide if you’re in or out, Hellie,” I told her, “because you can’t keep doing this to him. You need to make a choice. Not just about whether to be physically here or not, but about whether to be a mother. Because, let’s face it, even when you’re here you’re not. You talk to him and play with him for a couple of hours and then you’re off out again, bored by him.”
“That’s not true—”
“Of course it’s true!” I shouted, wringing my hands through my hair, unable to believe that she could deny it.
“And so you’re the perfect dad now, are you?” she said, colour raising in her cheeks.
“I’m here!” I yelled in exasperation. “I’m not perfect, but I’m here! Which is where you should be, but you’re not because you’re too selfish!”
“I’m not selfish!” she snapped. “But the opportunities to do the things I want aren’t here on this crappy little island!”
“You should have thought about that before having a baby! And maybe before lying to me about being on the pill!”
“I didn’t lie,” she spat.
“Whatever,” I retorted.
We’d been here before. More than once she’d told me she wasn’t on the pill when we slept together, that she’d lied in order to get me to sleep with her. It was because she’d wanted a baby, wanted to piss her parents off, wanted to trap me… the reason changed each time. And then she’d change her mind, say she’d just been messing with me, that of course she’d been on the pill, why the hell would she have intended to get pregnant? One thing I’d found out too late about Hellie was that she liked to screw with your head. I didn’t know what the truth was. What did it even matter?
“You need to make up your mind, Hellie,” I said, my hands balled into fists at my side, “because we can’t go on like this. I mean, what even is this?” I asked, gesturing between her and myself. “You live here, sort of, when you can be bothered, but why? We’re not a couple, we never will be. This whole situation is just so fucked up! I can’t go on like this. I need to know what’s happening, and you need to decide if you’re in or out!”
“You can’t give me an ultimatum!” she snapped.
“I’m not giving you an ultimatum, I’m asking you to make a fr
icking choice!”
“You can’t demand that I make a choice!”
“And I can’t let you keep on doing this to him! He doesn’t understand what’s going on! It would be different if you actually acted like you gave a shit when you were here, but you don’t!”
“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do,” she said sternly, “I’m his mother. I can take him with me right now if that’s what I choose to do.”
I froze, chills running up my spine. Could she do that? Would she? It had never occurred to me she could take him, simply because she’d never shown anything but a fleeting interest in him. But suddenly it seemed like exactly the kind of erratic, impulsive thing she might try to do just to spite me.
Overtaken by a sense of panic and fury, I suddenly found myself up close in her face. “If you ever try to take him from me…” I spat at her through clenched teeth, but I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Then what? What would I do?
Hellie glared at me. Then she shook her head slowly and turned away with a sigh, as if she’d had enough, as if this just wasn’t worth the fight. She gathered up her jacket and the two holdalls that only an hour earlier she’d dumped on the armchair and walked out of the lounge. A few seconds later I heard the front door click shut.
As if emerging from a nightmare, I took stock of my surroundings, my hands trembling with rage. It was only then that I spied Josh in the corner, his face still buried silently against the wall. I couldn’t believe we’d just left him there, a forgotten witness to our bitterness and threats. His two parents at war with one another. Me, who’d sworn and shouted and let my fury pour out. And Hellie, who’d left without even glancing back at him.
I remember sitting on an upturned crate, Max next to me, watching the remains of the polar bear burning on the fire, his black eyes gazing up at me pathetically.
The Leader – his long, skinny arm draped over Tom’s shoulder, the knife dangling from his hand – was talking drunkenly in faltering English about leadership, respect, his country, his people. His victim was still lying face-down by the fire, unmoving, defeated.