This Love

by Anna Bloom

  I wait, blocking the road while a woman gets her two kids into her giant 4x4. Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I mutter some choice phrases until she’s vacated the space for me to zoom into.

  Once I’ve slammed out of the car I give the side panel a hearty kick. “You piece of shit,” I mutter, cursing as I turn to lock the pile of rust. Other mums leaving the school steer their children away from me as I continue to swear under my breath and try to get the damn key into the lock. The remote button stopped working years ago after Isaac dropped it down the toilet.

  Looking up, the first thing I notice is a pair of long legs crossed at the leg. They lead to a tidy jean clad butt leant against an old truck. Freddy watches me with his arms folded across his chest, his lips twitching and his eyes dancing.

  My hair!

  I waltz passed him into the school. “Don’t say anything,” I growl.

  He holds his hands up in surrender and falls into step at my side. “Not saying anything. Nothing at all.”

  PARENTING

  The crash in the kitchen has me running from my laptop at the dining table. No one uses the dining room so it’s been easy to commandeer for a study, that and the fact it's central to the downstairs area means it’s a great spot to sit and work while keeping an eye on the happenings in the house.

  Like now.

  Twelve eggs are smashed over the floor along with the chintzy china hen they get kept in. “What the f . . .” I manage to stop myself from swearing when I see mum cowering in the corner.

  She looks up at me, her expression surprised, but I am quickly working out when she in the present or not. Right now she is. “I’m sorry,” she pleads.

  “Mum, it’s cool, don’t worry about it.”

  She starts to fuss and tries to get on the floor to pick up the eggshell. “I don’t know what happened, the whole thing just crashed out of my hands. Your Dad brought me that, you know. He will be really upset when he knows I’ve broken it.”

  She looks up at me, her expression tells me she’s remembering something vital. “He’s not going to know, is he?”

  I kneel on the floor next to her, my knee sliding in raw egg. Reaching for her hands, I hold them in mine, “No, Mum, he’s not. Remember? He died last year.”

  She thinks this through, her eyes gazing far into the distance. “I never liked the chicken anyway.”

  “Well, that’s okay then.” I decide to change the subject away from my father, it can make her distressed when she understands the reality of present time.

  “Are you having trouble with your hands, Mum?” Turning them over I look at her palms like I might find some answers there. “Do they feel numb or tingly, perhaps?” This is information I should be telling the doctor next week when I get her there.

  She looks at her hands as if they are unknown to her. “Sometimes they don’t feel like mine, like they aren’t attached.”

  “We can talk to someone about it next week, if you like?”

  Her eyes gaze over me before she turns her attention back to our hands. “I used to be jealous when you were little that you had fingers like your fathers. Everything about you was like your father, I could never see anything of my own in you.”

  I watch her silently because this is one of those rare moments when she sheds light on my strained childhood.

  “I used to think it was really unfair, considering I’d carried you, given birth to you, and then you looked nothing like me.”

  “Sorry.”

  Mum’s eyes snap onto me, suddenly all seeing and keen. “Is that how you feel about Isaac, that you can only see his father?”

  My chest constricts, this is the first time she’s made any direct reference to Isaac since I’ve been home. I mean, she knows he’s there, realises he is in someway family, a relative she can’t quite remember.

  “I don’t know, Mum. I guess I see myself more because I’m the one who’s brought him up, he has more of me than anyone else.”

  “I wish you’d come home.” Her eyes fill with tears.

  "I wish I had, too,” I speak around a massive lump knotting itself in my throat. “We wasted so much time, Mum, just because I was angry.”

  “You will never be as sorry as me.” Then she starts to cry. I hold my tears in, drowning as they flow through me, searching for an outlet.

  “Come on, Mum, I can clear this up. Lets get you off this dirty floor.”

  I shift her, using my weight to hold her up. When she looks at me again I can see that she’s slipping away again, a frown is creasing between her eyebrows. “Now, I don’t want you and Danni out all hours and rolling home drunk now you're eighteen.”

  A single tear slides down my cheek. “I promise, Mum. I won’t come home drunk, although you know you don’t have to wait up for us.”

  “Of course I’ll wait up, I’m your mother.” She sends me a critically firm shake of her head.

  As I settle her in dad’s chair in the lounge, I can’t help but wonder just how long she is going to remember that she is my mother.

  * * *

  I’ve made sure to leave for the school run extra early as I don’t want to be late again. The scowl Isaac met me with the other afternoon was quite spectacular and could have frozen a summer storm. Freddy gave me a grin and a cheeky wave as he walked on by with Bailey and I was left in a lockdown with a stroppy nine year old.

  Today I’m going to be on time.

  I’m standing at the school door, waiting for it to open, ready for my night of popcorn with Isaac. I’m determined to dig around until I find out what’s causing his mood this week.

  I give Mai a wave when she pitches up to wait for the end of the school week release. “Still anti family dinner, tonight?”

  “I’m not family,” I laugh, repeating my statement from the other day.

  “How’s the car?”

  “Do you guys gossip about everything like a bunch of old women?”

  “It’s a small town and a lot of Bale conversation is about you, as it always has been.”

  I’m going to ask what she’s talking about but the school door flies open and the teacher comes out with the class clamouring behind her.

  I grin at Isaac, as he rushes through the door. He looks like he’s trying to hide, his head is down and shoulders slumped. That’s not a great start to our evening together. But then the worst thing happens, the thing that all parents dread. The teacher catches my eye and motions for me to come over. I’m reaching out to grab Isaac so he can live through whatever humiliating pain this ‘chat’ may be when he shouts, “Dad!”

  Spinning, I see Elliot standing behind me. The bastard must have been there the whole time. He has his habitual smirk smattered on his face and despite the fact I’m not susceptible to violent outbursts, I want to punch the fucker in the face.

  “What are you doing here?” I can’t even manage to lower my voice and we get a fair few interested glances. Elliot breaks out into a full on beam.

  “I think Isaac’s teacher wants to see us?” He starts to walk to the door and the waiting telling-off.

  “This is highly inappropriate,” I mutter under my breath, my teeth clenched so tight they actually ache.

  “Ooh, no, Amber.” He taunts me with his tone. “I think we both know which of us is inappropriate.”

  I can’t believe this is happening. I actually just can’t believe it at all. This is my very worse nightmare.

  Isaac’s teacher keeps her expression blank as we walk up to her, she knows about the separation, I told the school everything on Isaac’s first day. I wanted them to make sure he was okay.

  “Mrs. Williamson,” she greets me with and then looks expectantly at Elliot.

  “Mr. Williamson.” He offers his hand.

  “Oh, hi,” she says, her gaze flickering between the two of us, taking note of my stiff body language and grimace. “Well, Isaac’s been in a bit of trouble today and he had to go and see the Head at lunch for fighting.”

  “I
saac,” I gasp. “You don’t do fighting, that’s not you.”

  My shock knows no bounds.

  He shrugs and stubs the toe of his school shoe into the playground asphalt.

  “What’re you fighting for, Son?” asks Elliot, and I swear on my life I’m going to punch him, or, kick him in the balls.

  Isaac just shrugs again, so with speedy apologies and promises of parental chats and good behaviour next week, we make our escape.

  Once we are clear of the school I drag Isaac away form Elliot’s grasp. “You shouldn’t be here.” I try and keep my tone light for Isaac’s sake but my anger is not veiled well and Isaac sends a questioning glance in my direction.

  “I came to see if Isaac wanted to do this with me tomorrow?” He pulls two tickets out of his back pocket. Isaac grabs them and then quickly starts to bounce, vibrate almost, with excitement.

  “Manchester United tickets?” he screeches full volume.

  My eyes widen in shock and Elliot’s smirk gets wider, if that’s even possible. “Isaac, you and I have plans tonight.” I try and remind him about the special time I have been waiting for all week.

  He turns to me, his eyes beseeching. “Mum, it’s Man U. We can eat popcorn together any night.”

  I have a feeling he doesn’t mean this, that he would much rather watch Homes Under the Hammer with his nan than he would sit and eat popcorn with me.

  “Come on, Amber. It’s just one day,” coerces Elliot. He’s testing me, willing to see how far I’m going to go in my stand against him.

  One look at Isaac’s face tells me that I’m not going to be stopping him from watching his favourite football team in a live game. Tickets aren’t easy to come by so Elliot must have busted a gut to get them. It makes me despise him all the more.

  “I want him home tomorrow evening, no later than nine.”

  Isaac jumps into my arms and gives me an uncharacteristic public hug. Kissing the top of his head, I give him squeeze, my arms aching with a heavy feeling that being without him tonight will only accentuate.

  The egg incident this morning, plus this, threatens to push me over the edge. Emotions start to well inside me and I’m pretty sure I’m going to cry. I steel myself firm so I don’t cry in front of Elliot.

  "You’d better come and grab some clothes, Isaac.” I smile at Isaac, keeping my voice as light as I can. “And you,” I spit at Elliot, “can stay in the damn car. Come on, Isaac, you’re riding with me.”

  * * *

  The loneliness I feel inside is making me act like a caged lion. A bad-tempered caged lion. The empty ache I have radiates from my chest and throughout my body — even my arms ache. My legs don’t want to sit down and my head doesn’t want to belong to me anymore. My disappointment over the failure of my popcorn and movie night is vastly off scale.

  Isaac rushed back out the front door two whole minutes after we got home from school, a simple wave of goodbye in my direction.

  We didn’t get the chance to discuss the fight at school, or the reason why he did it. I didn’t even get the chance to ask if he’s happy here, the answer to which I feel in my soul is a resounding no.

  Since then, I’ve been by myself, a dinner for one, mum was dosing in her chair and when I tried to wake her for food she just pushed me away.

  And now, well now I can’t stop bloody crying. This is the worst mess I ever imagined I could be in, and I can’t see an end.

  Isaac knows that Elliot isn’t his dad, because I always made it clear. I always told him the truth that I’d never told his real father about him. Coming back here, I foolishly thought that with a hundred miles between us I’d be able to erase Elliot from our lives, get back to being the Isaac and I we were before he came along. But I’m being stupid, Isaac was a toddler then, he doesn’t remember a life before.

  Now I know I’m lying to Isaac. For the first time ever there is a lie between us, and that lie is Freddy. Freddy knows about Isaac. In my heart I know that this should mean Isaac should know the truth about Freddy, but deep down I have a bad feeling about it. Maybe Freddy is right to let them build their own relationship, to not force Isaac into feeling anything other than like and respect for Freddy, when he’s ready. It’s hard though and it makes my heart ache with guilt. A dark guilt for both of them.

  I keep thinking of the Bales, all having their family dinner, and it creates a hollow echo that reverberates around the empty walls of my house with the beat of my own heart. It’s all I can hear, a sad echo of what I don’t have.

  With a sigh that verges on talking to myself, I head to the lounge and try to wake mum up to get her to bed. With gentle hands I give her a soft shake to nudge her along. “Mum, come on, I’ll help you upstairs.”

  The stinging slap comes out of nowhere. Knocking me off my feet. My cheek stings with a piercing burn. Mum’s eyes gaze right through me, vacant and expressionless, mirroring the empty echo of the house.

  “Mum?” I reach for her hands, keeping my own gentle.

  She starts to scream, howling like a lone wolf.

  What on earth is going on? Panic tingles along my spine, and I freeze to the spot unsure how to proceed. Every sense in me is awakened as my brain whirls with options while my feet stay rooted to the spot. Her hand flies out again, but I manage to dodge it, the bitter sting of the first connection still livid on my cheek.

  “Mum, please, it’s Amber. Let me help you.”

  “There’s no Amber here!” She screeches her voice higher than I’ve ever heard.

  “Mum, there is, I’m here. Look at me.”

  Mum stats to wail, her whole body shaking.

  I don’t know what to do. I start to cry, unsure how to get her to see me, to stop hitting me, to stop screaming. Swallowing down my alarm, I get close enough to slide my arm around her back, pinning her hands at her sides, and then I lift her from her chair. Her legs aren’t really carrying any weight, it’s like she’s just stopped working. A rag doll loose in my grip.

  I don’t know how I find the strength but somehow I manage to wrestle her to the stairs. I’m petrified I’m going to hurt her, which is ironic considering she’s slapping at me with a hand she’s managed to wiggle free. Every so often her wild flails make a resounding crack of contact.

  Finally, I manage to get her to her room. By the time she’s on the bed she practically catatonic. Sobs heave through me, snot running down my face as my own body goes into shock and starts to shake from top to toe.

  On unstable legs, I edge to the top of the stairs and sit down on the top step, my tears out of control. My whole body shakes and blood pounds in my ears, whooshing like waves on sand as the shock settles inside me. Over the pounding in my ears I can hear snores rising out of her room and in reaction, I edge down the stairs one at a time on my bottom, not trusting my legs to make the effort to walk.

  I need some space between us.

  A gentle knock taps at the front door but I don’t get up to answer, I can’t move or even try to find the will to move.

  “Amber?” It’s Freddy, his voice soft but alarmed. "Amber, can you open the door?”

  The sound of his voice calling me cuts through my suspended state. Freddy’s just on the other side of the door, I know if I could just get to him he could make me feel safe.

  I straighten my legs, my knees still knocking and take one tentative step across the hallway, to Freddy, and then another. Crashing into the door, I catch the latch with my shaking hands but that is all I can manage. Eventually I feel his weight push against it and then he’s there, his fingers grabbing for me as I start to fall down, his arms pinning me tight into his chest and his lips against my hair as he saves me from darkness and pulls me back into the light.

  IN THE NIGHT

  Hushed voices are whispering down the hallway but silence fills the darkened lounge. I sit and stare into my brandy, happy to let the warm liquid work it’s magic and take my tingling numbness into an all out failure to feel or think. It’s my third brandy, and I’m going t
o go out on a limb and say I’m pissed. I don’t even care who’s whispering outside the room, I’m just happy to concentrate on the citrus burn sliding down my throat.

  I’m pouring another stiff one when Freddy walks back in, his face set, and his body language telling me he’s in charge. “Lets go,” he says, taking the glass out of my hand.

  Glancing up at him, I try and see through the brandy fog but its heavy, dark hold won’t release me to Freddy’s care.

  “I can’t,” I state with a minor slur.

  “You can, and we are. Danni’s going to stay and make sure your mum is safe. You need space.” At the mention of my mum, I shiver involuntarily.

  “No, that’s not necessary, this is all silly.” I say this but I can still hear the echo of mum’s scream in my head and the sting of her slap. My fingers drift to the sensitised patch of skin.

  Danni walks in, a pile of magazines under her arm. “Go.”

  “I can’t ask that of you.” My tongue feels fat and useless.

  “Are we best friends or not?” Danni drops the magazines on the table and I cringe at the noise, worried it’s going to start mum off again. Both Freddy and Danni see my flinch.

  “Right, that does it.” Freddy bends down and hooks his arms underneath me, sweeping me up against his chest. “Don’t fight me, Amber. Just let me get you away from here, then we can talk about it. We can talk about anything and everything, but you need some space from here.”

  Space, it seems to be all I’m getting at the moment. Space is the very last thing I want.

  I need someone to steal my loneliness and never give it back.

  Freddy leans in and whispers in Danni’s ear, keeping his voice low. I don’t know why but it makes me feel mad, and jealous and everything in between. It’s the brandy taking control.

  Once we are outside I struggle out of his arms. "What did you say to her? Don’t pity me, Freddy Bale, I couldn’t bare it.”

  He watches me, his ocean blues calm. “I’m not pitying you, Amber, I’m trying to help. I told her to ring me if she needs anything, that’s all.”