by Maria Goodin
“Or anything. She’s had absolutely no fucking involvement in anything! Her son nearly died and I didn’t even know how to get hold of her! I just… I can’t believe… I mean… AGGHHH!”
“What the hell did you just kick?”
“The sofa. Shit, I think I might have broken my toe.”
“Look, take a deep breath and, whatever you do, don’t reply. Give it at least forty-eight hours.”
I slump down on the sofa and rub my foot, the phone clamped between my ear and shoulder.
“Jay?”
“What?!”
“Forty-eight hours.”
“Yes, yes, okay. I heard you.”
I sigh deeply.
“Anyway, sorry, how are you?” I ask, remembering he wasn’t having the greatest week either.
“I’m okay.”
“You feeling better now your meds have been sorted out?”
“Yeah, and I talked things through with Catherine, which helped.”
“I woke you, didn’t I?”
“It’s okay, I needed to get up. Tyler and Theo are doing an acoustic set down at the Canal House later and I’m going to pop down for a bit. You wanna come?”
I almost jump at the chance. Anything to take my mind off this email. But then I realise that Libby will probably be there. I’m not sure I can handle any more emotional turmoil right now. Then again, I’ve already signed up to helping her paint tomorrow morning, so what difference does it make? Plus, I think it’ll be okay. I’ve managed to put her out of my mind a bit the last couple of days. Perhaps whatever I thought I felt is dissipating with time.
“Yeah, I’ll come down for a bit,” I agree.
Once I hang up, I read through the email five more times, just to check it really is as outrageously brief and inappropriate as I remember. Josh is already struggling to focus on school. What’s this going to do to him? And what’s to say she can even be trusted? How many times did she let him down, tell him she’d be there when she wasn’t, before she finally abandoned him all together? It’s not that I don’t want them to have a relationship. She’s his mother. They should have a relationship. But I also need to protect him.
I know Michael’s right and I should wait forty-eight hours before replying, but I’m also impulsive when I’m in a rage and prone to ignoring good advice.
Hellie
Why the hell have you decided now is a good time
DELETE
Hellie
So you have finally decided you might be missing out on
DELETE
Hellie
I’m sure you’ll appreciate that with his exams approaching this is already a demanding year for Josh. It’s not simply a question of you turning up and seeing him. I never have – and never will – deny you access to your son, but we will need to discuss at length how best to handle this.
Jay
SEND
The Canal House is busy as ever on a Saturday night, but I go through to the back room where the band is playing, knowing Michael will be somewhere nearby. I spy him sitting on one of the leather sofas with Libby. They’re deep in conversation, happily catching up on the past.
I quickly evaluate the seating situation. The gap next to Libby is the most obvious place to sit, but the idea of being pressed so close to her fills me with dread. I don’t think I want that, and I’m worried she won’t either. Instead, I gesture for Michael to scoot up. There’s a moment of awkward confusion while he struggles to interpret my sign language, and then the two of them shuffle down, creating a space for me next to Michael.
Tyler and Theo are singing a song about searching for something you just can’t find, and although it’s just them on their guitars, the acoustics in the high-ceilinged room mean the music’s fairly loud.
Libby peers around Michael and gives me a friendly wave. I raise a half-hearted smile in return, even though I kind of wish she wasn’t here. I feel stressed out and fed up, and really could have done with talking things through with Michael tonight. Plus, seeing her again immediately tells me that whatever feelings I’ve been battling haven’t dissipated during the week at all. They’ve just been lying in wait for her return.
“You guys been catching up?” I ask eventually.
“We have!” they both chime, turning to each other and smiling.
“I think we’ve pretty much crammed sixteen years into the last half hour, haven’t we?” says Michael.
“Yeah, it really is amazing how—”
“—Little we’ve done.”
They laugh and then an awkward silence falls. Michael’s eyes dart between myself and Libby, as if he’s weighing something up.
I busy myself placing my phone and wallet on the oak coffee table in front of us, pouring lemonade into my glass and taking several gulps.
“They sound all right,” I comment, nodding towards the singers.
Michael crosses one foot over his knee and takes a sip of his sparkling water.
“I hear they used to be better,” he quips, “before they kicked their fantastic lead vocalist out.”
Personally, I was relieved when Breaking Days broke up. I’d never liked Tyler or Theo much. They were part of a wider group of people that I considered to be dragging Michael into a downward spiral. Ironically, they were the ones who kicked him out after his behaviour exceeded even their limits of acceptability. Nowadays, Tyler’s a driver for Tesco and Theo works in a call centre. Each of us has grown up, moved on. But I still don’t like them.
“Ohhh, no way,” Michael suddenly calls, shaking his head, “tonight’s my night off!”
I look up to see Theo holding a guitar out to him, while Tyler sets up another stool.
“For old times’ sake!” calls Theo.
A few shouts of encouragement go up around the bar.
“Get up there!” Stu calls to Michael, gathering glasses from a nearby table. “Keep my clientele happy!”
There are some hoots of laughter and a bit more egging on.
“Oh, Jesus,” mutters Michael quietly, as he reluctantly stands up and weaves his way towards the band to a spattering of applause.
As he slings the guitar strap around his neck and exchanges a few words with his former bandmates, the empty space between me and Libby gapes awkwardly. We both sip our drinks and wait silently for him to start.
The three of them play one of their old songs about wanting to rewind time and not being able to. It’s a good song with a heart-wrenching melody, too catchy to be depressing yet full of bittersweet regret. It’s one of the more uplifting songs they could have chosen, given that most of what Michael wrote back then was dark and full of pain. The lyrics strike a chord with me. How many times have I wished I could rewind time? It’s like the soundtrack to my life.
After a while, Libby shuffles a little closer, perching uncertainly on the edge of the sofa next to me as if she might need to flee at any moment.
“He’s got a great voice,” she says over the music. “I can’t believe how much he’s changed. He used to be so shy. He’d barely say a word to me.”
She gazes at the band, mesmerised by the music, but I’m distracted, acutely aware of her proximity to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I study her hands clasped around her wine glass. I notice she’s not wearing her engagement ring, presumably because she’s spent the day painting. Her nails still have flecks of white paint on them, even though she’s clearly made an effort tonight, wearing a thin, short-sleeved blouse with jeans and a dash of make-up. I find my eyes travelling over her wrists, up her bare arms, examining her sun-kissed skin…
“How did the painting go today?” I ask, trying to refocus.
“Oh, good. I finished before the rain started, so…”
“You finished?”
“I mean, I finished for the day.”
“Oh, right.”
“Yeah, not finished finished, obviously! Don’t worry, there’s still loads for you to do. I mean, if that’s still okay. For tomorrow, I mean. Is that�
��?”
“Yeah, yeah. No worries. We’ll be here.”
The band finishes to a round of applause and a couple of ear-piercing whistles. They decide to take a break, and to my slight disappointment Michael stays chatting with Tyler and Theo, leaving me alone with Libby.
I take a long sip of my drink and scratch at my neck.
“So are you staying here again tonight?” I ask.
“Yeah. Actually, I’m going to be staying here during the week as well. Just for a little while.”
“How come?” I ask, trying not to sound too alarmed.
“Well, they said they need some help in the pub, and I need a job. Poor Irena’s really suffering with this morning sickness still, and it kind of just makes sense. Plus, I can work on the painting, because just doing it at weekends… well, it’s going to take longer than I thought.”
“But have you ever worked in a pub?” I ask, half hoping to put her off. “There’s a lot to learn.”
“I’ve done pretty much everything!” she laughs.
I don’t know what to say. So now she’s got a job here? She’s going to be living here?!
“Well that’s… great. But what about Will?”
“Oh, he’s fine with it. It’s just temporary anyway.”
She quickly takes a big glug of wine.
“Actually, the little flat here’s really nice,” she says. “Have you seen it?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, come and have a quick look!”
Above the pub is Stu and Irena’s flat, and above that, it turns out, is a small converted attic space accessed via a narrow stairwell. There’s a double futon, some drawers, a narrow wardrobe, a tatty armchair, a camping stove and a small fridge all in one room. Next door there’s a toilet and sink. The slope of the ceiling means I can only stand up straight in one half of the room.
“I just have to pop downstairs to use the shower,” Libby explains. “I have everything else I need though. I can even cook. I mean, I don’t because Stu and Irena insist I eat with them, but I could if I wanted to.”
I gaze out of the skylight above the bed into the descending darkness. Drizzle speckles the glass.
“It’s… compact,” I say, looking around me.
“I lived for eighteen years on a boat, remember?” she smiles. “I’m used to compact.”
“Well, when you and Will move to your posh house in Woodside it’s gonna feel like a mansion after this!”
Libby looks down at the bare floorboards and shakes her head, not taking the bait this time. My attempt at humour hasn’t even raised a smile.
“Yeah,” she shrugs, “well, to be honest, even the smallest flats I’ve lived in have felt like mansions to me. All these jokes about living in a big house and whatever… none of that matters to me really. I’m not used to having space. I don’t know how to fill it. It’s not a house I want, it’s a home. There’s a big difference.”
I study her face, wondering what’s going through her mind, until she looks up at me, all smiles again.
“And the best thing about this place,” she grins, “is this.”
She scoops a disgruntled-looking cat off the armchair and presses her face into his matted grey fur.
“This is apparently your favourite place to hang out, isn’t it, Crumble? So you’re gonna keep me company, aren’t you?”
She waggles the cat’s paws as if he’s waving at me. He looks utterly fed up to have been disturbed, but he tolerates the abuse.
“I always wanted a cat when I was younger,” Libby tells me, as if I don’t already know this about her.
“Don’t you need a blind or something over that skylight?”
“Well, the sun did wake me up at the crack of dawn last Sunday, which was a pain. But, on the other hand, when I was trying to get to sleep, I just lay there gazing at the stars for a while. It was really nice. It reminded me of being back on the boat. Just sitting in the bow, gazing at the stars… I used to love that.”
“Yeah, I know you did,” I say distractedly, pondering how you might fit a blind if you needed one, “you taught me all about the constellations.”
As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I regret it. It’s too personal, too intimate.
I remember she’d been shocked to discover I knew nothing about astrology and had taken it upon herself to educate me. We’d made ourselves a bed of blankets in the bow of the boat and snuggled close, our breath forming faint clouds of vapour against the cold evening air. We’d started off talking in hushed voices, her pointing up at the evening sky while I played with her hair, distracted by her closeness. We’d ended up clumsily tugging and pulling at each other’s clothes underneath the covers, hands searching, feeling, exploring undiscovered territory…
“Do you want to…?” I’d asked her.
“I’m not sure,” she’d said.
“It’s up to you.”
“Do you have a… you know.”
“Yes. But only… you know, just in case. I wasn’t thinking…I mean, we don’t have to.”
“Do you want to?” she asked.
“Umm… yes. But only if you do.”
“I don’t know if I feel ready…”
“That’s fine.”
“Can we wait?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world, haven’t we?”
“Yeah,” I told her, “we’ve got forever.”
The way she looks at me now, the way her eyes dart away, the slight colour that rises in her cheeks, tells me that she’s been reminded of that evening, too.
She quickly places the cat down on his chair, but he’s fed up now and runs past me and out of the door.
“Erm… should we…?”
“Yeah,” I say, awkwardly rubbing the back of my neck, “we should…”
“It sounds like the band’s started up again.”
“Yeah, let’s go—”
“Actually, you know what? I’m kind of tired. I might stay here and call it a night if that’s—”
“Yeah, I need to go pick Josh up from the cinema anyway so—”
“Are you okay to—”
“Sure, I’ll see myself out.”
“Oh, I meant tomorrow. Are you okay to get here about half nine again? Or whenever. I mean, whenever you’re ready is fine, don’t feel—”
“Half nine’s fine.”
“Oh, watch the—”
“Ouch!”
“Yeah, the ceiling’s really low there. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. No worries.”
I leave hastily, rubbing my head, feeling awkward and clumsy on more than one level.
I lied. I don’t have to pick Josh up from the cinema for ages. He doesn’t see why I won’t just let him and Sam walk home together, seeing as Sam lives just at the end of our road, but I’m not having him wandering through town on a Saturday night at closing time. I’ve been on the end of hassle too many times myself. And at fifteen you don’t see the risks. You don’t worry about who’s lurking in the dark. You don’t think twice about taking a shortcut. You’re untouchable. Until the moment you’re not.
Kicking myself for my clumsiness with Libby, I head straight through the bar and out onto the street, dropping Michael a quick text to let him know I’ve left. The light has almost faded and I walk slowly through town, letting the light drizzle dampen my T-shirt. I gaze through the windows of shut-up shops and cafés, my solitary reflection staring back at me. I pass the Indian restaurant, where a couple are holding hands across a white-clothed table, oblivious to everything around them. I wonder what it takes to create and maintain that kind of intimacy. I wonder if I’ll ever have it, whether I’m even capable of it. I think I might have been, once, but it feels like a lifetime ago.
I pull out my phone to text Josh and confirm I’ll be there at eleven, but I get distracted by the red flag on my email box. I click on it with some trepidation.
Dear Jay
I appreciate y
our concern for our son and understand that my email has come out of the blue. I know that I have not always done the right thing by him and that makes me regretful but there is no reason for things to always continue the same way and I am in a better place now with more of an ability to have a relationship with him. I think your right that we need to discuss this and I can meet with you first to talk about things if that’s best. Let me know what you want.
I understand that this is not an easy situation but I would appreciate your help.
Love Hellie xx
I stop dead in my tracks, staring in disbelief. The illuminated screen of my phone glows back at me in the darkness, gathering tiny specks of rain.
Help? She wants my help?!
Her email summons a sense of outrage in me. Why was she not there to help when I was up night after night with a child who missed his mum? Why was she not there to help when I was at the hospital with him? Why was she not there to help ever?! And why, after a lifetime of private education, is she incapable of using proper fucking punctuation?!
I put my phone back in my pocket, incredulous.
My help? Jesus effing Christ.
Chapter 16
Help
I remember Amber inviting me into their run-down little flat in the worst part of town.
“He’s in the lounge,” she sighed, picking up her jacket. “I’m going out. And, by the way, we’re over.”
“You’re what?” I asked, shocked.
“We’re over,” she sighed. “I can’t do this anymore, Jay. I love him, but I’ve had enough. I don’t know what to do. I think he needs help of some kind, but I can’t force him. And I just…” she sniffed, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s exhausting.”
I nodded, disappointed but sympathetic. I liked Amber, Timpton’s very own girl with the dragon tattoo. When she’d jumped up on that table behind Michael and snaked her hands under his T-shirt, I’d assumed she’d be just another of his one-night stands. But, almost two years later, here they still were, living together in the cheapest place their rent could afford, and through all his extreme ups and downs she’d stood by him. Until now.