by Rachel Marks
‘I’ll see you next weekend then. Call me if you need anything, OK?’ Kate says, resting her hand on my arm.
‘Actually, I was wondering if you could have them next weekend. I’ve got loads of reports to write and having them this weekend as well has set me back quite a bit with them,’ I lie.
‘Oh, OK. Sorry.’
‘It’s OK. I agreed to it. I just didn’t realize quite how much I had to do.’
‘So, do you want them the following weekend then? I think I’m supposed to be taking Gabe to a birthday party that weekend, but you could always take him.’
‘Oh no. Let’s just keep it as it was before. I’ll see them in three weeks.’
Kate furrows her brow. ‘Are you sure that’s OK? It seems a long time.’
As I’m speaking, I know that the road I am now travelling on is a dark one with no happy place at the end. ‘It’ll give me the chance to get this work done.’
‘OK. If you’re sure. See you then.’
*
As soon as I’ve shut the door I go into the kitchen, retrieve my bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the cupboard, unscrew the cap and drink it neat from the bottle. I pull the plug out of the kitchen sink and watch the water swirl down it. I pile all the dirty crockery, now dripping wet, back on to the side and head into the lounge, settling back into my cocoon on the sofa and willing myself to just sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’m not sure what time it is when my phone starts vibrating, but I pick it up and strain my eyes to read the name jigging up and down on the screen. It’s Emma. I ignore it and it stops, but then it immediately starts again and I know I have to answer. I owe her that.
‘Hi, Emma. Are you OK?’
‘Oh hi, Noah. I wasn’t sure you’d pick up.’
‘To be honest, I wasn’t going to.’
‘Right. That’s what I thought.’
The guilt I’ve been feeling since I went to visit her rears its ugly head again and I know I have to apologize, even though I still feel so angry, because I know it’s not her fault. It was never about Emma. ‘Look, I’m sorry about how I treated you in the hospital. I was totally out of line.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘It’s really not. I should never have come to see you. I’m sorry. Anyway, I’m sure that’s not what you were calling me about. What’s up?’
‘I just wanted to talk to you. Harley’s staying at Mimi’s for the night. I wasn’t sure who else to call.’
It’s the kind of honesty I’ve been looking for from the outset so I know I can’t shut her down.
‘OK. What do you want to talk about?’
‘Could I come over? I’m sorry to ask, I just really don’t want to be alone.’
‘Um, well …’ I’m so torn. The last thing I want is to have Emma in my flat, but she’s doing what I asked her to, she’s reaching out instead of doing something stupid. And I couldn’t live with myself if I sent her away and something terrible happened. ‘The flat’s a bit of a state, but if you can put your blinkers on, I’ll be here. I’ll text you my address.’
‘Thank you, Noah. I really appreciate it.’
‘No problem.’
And when she arrives, it’s odd but her presence in the flat makes me realize that I don’t really want to be alone either. She looks tired but pretty, her hair swept into a messy bun, no make-up on, wearing cargo shorts and a sporty vest. Unlike when I saw her in the hospital, ghostly white, her eyes sunken and red-rimmed, she has some colour to her cheeks today, a slight glow to her skin.
She sits on the other end of the sofa and nods her head towards the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s. ‘I hope none of this has anything to do with me. Mimi says she’s not heard from you since, well, since, you know.’
I shake my head. ‘Work’s been busy.’
Emma offers me a sad smile. ‘Harley says you’ve not been in.’
I nod slowly. ‘Right. Can’t get away with that lie then.’ I stand up. ‘Do you want a drink? I can get you a glass and some Coke if you want to help me get through this.’ I hold up the bottle of JD.
Emma shrugs. ‘OK.’
I go through to the kitchen, fill two glasses with ice and carry them through to the lounge, tucking a bottle of Coke underneath my arm. At first, the conversation is stilted between us, both of us avoiding the ‘big’ topics before swiftly realizing that those are the only things we really have in common. We talk about Harley for a bit and she tells me he’s doing OK at school, that he misses me. But then the conversation teeters on the edge of why I’m not at school again, so I change the subject.
Once we’re making our way down to the bottom of the bottle of JD, things start to feel easier.
Emma leans against the arm of the sofa, putting her legs up on it and drawing her knees to her chest. ‘I am so sorry for what I did. I know you think it’s just a poor excuse, but I honestly believed Harley would be happier in the long run if I wasn’t there.’
‘I know it’s not an excuse. Like I said before, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.’
‘No, I really thought about it and you’re right. Even if I’m not the world’s best mum, as long as I’m trying and I love him, it has to be better than him growing up thinking I didn’t love him enough to stay with him.’
I nod, biting my lip to stop the threatening tears.
‘I’m sure that what happened with your mum didn’t have anything to do with the way she felt about you, you know,’ Emma continues and I shrug, as if to say, of course I know that, I’m not stupid, everyone knows that. But then I’m a kid again, wondering why one minute Mum’s smothering me with kisses and the next slapping me round the face.
‘You’re so special, Noah. I wish you knew how special you are.’
And then, suddenly, Emma’s right next to me, running her hand through my hair, and then she puts her hands underneath my T-shirt. And before I can really contemplate what’s happening, her nails are running down my back, setting my hairs on end, and she’s kissing me on the neck and then on the lips and I’m so drunk that I can’t figure out how to stop her, and in a way her lips are like some strange sort of reassurance, and for a moment their soft warmth is a comfort. But then her fingers scurry towards my trousers and start pulling at the button and it comes with a bolt of clarity that this is in no way what I want.
I grab her hand and hold it still. ‘Stop. We can’t do this.’
I release Emma’s hand, thinking she’ll move it away, but she doesn’t. She returns to my button.
I shuffle back as far as I can. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What? We’re both single. You do realize my sister doesn’t want you, don’t you? I know I don’t quite measure up to her perfection, but I’m actually pretty good in bed.’
I shake my head, but the motion makes me feel dizzy and I lean on the coffee table with both hands to steady myself. ‘We’re both drunk. When you’re sober, you’ll realize you don’t want this.’
Emma gives a bitter snort. ‘Of course, unhinged, neurotic Emma. I couldn’t possibly know what I want.’
A strong wave of nausea comes over me. ‘I need to lie down. I’m sorry. There’s some money on the side in the kitchen. Use it to get yourself a taxi.’
‘Right. Get what you want from me and then throw me out.’
‘I didn’t want anything from you, Emma. You kissed me. I just didn’t push you away soon enough.’
Emma chews her bottom lip, her eyes angry and tearful. ‘So you’re going to tell Mimi it was all my fault? Make her hate me even more than she already does?’
I’m not sure what Mimi would think about Emma and me kissing, maybe she wouldn’t even care, but I don’t think it’s worth potentially causing problems between the two of them, or us, especially as it meant nothing.
‘No. I won’t tell her anything. We were both drunk. Let’s just forget about it, OK?’
Emma looks me up and down, slowly. ‘I can see why she turned you down.’
Underneath the façade of anger, I can hear the pain of rejection in her voice, but nothing I say is going to have a positive outcome at this point so I leave her on the sofa, stumble through to my bedroom and collapse on the bed, my head spinning. I think I must fall asleep because it’s pitch-black when I wake up and I feel delirious. I drift off again, lost in my dream – Mimi’s there but then she turns into Kate and she pushes me off a cliff and I’m falling, falling, and instead of jerking awake like I usually would, I feel every second of the fall, my stomach lurching up to my throat, aware that death awaits. Then just before I hit the ground I’m snapped awake and it’s light. My head is pounding and there’s a banging coming from somewhere, I’m not sure if it’s in my head or if it’s external. But then it’s there again and I realize it’s coming from the front door.
I force myself up, retrieving my glasses from the pillow, and as the world comes into focus, I suddenly remember what happened with Emma and hope beyond hope it’s not her knocking. Shuffling through the hallway, I reach the door and open it, preparing for an argument, but I’m surprised to see it’s Mimi, a paper bag with some kind of pastry or something similarly greasy in her hands.
‘Can I come in? I’ve brought croissants.’ She smiles her beautiful smile and for a second, I feel better, but then I’m scared that Emma’s told her what happened and that this friendly introduction is just a pretence before she starts shouting at me.
I glance back into the flat. ‘It’s a bit of a state.’
‘That’s OK. I don’t mind.’
I hold the door open wider and step back to let her in. ‘OK, if you’re sure, but you’re entering at your own risk.’
I quickly gather together a few of the dirty plates, wrappers and bottles and take them through to the kitchen then brush off the sofa cushions and sit down.
‘How are you? I’ve been worried about you,’ Mimi says, sitting beside me. She doesn’t look angry, just tired, her eyes missing their typical sparkle.
‘I’m sorry I’ve not been in touch. I’ve not been in a good place. It’s complicated, but I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘It’s not. Your sister tried to commit suicide and I just sank into myself. I should’ve been there for you.’
‘Probably.’ Mimi offers me a sad smile.
‘How’s Harley?’
‘He’s doing well. They’ve been assigned a family support worker who’s going to make sure they both get the help they need. And Dad and I have been taking it in shifts to look after Harley and give Emma some respite time. Dad’s going to stay over there for the next week or so, but they don’t think Emma’s at risk of trying anything again. I think it really scared her.’
I picture what Emma was like last night and hope that external agencies might be able to give her the help she needs. ‘Well, at least one good thing’s come out of it then.’
Mimi nods and then she looks like she might cry and reaches over and grasps my hand. ‘Emma told me about your mum, Noah. That she didn’t die of cancer.’
I feel something tighten in my chest. ‘Oh.’
‘I hope you don’t mind her telling me. I told her I was worried about you and she said maybe that was why you’d gone AWOL. I’ll go in a minute and give you the space you need but I just wanted to say I’m so sorry, Noah.’
I bite down on my thumb. I can’t speak so I just nod.
She puts the bag of croissants down on the coffee table. ‘I’ll just leave these here. Call me anytime if you want to chat.’
I put my head in my hands and then look up at her. ‘You know, sometimes I hate my mum for killing herself, like really hate her.’
Mimi settles back into the seat, clearly sensing my need to offload. ‘I can understand that.’
‘Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?’
‘No. Your mum was clearly unwell. And the way she acted, her choices – they weren’t her fault. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel angry and hurt. What you went through, it wasn’t fair. No child should have to go through that.’
‘I was nineteen. I wasn’t exactly a child.’
Even though I still felt like one.
‘I’m not just talking about the suicide, Noah. I’m talking about all the things you wrote down. And I’m sure many other things that you didn’t. You have every right to be angry. But be angry at the disease. Not your mum. Not your dad. And not yourself. Nothing that happened was your fault.’
I feel a stray tear meandering down my cheek, then my breathing quickens and an odd noise forces its way out of my mouth, followed by more tears.
‘I don’t want to ruin my boys like my mum ruined me.’
Because she did, that is the stark reality, even though it makes me feel guilty to think it. It feels like a betrayal of the woman I loved more than anything else in the world for such a long time. But she broke me, not just by killing herself, but by the heart-wrenching pattern of withdrawal and then total immersion and love, repeated over and over so that it left me desperately seeking the glimmers of the good stuff like an addict desperate for their next fix. It’s been easy to just blame Dad all these years – for not making her better, for leaving us when she died – but I have to accept Mum’s part too.
‘You won’t ruin them. You’re amazing with those boys.’
I shake my head. ‘I told Kate I couldn’t have them this weekend. Maybe I should just move away. Leave them to be a happy family.’
Mimi takes my face in her hands. ‘They wouldn’t be happy without you. You have to stop thinking like that.’
‘But I’m scared I’ll never get over stuff. It feels like one step forward, two steps back all the time. I thought I was getting better. That I was dealing with everything. But then seeing Emma …’
‘Of course it set you back. It was bound to. You can’t see it, Noah, but you are so much better than you give yourself credit for. The way you are with your boys, Harley, the way you saved Emma, even the way you love Kate …’
Mimi pauses but I can tell she has more to say. She begins twisting her bracelet around her wrist, her eyes focusing on the movement rather than looking at me. ‘In fact, I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week. Well, for longer than that actually, but then nearly losing Emma … it just made everything seem so much less complicated than I thought it was.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘After everything that happened with James, I’ve always been really cautious when it comes to men. Too cautious, probably. And you, well, you’ve always felt like this huge, terrifying risk. Sorry, no offence.’
I smile. ‘It’s OK. None taken.’
‘But then it suddenly dawned on me that you’re one of the good guys. You’re not who I thought you were.’
‘Thanks, I think.’
‘I mean, I always thought you were funny and interesting and relatively attractive …’ Mimi smiles. ‘But I thought you’d break my heart.’
‘And now?’
‘Well, now I think you might be the one to mend it.’
It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. And I know that I should feel elated, and for a few moments I do, but then I look around at the state the flat’s in and think about this past week, Emma, the way I treated the boys, and I can’t help it – my stomach drops.
‘But what if I mess this up like I’ve messed up everything else?’
Mimi moves towards me. ‘I won’t let you. We’ll take it slowly, OK?’
‘And what about the fact you’re going away?’
Mimi shrugs. ‘I don’t have to go for too long. We’ll figure it out.’
And then I’m not sure if she kisses me or I kiss her, but one way or another we’re kissing and all the shit and the pain start to melt and it feels like returning to somewhere you’ve not visited for twenty years – simultaneously foreign and somewhat familiar.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The return to school is almost as hellish as I imagined it was goi
ng to be. I get lots of sympathetic looks and comments about my ‘horrendous stomach bug’ (why is it with a stomach bug people feel the need to over-share their own gruesome experiences?). When I bump into the head teacher, she’s not so sympathetic – more sceptical – What a coincidence that you developed a bug right after you ran out of school to visit the Thomases. I’m not sure what she’s implying. She doesn’t know how Mum died, so she’s not joining up the dots. I’m not sure if she thinks I’m making the whole thing up – that I fabricated the suicide attempt and spent a week having a jolly with Emma – but either way, she doesn’t seem convinced that I was really ill.
Today, we have to practise our class assembly. It’s kind of like a surgeon returning to work and being faced with a mass traffic accident on his first day back. Assemblies are basically just a way for the head to check that you’re actually teaching something and for teachers to outdo each other. I usually go for the standard hold up a few pictures, sing a song, perhaps act out a little story number, but, after watching a few videos on YouTube, this year, for some unknown reason (maybe because I’m feeling guilty for having the week off, maybe because I’m trying to prove something to myself, who knows?), I’ve decided to go the whole shebang. A proper production – costumes, instruments, props. I’ll show the rest of the staff not to rule me out as ‘the one whose assembly will always be shittier than theirs’ in future. It’s a retelling of The Three Little Pigs called The Three Little Wolves – it’s basically exactly the same story but the pig is the bad one and the wolves are the goodies. Should be fairly straightforward – or so you would think.
I assign the parts first. The only two children in the class who I’ve actually managed to teach to read are given the job of narrators. The middle-of-the-road kids form the chorus (plus set creators so they don’t feel they’ve been given an unimportant part – which they have). The ones who wouldn’t be able to learn the words to the songs if they had headphones permanently attached to them for the next month are given the role of percussionists. How hard can it be to bang a drum or shake a tambourine roughly in time to the music? Very hard, it turns out. And the bright, slightly obnoxious ones are given the roles of the three wolves. Last but not least, I give the role of naughty pig to Harley. It might feel like he’s been a little typecast, but the decision’s based more on the fact that this way I can see him at all times, he’s not holding a beater that he can use to smack someone else on the head, I’m ticking the inclusion box and I have this (probably misguided) vision of him proving everyone wrong – of this being his ‘moment’.
