Undone by the Ex-Con

by Talia Hibbert

  “Well. That’s certainly gratifying to hear.” She didn’t look gratified. But then, when she had she ever? Lizzie gazed at her mother’s pinched face with something close to pity in her heart. This woman had been born with everything, and life had only given her more.

  Yet she was constantly wanting. Never satisfied. Empty on the inside, it seemed.

  And Father was no better. Clinging to his trophy, as though the pinnacle of breeding by his side would make all of England forget the colour of his skin.

  “Mother,” Olu said. “Father. I came home because I have something to tell you.”

  At this, their father perked up, his obvious boredom with the conversation fading. “Yes? You have news, my son? Perhaps you wish to come home again, to work with me now, like a good boy, ah?”

  “Certainly, I will,” Olu said. “If you want me to.”

  “Of course I want you to!” Father cried. “You know this! Long, I have wanted you to—”

  “I’m gay,” Olu interrupted.

  Silence fell. It wasn’t like yesterday’s silence; this was no pause of surprise.

  This was a silence of finality.

  “Impossible,” their father whispered.

  “Well, no,” Olu said dryly. “It’s really not.”

  “Impossible,” Father repeated, his voice stronger now. Harsher. Like barbed wire. “No son of mine could be an abomination,” he spat. His face was alight with fury, and when he stood, Lizzie thought she saw violence in the tightening of his fists.

  Olu stood to face him, and the two men stared each other down: the father visibly shaking with rage, the son perfectly still, jaw set, eyes a challenge.

  After a beat, Father turned away with a shout of disgust. Lizzie felt her tension ease, just a little, as he stormed from the room, cursing in Yoruba. Olu sat down slowly.

  There. It was done. Now they had only their mother to handle. Lizzie found Olu’s hand beside hers, held it tight, but she couldn’t risk looking at him right now; if she saw hurt on his face, she would most definitely lose control. Instead she turned to their mother, the woman who’s approval had always hung just out of reach, like a carrot dangling from a stick. A carrot Lizzie had long hated herself for always, always reaching for.

  No more.

  “Say something,” she whispered. And then, when no answer came: “You will speak.”

  Because her mother could hold a silence for days. Weeks, even. She often had, when it suited her.

  But not this time. No. Languid as a lizard, her eyes rolled down to where Lizzie and Olu’s hands met. There was no decoding the expression on her face; there never was.

  But her words were clear enough.

  “Why did you bring him here?” She asked, looking at Lizzie now, as though no-one else were in the room.

  “I—what do you mean?” Lizzie faltered, blessedly confused for a moment.

  Until Mother made everything crystal-clear. “Why did you bring him here?” She repeated, her voice a hiss as she jerked her head towards Olu. It was the most uncontrolled movement Lizzie had ever seen from the woman. Fine strands of golden hair fluttered free from her chignon and her pale eyes blazed. “Have you no consideration for your father? No respect?”

  “Have you no love for your son?” Lizzie shot back, forcing the words past the lump in her throat.

  Mother’s eyes were cold. Colder than Lizzie’s could ever hope to be.

  “I have no son,” she said, in the same sort of casual tone with which she might order a gin and tonic.

  Lizzie surged to her feet. She had been so good for so long; had controlled her temper beautifully. This might be the moment it snapped.

  But then, at the mocking tilt of her mother’s lips, Lizzie hesitated. Reigned in her rage. Took a deep breath—and remembered Mother saying, long ago, Don’t flare your nostrils so, darling. You already look like a horse.

  Took another.

  And then she spoke as calmly as Mother had done.

  “You have no daughter either, then. You are childless now. And I for one, will not miss you."

  She thought she saw a flicker of something—something indefinable but most definitely out of place—in Mother's eyes. But just as quickly, it was gone. Because Mother didn't have Lizzie's flaws. Mother was always in control.

  Let her remain that way, then; untouchable. Perfect, and alone. She was welcome to her precious restraint, her discipline.

  But Lizzie was tired of it.

  Before she and Olu reached the door, Lizzie turned back, sparing her mother one last glance. “By the way,” she said, “I’m not going back to Paris. I’m not going back to Europe at all, and I will never perform again. You’ll have to find yourself another trophy.”

  Mother said nothing. Nothing needed to be said.

  Olu and Lizzie left the house peacefully, hand in hand, just as they had entered. Nobody tried to stop them. Nobody ran after them to say that it was all a mistake, that of course their parents would accept Olu, because what kind of monsters wouldn't?

  Nobody said anything like that.

  But it didn't matter. Not anymore. Because now, they were free.

  Finally, finally, free.

  Twenty-Seven

  Ellen had replied.

  Lizzie stared at her phone screen, at the little blue bubble she’d never expected to see.

  "We don't deserve forgiveness. It's not an exchange." That's what Isaac had said. And he’d been right. So when Lizzie had apologised to the friend she’d so cruelly pushed away, it certainly hadn’t been in anticipation of this moment.

  And yet, here it was.

  “Are you okay?” Jennifer asked, coming to sit on the sofa with a bowl of sweet popcorn. Aria and Yen followed closely behind, carrying their own treats.

  Lizzie clutched her bag of plain peanuts self-consciously as she looked up. “Yeah! Fine.”

  “You’re looking at your phone like it just tried to bite you,” Jennifer observed, disbelief colouring her voice.

  “What’s up?” Aria prompted, throwing herself into the nearby armchair. “Sharing is caring.”

  “Um…” Lizzie found three pairs of eyes gazing at her expectantly. Even worse was the hint of worry in Yen’s. And yet, though the attention should make Lizzie uncomfortable at least—and irritated at best—instead she felt… oddly pleased. These women were concerned. For her. As if they were friends.

  Well; they were about to sit down to a Netflix marathon while Olu and Theo ran around London taking care of mysterious ‘business’. Perhaps they were friends.

  “It’s this girl,” Lizzie heard herself say, as if from afar. “Ellen. We were close. But I made a mistake and… I wasn’t very nice to her.”

  “Ah,” Aria said, nodding sagely. “Happens to me all the time.”

  “It really does,” Jennifer piped up. And then, when Aria reached over to smack her arm, “Ow! What? It does!”

  “So what’s going on?” Yen asked. “Are you arguing?”

  “Ah, no. I sent her a message over Facebook. You know, to apologise. And she just replied.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”

  Jennifer rested her hand on Lizzie’s shoulder, a soft smile plumping her cheeks. She really was uncommonly pretty. And unusually sweet. She and Yen would make perfect sisters. “Do you want to open it together?”

  Lizzie took a deep breath. “Actually, that might be nice.”

  Which is how she ended up surrounded by a small crowd of women, pecking like mother hens, as she opened Ellen’s reply.

  Hey, Lizzie. I only just saw your message. I’m sorry I missed it. I’m really happy to hear from you.

  Lizzie’s face dissolved into a grin of disbelief.

  “There you go!” Aria crowed, reaching over to slap her on the back. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  I feel really bad about what happened, but I was so worried about you. I’m glad to hear you’re doing better now. And I
most definitely accept your apology. How are things? What are you up to now?

  “She forgives me,” Lizzie murmured.

  “Of course she does,” Yen smiled sunnily. “You’re a good person. I don’t think you’d ever do something unforgivable.”

  And just like that, Lizzie’s good mood evaporated. Because she had done something unforgivable... to the person whose forgiveness she wanted more than anything in the world.

  Her smile feeling rigid and plastic on her face, Lizzie put away her phone. “Alright then! What are we watching, ladies?”

  Distracted, the other women launched into a discussion of their options. It didn’t take long to settle on Buffy.

  “How long do you think the guys are gonna be?” Asked Aria, tearing open a grab bag of Maltesers.

  “I don’t know,” Yen said. “I mean, obviously Keynes was upset after the um… The visit with his parents this morning. Maybe they’re drinking.”

  “I think it has something to do with this Mark person,” Jennifer murmured. All eyes swung to her.

  “You know,” Aria said, her voice certain.

  “No.” Jennifer shook her head firmly. “No idea! Total mystery. I know as much as you lot.”

  “Liar,” Aria snorted. “Fine. Whatever. Keep the secrets of thy marriage bed.”

  “Shut up,” Jennifer said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Lizzie, do you want anything to eat?”

  Great. Here came the awkward moment. Lizzie gave her airiest, most unaffected smile as she murmured, “Oh, no thank you.”

  “You’re not just going to eat nuts, are you?” Aria demanded. “Are you on a diet?”

  “Um… I… I’m diabetic.” Lizzie waited for the awkward silence.

  But none came.

  “Ohhhh,” Yen said. “That’s why you didn’t want the lemon tart!”

  “Ah, yeah.”

  “Hm…” She looked thoughtful. “I wonder if I can make it with artificial sweeteners…”

  “Shall we start from the beginning?” Aria cut in, waving the TV remote around. “Or just choose the best episodes?”

  “You know I have to start from the beginning,” Jennifer sighed. “I hate watching TV out of order.”

  “Fine, God. You’re so anal.”

  As Buffy’s familiar theme tune began to play and the women settled down, Lizzie sat in slightly dazed silence. That… That was it? That was all? After all these months of treating her illness as some kind of painful secret, of telling only those who absolutely had to know—she announced her weakness to the world, and the response was a mumble about sugar-free lemon tart?

  But then she remembered what Isaac had told her. "No weakness here." And he'd seemed so sure.

  Maybe he’d been right, she thought as she turned her attention to the TV.

  It seemed he’d been right about a lot of things.

  By late afternoon, the boys still weren’t back and Aria was practically bouncing off the walls.

  “We have to be home by tonight!” She kept saying. “I have a Skype call with the wedding planner.”

  “We’ll be back in time,” Jennifer soothed, patting her friend’s tattooed hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, love.”

  “Whose wedding is this anyway?” Lizzie chuckled under her breath.

  “I’m still not sure,” Yen murmured back with a smirk of her own. “You know, Jenny’s not even in the group chat.”

  “The group chat?”

  “Aria made it. It’s called The Wedding Avengers. Me, her, your brother, and my mum. Jenny’s not invited because she wants to keep things low-key, which Aria says is a ‘scandalous waste of a wealthy husband’.”

  Lizzie almost choked on her laughter—but the humour came with a side of pain as the headache that had dogged her all day sharpened. She hissed, putting a hand to her temple.

  “You okay?” Yen frowned.

  “Yeah, just a headache. I think I need to… I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of the room, heading down the hall to the bedroom that Olu always referred to as hers. He’d certainly decorated it for her, back when he’d moved in. Now the purple walls and posters of her favourite ballerinas felt slightly OTT, but she still loved the place.

  Lizzie found the little kit that contained her metre and readied the needle, grabbing a fresh test strip. She must be high. She’d had this headache since lunch. Somewhere in the background, she heard the front door open and the murmur of multiple voices; Olu and Theo were back. But she couldn’t go to greet them until she knew what was going on with her blood sugar.

  Only… it appeared that nothing was going on with her blood sugar. She blinked at the number on the monitor, confused. It wasn’t perfect, but it was within the range she’d expect before dinner. Certainly not high enough to cause the pain in her head. So what was going on?

  “Hey,” came Olu’s familiar voice from the doorway. “You okay? Yen said you have a headache.”

  “Ah, yeah.” She gave him a quick smile before returning her attention to the metre. “I’m fine, thanks. Everything go okay today?”

  “I have a lot to tell you,” he said dryly. “Put it that way. And Theo helped, like I knew he would. Seriously, Liz, are you okay? Why are you looking at that… What is that, anyway?” He came into the room, frowning with concern.

  “It’s how I test my blood sugar,” she told him.

  “Is it bad?”

  “No. It’s fine. But I have this awful headache and if it’s not that…”

  “Oh,” Olu said, sounding relieved. “It’s probably just your hair.”

  She squinted at him. “What?”

  “Yeah, remember. You used to get headaches all the time, because Mother did your hair too tight. And you really went for it today.”

  “Oh.” She raised a hand to her scalp, realised that it did feel slightly tender. “Maybe… Maybe you’re right.”

  “I don’t know why you wear it like that, anyway. Your hair’s so pretty.”

  “It’s out of control. It’s messy.”

  “No it’s not,” Olu said calmly. “It’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. And Mother isn’t around to drip poison in your ear anymore, Liz. She’s not going to drop in with a list of all the reasons why you’re a failure. Not ever again. So maybe relax, for once.” He gave her a small smile before wandering back into the hall.

  Lizzie stood and walked over to her dressing table, resting her palms against its pale wood surface as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She looked… okay. Fine. The same as usual. Except for the little line between her brows, the furrow that marked her unconscious frown. Pursing her lips, Lizzie smoothed the line away. Now she looked fine. But her head still hurt like a bitch.

  Maybe she should take her hair down. She often did that when she was at home, alone and trying to relax. But she hadn’t wanted to since she left France. Because… because it felt like setting her hair loose would mean setting everything else loose. Like releasing the band that held her curls tight would release the grip she had on her emotions. But then, everything was slipping through her fingers already. She knew that. She welcomed it, even.

  Soon, she would face the feelings she’d hidden away inside herself. Soon, she would have to think about Isaac.

  The acceptance was like casting a spell. Now his face filled her mind, memories smashing into her all at once. His hard-won smile, the curt rasp of his voice, his hands on her skin, in her hair. And the way he said her name…

  She sat down, hard. Now her reflection was at eye level, unavoidable, and suddenly the sight of her hair filled her with something like hate.

  No—resentment. And weariness. She was so fucking tired.

  Lizzie reached up and went through the familiar process of taking down her hair, unpinning this and unwinding that until finally, she was left with a tabletop drowning in oversized hair grips and a dark cloud of brushed-out curls floating around her face. She looked like a storm. The pounding in her head had abated slightly. Perhaps this was the moment wh
ere she cast off her insecurities and embraced her hair.

  But she didn’t fucking like it.

  Lizzie sank a hand into the dark, springy mass. It was cotton-soft, with a dull sheen like wet earth. Pretty, really. But there was far too much of it. It floated around her head like a maelstrom, and though her scalp sang with relief at the freedom, she simply wasn’t used to this. Everywhere she looked, her own hair floated at the edge of her vision. It surrounded her, grazing her cheeks, brushing her back. She felt like she was suffocating.

  The problem was the length. Or rather, the size. She’d never actually had a haircut, she realised. Every place her mother had taken her, they’d been met with terrified, rictus grins and murmured apologies. We don’t do Black hair, I’m afraid.

  Well; fine. She’d do it herself.

  Lizzie pulled open the dressing table’s second drawer, producing the tailor’s scissors she’d once used to alter costumes. They were slightly small for the job, perhaps, but they’d do.

  She grabbed a chunk of hair by her left ear and pulled, stretching it out until it reached her hips. Her reflection watched her, wide-eyed. The Lizzie in the mirror wasn’t entirely sure about this, it seemed. Her face seemed to echo the whispers sliding through the real Lizzie’s mind: you can’t cut your hair. What else do you have?

  Lizzie opened the scissors, let them hover close to the section of hair, just a few inches away from her scalp.

  You’re not that pretty. You need hair.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered aloud. “It’ll grow back.”

  Isaac likes it.

  Isaac didn’t like anything about her. She set her jaw and forced her fingers to move.

  There was a sharp slice of sound. And then a length of fluffy, spiral curls floated to the ground.

  Lizzie looked down at it for a moment, stark against the pale carpet. It was so very long. That hair had been with her since birth.

  She chose another section and made the next cut.

  Lizzie,” Olu called. “Everyone’s leaving.”

  “Coming,” she shouted back.

  Her room’s en-suite was small, with nothing but a toilet, a shower, and a little mirror over the sink. Usually, she’d do her hair in the main bathroom.