by Dee Winter
“What? Really? Are you sure?”
“Yeah… She said that it sounded like a great idea, and yes, why don’t you go and live with her. She would appreciate the company. She said you could just chip in what you can with money, do a bit of housework, get some shopping in. Remember it’s only a box room, only a small bed. Not much space at all, but still, it’s a room. You could call it home, right next door to your old home. Still near mum, near college. You just won’t be near me.”
Dazzled with disbelief, I say, “Mum, is it true? Is he making this up?” I look at him. “But, I still don’t see why I can’t just come and live with you. I can get a train in to college or work something out?”
“Look Ella, I’m sorry but it’s not happening. You can’t come with me. I’m getting out of here for good. You need to stay here and go to college. You’re future’s important too. It’s here. You can stay with Heather. It’s not going to do you any good coming with me. Really, it’s not. And besides, it’s too far from your college.”
“But… I could change college. I can find one near you. Look, I can’t do anything without you. I can’t live without you. You have to help me.”
“Listen Skit, I am helping you. You just don’t see it yet. You’ve got to understand, life changes, people move on. It happens. This is an opportunity for you too. A new start. Me moving a couple of hours away is not going to change anything between us. It gives you the chance to sort yourself out and go to college, get your grades, get a job, maybe even get a car one day and then you can come up and see me whenever. This is a chance for you to do something for yourself now. Start living your life, as it should be. Stop getting yourself tied up in mine. Believe me, this is what’s best for you.” I am watching him so closely, I swear I see a tiny tear start in his eye, no bigger than a pinhead, but he blinks and it’s gone.
I feel frightened. I’m losing my best friend and the idea of everything changing is terrifying. But moving out, and on, and in with Heather, the thought of that is just amazing. I can’t believe it. Trembling still, I put the end of my cigarette out in the sink and place it in the pedal bin. “Ok, shall we go now? Are you ready?” Rob says, and I fall back down to earth with a very big bump.
15
Let’s Leave the Kitchen
I immediately light another cigarette but it still does not stop me from shaking. The imminence of going to meet my dad now is the only thing on my mind. I cannot even speak. I hold on tightly to the little sponge tube between finger and thumb. I concentrate on drawing in deep breaths and holding on to the smoke. I feel dizzy, little fireworks going off behind the bone of my forehead. I blow jagged little rings into the centre of the kitchen. Rob is standing by me still, waiting for us to move.
I feel paralysed but of course I will go with him, despite nearly every cell in my body detesting the idea. My feelings are in a food mixer. The beaters are spinning fast. I think that’s maybe what’s bothering me most. There is just one tiny piece of me that really does want to go, but our dad must be a terrible man for leaving me, for leaving Rob, and leaving mum. But the smallest atom in the tip of my toenail feels that he may not be that bad. He might have the perfect explanation for never having met me, never sending a birthday card and not wanting to know. Even though I am a stranger to him, part of me still feels he might not have wanted things to be like they are. Maybe he has an excuse. Admittedly, it would have to be one big blue whale-sized reason, but still. I need to meet him to find out. He gets this one chance. “Mum,” I say, “I want to know how you feel about me going. I mean, are you ok if I go?”
“I can’t stop you.” She says.
“That’s not what I asked.” I say calmly, with as much scattered warmth as I can.
“Then no. I cannot say I’m happy that you’re going. I am worried for you. He broke my heart. I don’t want him to do the same to you. But it’s only fair that if you want to go, that you go and judge for yourself. It’s been a long time, so many years now. You’ve grown up and I think you will be ok to go on your own now, with Rob. I hope. I hope so.” She rubs the top of her head, making her tight greying curls messier still. Her brown cotton headscarf is pushed out of place.
“What do you mean?” I say, confused by her words.
“I mean, that if things don’t go well, which honestly, I have to say I don’t think they will, I think you should be mature enough to deal with it.” I look at her with Evil Eye restrained. She’s much too negative. I want her to be happy for me. To try and convince me more, not try and put me off going. I need her support.
“Well, what’s the point? Why should I even go if you just think it’s just going to go badly?”
She gazes back at me gently with her swirling green eyes that are still slightly pink around the edges. “Of course, however, he may have changed and I hope that he has, and if it’s true that he has, and things go well, then of course you have my blessing. I can forgive but I can’t forget all the pain and heartache he caused for you, me and your brother. But it’s up to you, if you do go and see him, be prepared. It would break my heart all over again. But it has to be your choice.” She readjusts her headband smoothing out the little creases with her fingertips and pushes her gold-rimmed glasses further up her freckled nose. She looks at me blinking, her mouth a perfect straight line, not happy not sad.
Mum has never spoken so calmly about my dad. Usually she would just shout at him, when crying alone in her room, full of anger and resentment, even though he wasn’t there. She now sounds almost, maybe even just a little hopeful, dare I say it. Hope can be a dangerous thing. Of course I hear her hesitancy too. She is a perfectly balanced brass scale of optimism and doubt. Maybe she does not know how she feels. Maybe she does and this is her perfect poker face. At least now I feel semi-authorized, though I know in my heart, my decision was already made.
I need to take a new approach. I will go calmly, with patience, honesty and dignity. I must expect nothing, and then if I get nothing, I will not have anticipated more. I will be reasonable. I will say exactly how I feel, without any screaming or knife-wielding or flying off the handle. It will either work out or it will not. If there is a problem, it will lay with him, not me. I have to be the adult. I must reign myself in tightly, wrap ropes around all my nerves, excitement and fear. Holding back all of my emotion, like a flood barrier, the weight of the sea behind it. However heavy, I must hold it together. I’ve done alright so far, well, one or two exceptions. I don’t expect miracles to happen. This is not Surprise Surprise. If nothing changes I can carry on. My life was fine before him. It will never be the same again once I meet him, but life will go on, with or without him.
I feel at a loss for any feeling now. I don’t know how to feel. It’s not even like a mixture any more. It’s just sheer lack of anything. From being hyper-hyper I now feel flat, ice-plain numb. Rob comes over and almost hugs the life out of me. He lets go, leaning back to look at me but I still feel nothing. He hugs me again, closely and hard. I can feel the denim of his jeans against my tummy, smell the wool of his jumper and his warm, earthy aftershave on his neck. I can hear the dull thud of his heartbeat now my ear rests on his chest. I feel hollow inside, like a chocolate Easter egg. If he hugs me any harder I’m not going to melt, maybe just crack and fall into pieces on the floor.
“What…” he says, but trails off. I don’t know what he was going to say but I can guess. What’s the matter? What’s up? What are you thinking? Either way, he knew best to stop before he finished the question. Rob lets me go from his grasp and takes both my hands, moving them gently to his heart, against his soft navy chest. The wool feels a little scratchy. He then says, “We’ll do this together, all the way. If you want out at anytime just say, ok? Else, I’ll be with you all the way. I promise.” His voice is solid and soft.
“Ok.” I say, hearing myself agree from somewhere in the distance.
“Are you sure?” He says firmly, moving my hands again, shaking them gently between his. I feel the edge of his
gold ring pressing against my knuckle.
I am not sure but still, I say, “Yes. I am.”
“But I know you’re not,” he says, reading my mind. “Think how I feel. It’s been pretty messed up for me too. I’m not in love with the man after all that he’s done, or rather not done. But, I just need to get away from here and he’s offered to help me. So for now, it seems the right thing to do. I just hope it will work out ok. For all of us.”
“Have you spoken to him?” I ask, a pass the parcel is now stuck in my hands, no music playing. This is real. The layers are falling off, getting ever closer to the surprise.
He looks at me like he is unsure of how to answer. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“What are you sorry for?”
“Look, it’s just that yes, I have spoken to him. I don’t know. I feel like I’ve betrayed you.”
“When?” I say, a little scared, ever-pressing reality closing in. More crumpled paper pieces are gathering at my feet.
“Well. Yesterday... And before.”
“You spoke to our dad yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“You heard his voice?”
“Obviously. Yes, I mean yes. Well, I had before anyway when I was a kid.” Reality attacks. I feel like I’m now being squashed from above, unable to move under the invisible paper mountain. It’s now my own heavy, lead-lined heart I can hear beating with fear. Still, I’m instantly fascinated, and stuck on him like superglue.
“What does he sound like?”
“Pretty average, just normal sounding really.”
“I don’t mean that.”
“What do you mean?”
“How does he speak? What’s his voice like? Does he sound nice or rough? Quiet? Sorry??”
“Yes.” He says. “He’s sorry. He said it many times.”
Still confused I say, “How many times have you spoken to him?”
Rob’s face crinkles up, like a bulldog chewing a lemon. “Only a few, in the last couple of weeks, not even that. Just over a week, maybe ten days.”
I’m actually hurting down deep but so forcefully captivated that the pain hardly registers. Slowly realising I’m getting this wound up about his voice alone. Hearing him. Seeing him. Touching him. It’s just so hard because all the time all the proud and unforgiving parts of me are screaming at me not to feel this way, shouting in me, hate him and just don’t you dare go and see him. I feel stuck and torn, like a carrier bag caught on a barbed wire fence, not wanting to be there but trapped. But it’s not an option anymore. It’s a choice.
Rob drops my hands and my arms fall to my sides. But then he hugs me once more and I feel stronger and better, but still numb and horrible and sick. The voices of doubt deep within are not being listened to. I won’t change my mind, but still they play on. I will go on with my Rock. He is my support, my guide, my stability and strength. I just have to be there and be me. Nothing else is important. This is what I want to do. This is what I must do.
We hug again for what seems like forever. After a while, mum gives a gentle cough, only reminding us then that she’s still there too. I let one arm free from Rob and she’s close enough for me to embrace. Rob does likewise and we bring her close. She smells homely like tea, sweet as honey, damp like a rain shower and vintage like her clothes. I smell the warmth and heart of them both as we stand together in unison. It makes me feel so much better. I hope and pray inside that it makes mum feel better too. I know that we all draw unseen strength from this close proximity. She will come round. Everything is going to be ok. More time passes and I start to lean away, standing back slightly, still feeling the warmth and steadfast sanctuary of both my brother and mother at my fingertips. I feel strong. I can do this. The gentle throb of my foot in the background still does not let me forget all the everything else that has happened.
Eventually Rob’s gentle hand clasps my shoulder, clumsily like a little steel toy grabbing machine, and he quietly says, “Shall we go then?” I feel scared. I’m going to see my dad before I see my mum again. I go over to her again and hug her tightly once more. Her delicate beige crochet shawl gets caught in my fingertips. I don’t want to let her go. This is the only true love I know. She’s the only present I want in my parcel and I don’t want anything to change. I just keep holding on, but I know that I have to let go.
I hold on for as long as I can. Eventually we move apart, and face to face, holding each other at arm’s distance, like ballroom dancers. She mirrors me with silent tears. I wipe hers away with a tissue leaving mine to drop on to the kitchen floor, tiny splashes. A little rain. I feel warm and powerful. We gently say our final goodbyes, touching each other’s cheeks, wiping away more tears. This feels bigger than the moon. One giant leap and I am ready to do it. I’m going to walk on the moon.
As Rob opens the front door, and cold air rushes in, I cannot find it in me to smile as suddenly the fear rushes through me like a swarm of bats released into the light. I am unsteady on my feet but somehow still holding it together. The balloon strings are now knotted and holding tight for now. We start to head down the smelly stairs slowly again, sticks clunking, metallic on the concrete. Straight away, I light up another cigarette when we are down and outside in the open air. Rob takes one too. We smoke standing next to the car, leaning up against cold metal. I’m thinking that neither of us really wants to take the first step of this journey, contemplating a false start, maybe no start at all. No more words are said.
Eventually cigarettes are out, car doors are closed and we are moving along the grimy, wet streets of southeast London. I suck on a soft strong mint to give my mind something else to think about. A piano-heavy pop-rock song plays on the radio which I know will now be with me for the rest of my life. I cannot believe we are doing this. This is insane. But the journey has begun and I sense that now there is no turning back, no matter what Rob says.
16
In the Car
“Are you ok?” I stupidly ask. He nods. I put my hand on his forearm that’s resting on the gearstick. His hand is holding on tight even though we’re cruising along. His leather sleeve feels firm and smooth and just touching him makes me feel better. He gives me hope to hold on to. I trust that my touch helps him as well. I am there with him but I still feel lost. I don’t even know where we are going, not so long ago, I didn’t even know if our dad still lived in this country, or even if he lived at all. I imagined him to be a million miles away, Australia maybe, as far away as could be possible. He certainly feels that far away.
We’ve got a long drive ahead, about two hours, Rob reckons. I don’t know whether he means going at his current slow clop or when we get moving and fly at his usual gallop. Either way it seems my patience and new found calm are going to be needed now more than ever. I will keep quiet, sit still, hold tight and do nothing, for now.
For several minutes I look on silently at Rob driving. I then turn forward to face the windscreen and watch the rain gently bounce across the glass with the shimmering radiance of the sunlight behind. Rob looks dim and yellow. His face is solemn and serious, a shadowy marble statue of magnificence and once again I am humbled and deeply thankful for his life. I think back to how horrible I felt just hours ago when I thought he was dead. I am so grateful that he is here and I am with him. He catches me staring at him and softly smiles at me, like maybe he’s happy to be here too.
“Just don’t ever go dying on me.” I say. He nods, ever so slightly smiling. He stays silent, whilst I can’t help but speak. “Why did you do it?”
“Why did I do what?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well it was only yesterday.”
“I know, but why not when we were in the hospital?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to upset you more. You had enough on your plate. I didn’t want to be making things worse. I guess I just avoided it for long as I could.”
“Then why did you tell me today?”
“Well, like I said earlier, I think
it turned out to be pretty fateful. When I got home yesterday and you were in the house with that what’s his name?”
“Etienne.”
“When I walked in on you and Etienne, I walked straight back out. I guessed Heather was in, her window was open and I could hear someone singing.”
“Singing?”
“Yeah, she was singing along to some old soul song she had playing. She had a quite good voice actually, so I just stood by the door and listened to her for a bit. Eventually, she came near the window and saw me just standing there and then came out and opened the door. I didn’t even have to knock.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, she said hello, welcomed me in and showed me round the place. Her flat is pretty, err... unique to say the least, but it’s a nice place. It’s really quite alright. We sat on the sofa in her front room and had a chat. She made me a cup of this green tea stuff, not so sure if I liked that so much, but it was ok, and then we just talked.”
“What about?”
“Mainly about me moving out and you, and that’s when she just threw it at me, well at you too, like a lifeline. I could barely believe it. Talk about good timing. I thought it was too good to be true. I had to ask her a couple of times if she was sure. She said definitely, absolutely.”
“So, what happens now?”
“Well, she knows we are packing up and moving out tomorrow. But there’s no pressure for you to move in there straight away. I did tell her about today and that there was a lot going on. She said you can move in whenever you’re ready, that’s if you want to. But I did say that we would both go in and see her tomorrow.”