by Janet Preece
‘Love you too,’ she said. One down, two to go. But coffee first.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, she opened the dishwasher. Clean. Grabbing her favourite floral china, thin-rimmed mug, she placed it under the coffee machine with a decaf pod. No point going mental on caffeine until the other children were up to drain her energy. Julie hoped she could squeeze in a few minutes’ peace, catch up on TV programmes over breakfast – it was the weekend after all. She briefly wondered where William was off to, but assumed he was en-route to the swimming pool with his friends. She was happy he was being independent and getting some exercise but also knew it would likely consist of ten minutes’ water-bombing, followed by a fizzy energy drink and the biggest pack of random sweets the vending machine could provide.
Back to the coffee. Standing around watching the machine do its work was a luxury she had never experienced, and now wasn’t the time to start. She quickly emptied the dishes, piled all the dirties into the sink and wiped down the worktops. Yep, time for milk now… Rice milk, of course, from way back when the family had experimented with veganism. That went well. It helped if you ate fruit or vegetables – preferably both – before going on an all-out vegan diet, but they’d tried anyway, followed the craze. After an initial day of success, the children had moaned about their food as usual, nothing new there, then ransacked the freezer for ice-cream, threw out all the new meat-free options and sneakily ordered a McDonald’s delivery. The first Julie knew of it was the empty cartons dotted around the kids’ bedrooms. They’d cut the delivery man off at the door, having followed him on UberEats so he wouldn’t press the doorbell. Sneaky fuckers.
Coffee in hand, she listened for the children. Still nothing, so, reaching for the television remote, she decided to flick through Netflix for anything that was adults-only – she’d done her time with Peppa Pig.
While the TV loaded up, Julie took a quick glance at her phone-stalker app to see what William was up to. He might be sixteen years old, but he was still her baby. The phone beeped, unable to locate his phone. Great, he’s used up all his allowance yet again. She would need to ask Dan to increase the data plan. She dreaded the conversation, knowing how tight he was with his money, cursing once more that she couldn’t just sort it out herself with the limited housekeeping allowance he gave her.
The TV was playing up, so she sat listening to the silence of the house and sipped her coffee. The perfect moment: the calm before the storm. Time to go back on the mobile and work out what to do for the day. Cinema, maybe? Get the other kids out for a bit to end their hibernation. She crept upstairs and climbed into the shower, knowing this would be the best way to wake the family. Her days of having time for a luxurious soak in the bath were long-gone, but a shower brought the kids out like ants from under a stone, banging on the door for attention.
‘Mum? Mum! I’m hungry! I’m starving to death!’ came the voice of little Tommy outside, knocking so loud she felt the vibrations reverberating through the shower’s pipework. Right on cue.
‘Sorry, Tommy, I can’t hear you!’ Julie responded, so he repeated the phrase four times to no avail. ‘I can’t hear a thing you’re saying,’ she lied. ‘I’m in the shower. Ask your dad!’
The little feet padded off, and then shouting commenced in the far distance. Hahaha, good. But nope, the banging came back.
‘Daddy’s not getting up. He says he’s tired.’
Her shoulders sank. ‘Okay, I’m finished,’ she called, sulkily turning the shower off and heading out to face the day ahead.
Twenty-one hours and counting until the Monday morning school run, she thought, perking up a bit.
Chapter Three
Julie opened the door, and Tommy and Jack barged past her, fighting for the front seat in the car.
‘First of all,’ she scolded, ‘Tommy, you are not allowed in the front seat, and second, we’re walking today. You need some exercise before you get hyped up on sweets.’
Two groans were the only response, along with some whispering.
As they walked up the road to the cinema, Julie marvelled at the beautiful crisp weather. ‘Look at the trees, boys! Look at the leaves. They’re all red. The last time we came up here, they were green and yellow!’
‘Jeez, you are so boring, Mum,’ said Jack. ‘You’re obsessed with trees. Every time we walk anywhere, you go on about them. Yes, they have leaves, and yes, they change colour, blossom, attract bees, cause hay fever, blah, blah, blah. I’ve seen it all before, I’ve heard it all before, I don’t want to hear it again.’
‘Okay…sorry I spoke,’ Julie mumbled, feeling despondent and drained of the enthusiasm she’d felt seconds earlier. How could the children not be enthralled by nature and the elements? By the contrail vapour streaks across the bright blue, cloudless autumn sky? The sparkling cobwebs so perfectly formed, each with a green goblin-spider-creature hanging unmoving in its centre – not surprising, after working hard to create its masterpiece (she could empathise).
Why weren’t they observing the bright green grass, the changing seasons…? Because they hadn’t seen forty years pass as quickly as she had. Julie felt old and exhausted. The winter would be here again soon. Seven years of snow, every year since Tommy was born, and it was only getting colder and colder. She wanted to enjoy the autumn before Tourette’s cold set in; the time when every adult conversation was punctuated by swearing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, between ice-cold breaths of frozen air. The time when it felt so cold you couldn’t function, and all the money in the world would not make up for a day on the sofa with a fleecy blanket and a hot chocolate. Living the dream.
The boys had walked quite far ahead of Julie and were nearing the cinema. She took a moment to watch them. Jack had his arm flung around Tommy’s shoulders as they casually walked along, every part the cool kid, with Tommy hanging on his every word. She tried to tune in to their conversation but just couldn’t understand what they were talking about. It seemed to consist of an in-depth list of instructions on how to build a wall? Followed by snippets of conversation about acacia, obsidian, iron-ore, cobblestone, lapis lazuli, all strung together with laughter and a lot of nods from Tommy.
They were happy, content together, excited. Maybe she needed to point out what the trees were made of to gain their interest? Which would make the strongest wood? If only she remembered her tree names from the Brownie badge she’d worked through as a kid.
‘Mum, can we buy some Pepsi Max for the cinema?’ Tommy shouted, breaking the peaceful moment.
She hurried to catch up so as not to shout her business up the street. ‘No, Tommy, we’re not getting drinks as it’s a long movie, and I don’t want to be taking you to the toilet in the middle of it.’ She had bottled water in her bag and some snacks, and no budget or intention of paying the box office prices.
‘What about sweets? You promised!’ Jack whined.
‘I have them already, in my bag from home.’
‘But that’s not allowed! You’re breaking the law,’ Jack said, smug.
‘Oh, for goodness sake. It’s not breaking the law or even breaking the rules. The cinema allows you to take your own cold snacks, just not hot snacks, and anyway, anyway… Tommy, come back here!’ she shouted after him as he made a dash for the movie screen doors. ‘We’re all going to the toilets together first. Stop running off!’ she hollered, a sea of faces turning in her direction, judging her parenting.
Julie hurried forward to show the tickets for the screening and then went up to the ladies’ toilets. She didn’t want to leave Jack outside on his own, but as he was twelve, she couldn’t take him into the ladies with her and Tommy. If only they hadn’t locked the disability toilet. She’d gone to the Doctor, explained her extreme anxiety, requested a Radar key, but they’d refused her; it didn’t tick their boxes.
‘Just wait right there. Sit down right there, next to the usher,’ she directed Jack pointing to a spot on the flo
or, her voice slightly raised despite her immense effort to remain calm. ‘Right there! Do not move a muscle.’
She knew how ridiculous it was to be nervous about leaving a boy of his age, for what would be only a couple of minutes, in a public cinema, but still it didn’t alleviate her anxiety. She could feel her heart thumping with the knowledge of what was to come. The numerous toilet cubicles within. Oh, God, please do not forsake me.
‘Mum, stop squeezing my hand like that!’ Tommy shouted, but his words fell on deaf ears.
She pushed open the heavy toilet door, a thick wood fire-door designed to keep those within safe – or trapped. Suddenly filled with super-human strength, Julie was ready to protect her son from what lay in wait. They entered. Stopped. Listened. Nothing but silence greeted them in response. On first glance, it seemed there was nobody in there, but many of the doors looked closed, displaying the red ‘occupied’ sign. It was a ruse.
‘Just stay back there for a minute, Tommy. Wait by the sinks – it’s safe there.’
‘Seriously, Mum, I need a wee,’ said Tommy.
‘Just wait a minute.’
Julie approached the cubicles and crouched down to sideways-glance under the doors, checking for feet. There were none. Her heart was still pounding, and pressure was mounting in her ears. She could feel herself sweating through her clothes, cold and clammy. Approaching the first cubicle door, with all her might, Julie pushed it sharply back. Nobody was there. Then, she tried the second door, then the third – at which point, Tommy pushed past and went inside. He was so desperate, he forgot to lift the seat and ended up urinating all over the place. Julie didn’t notice, her eyes on the final door she hadn’t yet checked.
The main door to the toilets opened, and a woman walked past her into the remaining cubicle, locking it behind her. Julie breathed a sigh of relief. Then, as Tommy finished, a voice came from outside the door.
‘Come on, Mum, we’re going to miss the movie at this rate!’
It was Jack. Julie was relieved to hear his voice and grateful he’d stayed nearby as she had instructed.
‘We’re on our way!” she said, dragging Tommy for a quick hand-wash and shake across the floor as they made their exit.
Once outside, relief flooded through her. Of all her phobias, public toilets were by far the worst. You never knew what psycho was going to be hiding behind the door waiting for you, wielding a weapon and preying on your vulnerability. Julie had feared public toilets for over twenty years. She wasn’t sure where it stemmed from. Perhaps a horror movie might have triggered it? Or that time holidaying in a caravan in the middle of the woods, when her husband donned a mask, ran outside and put his face up against the toilet window? She remembered his laughter, which had gone on for days, and how every time she’d seen the mask since, it had triggered a panic attack. Perhaps masks were the problem, not knowing what could be hiding behind them?
She recalled the horror stories her dad Albert had thought so funny to share with her throughout her childhood. She wanted to blame him too. She recalled one night in particular, the pivotal moment when everything had changed. A long drive through the dark, her parents in the front, her little sister Claire sleeping soundly next to her on the back seat. Her dad had begun his story, delayed the punchline, built the suspense as they drove down the deserted country lane in Somerset. It was pitch-black, no street lights visible, and the cats’ eyes seemed to be switched off that night. Then, temporary traffic lights: red, in the middle of nowhere. Her mum Sandra had insisted on stopping, much to her dad’s annoyance. She remembered their argument; it wasn’t the first that day. Time stood still – such a cliché, but literally, it was like staring into a void. Anything could be hiding out there in the dark. Julie’s imagination would be her undoing. Why had her dad insisted on driving through the night to avoid traffic? Night-time. She shuddered at the thought.
She remembered her confusion when he’d suddenly climbed out of the car, slammed the door behind him and walked off. ‘He’s gone to answer a call of nature,’ her mum had said – a lame excuse since both of them knew full well he was just being an arse. Julie was twelve and she wasn’t oblivious to the problems in her parents’ relationship. She closed her eyes, willed sleep to take her away from the upset, the uncertainty, the fear. The dark. Why would he leave them in the middle of nowhere? She sat counting the seconds, then the minutes, wondering at her mother’s calm. How long would they sit there?
She heard a noise. What was that? Her mother’s breath caught with every crackle in the trees around them. And then a feeling of falling, of being dragged from the car; ice-cold hands grabbing at her, pulling her out of the open window while her mother sat motionless, letting it happen. The bushes and the trees had scraped at her flesh, open wounds weeping and oozing and blood trickling down her arms, her legs. The fear, the pain, was so real, still a fresh memory nearly thirty years on. She had opened her eyes and found herself sitting in a warm puddle in the back seat of the car. Her dad’s return and the door slamming had woken her up from the nightmare.
Julie had cuddled up closer to her sister, dreading the punishment when her accident was discovered, moving closer guiltily to shift the blame onto her – his little rose bud, his favourite. Julie tried to cover Claire’s ears, maintain her peaceful innocence, the least she could do and a role she would continue over the years to come.
They didn’t see their mum again after that night. Fed up of Albert’s constant shouting, she bravely up-and-left, escaped the abuse and reached out for a fresh new start, abandoning the girls to fend for themselves. As a consequence, it seemed Julie inherited much of her mum’s anxiety. It was a case of nature rather than nurture, and she felt the stab of pain when she realised that she had chosen Dan, a replacement father figure, with many of the same annoying attributes her mother had run from. She’d never noticed them through their dating years, but now, the connection was clear. All the times she’d had to use her mother’s breathing techniques: the dark of a room, the possibility of people hiding, jumping out at you…
The world was a comedy of errors waiting to happen.
Julie and her sister hardly saw each other these days, estranged since their father’s death – thanks to Sandra taking that as an invitation to burst back onto the scene. She hadn’t thought about the impact it would have on her daughters, selfish as always, only thinking Albert was gone and it was safe for her to re-enter their lives.
Claire had never forgiven their mum for leaving, had no empathy for the difficult life she’d had to endure with Albert. She’d only been little, just five years old, confused and abandoned, looking for someone to blame. Claire had to grow up without a mother and couldn’t forgive her for making the choice to leave.
But for Julie things weren’t so clear-cut. She understood, no matter how much she wished she didn’t, twenty years with Dan had taught her all too well.
How could a parent knowingly walk out on her children? That was Claire’s only concern and she wouldn’t let it go, even as an adult, refused to consider the other side. Sandra’s departure had pushed Claire even closer to her dad who she viewed through rose-tinted glasses – and the feeling was mutual. For Julie she was just the skivvy, taking on her mother’s role and trying her best to shield the little rose-bud from Albert’s dark side.
Chapter Four
The cinema trip passed uneventfully, much to Julie’s relief, but still she wasn’t in a hurry to return to the stress of the house, a family trapped together led to bickering and endless mess. Somehow, the world seemed a better place when you weren’t cornered within the confines of the same four walls. She wondered what her husband had been up to while they were out – was he still in bed? Probably, and if not, what difference would it make anyway, she thought, picturing the festering washing pile, untouched.
As she put the key in the lock, Julie prayed the house was in some sort of order but didn’t hold out much hope. H
owever, she was pleasantly surprised to hear laughter as she walked through the door. William had returned with his friends, by the sound of it. Lots of noise – everyone talking at once, everyone talking over each other. They heard her shout and started to make excuses, a hasty retreat, then quiet. Was she really that intimidating? After the last slam of the door, William asked: ‘Can we go out to eat now?’
Err, no. We’ve just got back home!
Trying to keep her calm and not scream at the entitled teenage, spoilt monster he was becoming, she explained, ‘We have lots of food in the fridge so I’ll just make us something. What do you fancy?’
She walked towards the huge American fridge-freezer with the double doors. They’d all insisted on getting one to have cold water and ice cubes whenever they wanted, but how often did they actually use it? The huge silver block of a fridge was too big to fit in the gap where the previous fridge-freezer had been, so it sat right there in the middle of the kitchen. Yet they would still rather pollute the ocean with one-off plastic bottles of water, most of which got left to sit half-empty for weeks on end around the house. She was also a guilty offender.
Tommy and Jack had come running like ants at the mention of eating out and were buzzing around her waiting for a decision. The decision is already made, she wanted to scream again.
‘Look in here, guys. There’s chicken, prawns, sausages…. What do you fancy?’
She knew full well the response before it was out of their mouths, but it was Dan who said it. ‘Let’s have a takeaway if you don’t want to go out.’
Great. Now Dan had said it, there would be no backtracking with the kids. Such an imbecile! It’s not that I don’t want to go out. That’s not the point. It’s about using the food in the fridge – the gigantic fridge you always moan has nothing in it when it’s full to the brim.
