by Anna Bloom
The smell is overpowering and vile. My former home smells like a BBQ that's gone terribly wrong. The walls of the house are still damp, old wallpaper peeling in limp shreds. I try not to brush up against them as I walk through the passageway to the kitchen where most of the fire damage was sustained.
Danni steps behind me, her hands on my jacket so she doesn't lose her balance. “Danni, I don't think you should be here, it's not good for the baby.” I keep focusing on the baby, it's been in my constant thoughts the last week and a half. I try and remember how I felt when I found out that my old friend was having her dreams made true. The moment when I spun to Freddy told him that my life was finally perfect. Half an hour before any chance of perfection was snatched away from me again.
My feelings for those that I love have swung on an out of control pendulum since that night. I've slept on the sofa, unable to let myself be close with Freddy. Every time my need to be with him gets too strong and I'm considering finding solace in his arms, I remember that my mum died in a fire because I left her by herself so I could go out with him.
As for my feelings for my mum, well they have no clarity. No defining shape and it kills me to be unable to remember her clearly. During my teenage years she was hard, and her hatred for my father and her resentment towards me shaped my whole life. The woman I've known since coming back to town was unpredictable and nothing like her former self. I'm left wondering what she was like during my ten years absence and I hate myself for not spending those ten years trying to get to know her, for allowing my anger to drive me away.
On the kitchen stove is the pot of baked beans that mum woke up and decided to cook but forgot to take off the heat again. If anyone were to ask me before if a can of baked beans could kill someone and destroy a house, I would have laughed at the absurdity of it all. But if you leave beans on a stove to burn away and the gas oven on, it makes a pretty big bang. It’s ironic really that the saucepan is still sat there, blackened and bent out of shape.
Leaving the kitchen, I head up the damp stairs, I clasp Danni's hand as my throat becomes drier and harder to swallow with every step I take. My reservations of coming back to the house have kept me out of my old home since the accident, but now I need to see what's left. I have this ridiculous fear that I'm going to find mum here, that she's going to be waiting up like she used to when I was young, ready to tell me off for being reckless and careless. Except I know she can't because we cremated her three days ago. A day of black and silence, spent with people that I don't know and who will never know the relationship I had with her. Some I recognised from Dad's funeral, and they all acknowledged that it was a tragedy I've lost both parents so close together. I had to bite my tongue to not tell them that the real tragedy was that I lost them years ago.
The first room I head into is my old room. The damage isn't too bad, although the walls are lined with soot, but nothing too major. I can see things that I could take should I want. I don't.
Isaac's room with the flowery wallpaper I never got around to decorating has been hit slightly worse. With shaking hands, I collect as many of his belongings as I can salvage, water damage has affected most of it, but I can at least let him choose what he does and doesn't want.
Back out in the hallway, I breathe in deep lungful’s of damp air. The next room is mum's. I eye the door cautiously.
I don't think I can do this.
Danni reaches for my hand. “You don't have to do this now, we can come back tomorrow. Or the day after, whenever you want.”
We could, but I also know I need to be able to walk out of here and know I've started to begin finding some closure.
“Danni, will you come in with me?”
“Of course, we can do this together.” She pushes the door open and the smell overpowers us. It makes me heave and my eyes water. The kitchen is directly below mum's room. That's why when she went back upstairs to lay down after putting the beans and oven on, her room was the worst hit by smoke. Danni starts to cough and I hesitate.
“Actually, you shouldn't come in here, if anything happened to you or the baby I'd never forgive myself.”
She nods, probably thinking the same thing. “I'll wait here for you.”
“No, go outside and get some fresh air. I'll be okay.”
With my words, I step away from the reassuring company of my friend and into the room. The floor is damaged, the carpet curled and blistered from hotspots. Smoke clings to everything, my eyes are drawn to the bed they found her on, it looks like she's just got up from a night's sleep, not that she died here. Everything is as it always was, neat and tidy, hardly any personal belongings. My mum wasn't one to keep things, and she definitely wasn't the type to get personally attached to belongings, or in fact anything. Not like me, who kept Freddy's locket in a box for ten years, unable to throw it away. My fingers automatically drift to the necklace and I draw some strength from the cool sensation of the metal beneath my touch.
Turning for the wardrobe, I turn the key in the old fashioned lock. It takes a stiff turn but finally the lock clicks and I'm able to look in my mum's wardrobe. Over the last few months of reminding her to get dressed, I've been in the cupboard numerous times but I've never investigated the cardboard boxes lining the bottom of the storage space. I pull one out and lift the lid. The faint smell of smoke is released with my movement and my understanding of how deep the smoke must have penetrated becomes clearer.
Inside is the very last thing I'm expecting, notebook after notebook line the box along with pictures in frames. The first picture I see is one from me on my seventeenth birthday, I'm standing by the clapped out Renault Clio my dad bought me. That was the car that lead to Freddy and I meeting, and I smile fondly, nibbling my bottom lip as I recall that snowy day. Putting the picture out of the way, I pick up a notebook. Inside is my mum's meticulous writing, it only takes me a flick through a few pages to realise that it's a diary. I had no idea that my mum wrote diaries, it doesn't seem like anything she would have done. I skim a couple of entries and learn that it was written around the time I was fifteen. Mum was already distant to me by then and I'm torn between investigating and finding out why, and leaving my mothers thoughts in the past where they should be. I flick another couple of pages and notice that every entry starts with a strange name and a measurement.
What is that?
Sitting on the floor and folding my legs, I take another book out of the box. This one looks far older and I flip through the pages, looking for a date without reading any of the other content. It's from when I was a year old and my name jumps off every page. I can't help myself, I turn to the first page and start to read.
I don't know how long I've been sat on the damp floor when the door opens. “Amber?” It's Freddy, he steps into the room, his eyes quickly evaluating the debris I'm sitting amongst.
Tears slip down my face when I see him. My arms and legs feel heavy like they may never work again.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I've found mum's diaries, Fred.” My tongue doesn't want to move, and my hands shake as I motion to the book on my lap. I'm currently five and my mum is trying to cope with the school run by herself. I know this story; I've lived it myself. Dad is working long hours and mum is battling to keep on top of the housework and parenting me. I may have been a bit difficult. The names at the top of every entry began three years before and I quickly worked out they were drug names and measurements.
Freddy comes and sits on the floor, his knees touching mine. It's the closest to physical contact we've had in days. “You've been in here hours, Amber. What do they say?”
I take my time contemplating my words. “I don't think she was very well, Freddy. Look at these.” I show him the volume in my hand and point to the unfamiliar name at the top followed with a measurement of 200mg. Quickly, I flip to the previous entry and the name again. Then I pick up another notebook and show him a page from that, this time a different name, and different quantity.
He t
akes the book out of my hand and sits concentrating on it for a few moments as he flicks through. “I don't know what they are, Amber. I'm sorry.”
“We could find out, though, couldn't we? I just have this feeling that it's something important, something that will help me understand.”
“Do you want to take them home?” he asks. My eyes flick up to his on the word home, and I find him watching me, his expression scrutinising mine.
I offer him a small smile, a glimmer of friendship after the dark cloud I've been lost in. Spending the day with my mother, albeit in her written word, trying to understand her, has cleared some of the fog I've been unable to shake off.
When we get home, the first thing I do is go find Isaac, and between us, we go through his bag of salvaged belongings. Freddy has already replaced his lost iPad and most of his time is spent in the green room that Freddy managed to paint while Isaac stayed those extra days at Elliot's.
As I sit on his bed, I look at my fair-haired boy who I've never not been completely in love with. From the moment I first saw him I always knew I would put him first. That he was my very single reason for breathing. From the brief sections of mum's diaries I've read, I'm beginning to realise that she may have not got that single moment of joy when she had me and saw me. There may have been something missing from our relationship right from its earliest days. A fundamental flaw that was impossible to fix.
Later, when Isaac's in bed, Freddy sits by my side as I pour over the books, searching for answers. We have the laptop open and are Googling the unknown names. Most of them seem to be anti-depression pills all at differing doses. She took them from when I was a year old. Did I give my mum depression?
Freddy nudges me with my foot and I look up at him, my eyes stinging, my chest constricted. "You need to read these entries," he says simply, handing me a book. "I'm going to bed." He leans in and kisses the top of my head. "You know where I am."
I watch his long legged stride walk away before turning my attention back to the open page he passed me. The writing on the pages is illegible, only random words clear enough for me to decipher. The word MISTAKE is underlined and printed over and over again. Scrawls of black biro have scored the page, ripping it into shreds.
I flick to the earlier page and see the date is from March eleven years ago. I recall the day when she told me I was a mistake, and it was my fault that she had wasted her life married to my dad.
After the black mess there are empty pages, twenty, thirty of them, I flick through to the next page with writing, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
On the next entry, her handwriting is back to normal, neat and concise. It's a simple line. I never wanted Amber to make a mistake and lose her mind. Now I've lost her, and him.
There is a strong chance my heart has stopped beating. My head hurts as I read the line over and over again.
She didn't want me to lose my mind? What did she mean?
Slowly, I tease at the edges of my thoughts until I can mould them into some form of coherent logic, but try as I might, I can't find an answer.
Exhausted, I drop the book from my hand and slump back on the sofa cushions. What did she mean?
I wish I could ask her. I wish I could wind back time. I wish I never left, never blamed her for me losing Freddy. I wish I'd never given Freddy the option to break up with me. I wish I'd fought harder for the things I wanted. I wish I'd never hidden myself in a loveless marriage.
And I wish I wasn't stuck on this sofa, alienated from the only person who ever made me feel loved.
I eye the door to the bedroom, wondering if I can just walk through. It feels like an age since I last got to touch Freddy.
Quietly, I make my way to the door and turn the handle. I enter into darkness, but I can see him sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped in what could be defeat. His head lifts when he hears me. “Amber?”
I don't say anything while I walk towards the bed as if in a dream. When I reach him, I slide my fingers through his hair, drawing him towards me. His arms slide around my waist, his face turned against my stomach as I use my thumb to smooth along the back of his neck.
The longer I stand there the faster my breathing gets. A dark desire flames inside me, engulfing me in flames stronger and brighter than the ones that claimed my home. Freddy doesn't move, his arms still holding me tight, frozen like a statue. Eventually, I lower my head and kiss his hair. “Can I come back in?” I whisper.
He straightens up, his hands sliding along my hips, drawing me in, edging me closer. His thumbs rub circles on my stomach and I close my eyes to his touch as he slides his hands under my top and I feel his skin on mine after feels like the longest time, like a decade has passed again. He lifts the top, stretching it over my head as his lips graze along my stomach, leaving a trail of shivering goose bumps in their wake. Pulling me closer still, his hands smooth over my skin, the rough texture of his working hands grazing and scratching makes me gasp with pleasure and expectation. When his fingers reach the waistband of my jeans, they swiftly tug at the buttons, levering the material over my hips. When I'm stood in just my underwear, his lips kiss along the curve of my tummy, along the patterns of faded marks, his hands run up my spine until they reach my shoulders, pulling me down so he can finally kiss me on the mouth.
I open my eyes and find him watching me, the ocean blues glittering in the dark. “I love you, Amber.”
Leaning in, I slide my nose along his, breathing in the familiarity of his scent, the smell I was never able to forget no matter how hard I tried, or how much time passed. Just like I could never forget the way he felt when he was with me, that touch which is unique to him.
The guilt I've been struggling under recedes and another emotion flutters its way to the surface.
“I love you, Freddy. I can only be in love with you.”
His mouth comes back to mine, pushing me, questioning me, finding me, and with all my responses, I give him every bit of myself that I can find to share.
BEGINNINGS
Death by present wrapping. It's a backbreaking, soul-destroying job, but mothers over the world unite on Christmas Eve for their most important role of the year. Last minute present wrapper.
It's a total shit it's my birthday, but in the years since having Isaac, the time spent on my birthday has got gradually smaller with every passing year and the time spent wrapping presents for my son has grown exponentially.
I'm not going to lie, having Freddy bringing me snacks, drinks and providing me with ample kisses is making it far more enjoyable than in years past. I also get to bark orders like, "Tape!' at him. Or, "Hold here." What can I say, it's a total power trip.
Isaac is out with Elliot. Back in September, I'd kind of hoped that we would have been passed this by now, but Isaac seems to need the continuity, so I'm letting it run on. Elliot's even being halfway civil, although there is still no sniff of a divorce. Four and a half years to go. Yay.
In the weeks since my mother’s death, my life has been slowly coming together. Reading her diaries has helped me feel closer to her than I ever managed in real life, and I appreciate now that she was sick, really sick, and she tried to protect me from it. I read the diaries from the beginning and they took me from the year after I was born up, until when my dad died. I'm guessing losing Dad was the trigger for her final mental break. She really did love him, I wish I'd seen that in my youth, but knowing it now has helped me.
“How many do we have now?” I try and estimate the enormous pile in front of me.
“Way too many, he's one lucky boy.”
“Oh, I'm sure you were spoiled when you were young.” I grin up at Freddy.
“Nope, I was lucky if I got a new wrench.”
I laugh and clamber myself onto his lap. I can afford a short snog break. “Do you love cars more than you love me?” I ask. He laughs and kisses me in answer. It's a possible yes.
Since living in the garage conversion, I'm realising just how ha
rd Freddy works. It's also giving me the opportunity to ogle him sexy and covered in grease at various points throughout the day. Really, there is no losing in this situation.
I'm writing again, and funnily enough, all my main characters have a preference for fast cars and spend a lot of time down and dirty. I'm also trying my hand at happily ever after’s. I don't know if I can pull them off yet.
Money isn't a problem, in fact the insurance paid out on the ugly concrete house and as far as I can tell, overvalued it. I invested in the Bale business, left some for living, but the rest I've put into an account for Isaac. It does explain why the pile of presents is so high this year.
“So, Birthday Girl, do I get to spend some quality time with you today, or do I just have to watch you wrap?”
I smile and lean in, grazing my lips against his. “What exactly did you have in mind for quality time?”
"Dinner, dancing, maybe some of this?" His lips find mine, firmer, harder, intense, His hands grip onto me, possessive and dominating.
"And since when do we go to dinner and participate in dancing?" I bite the corner of my mouth, suppressing my mirth. I am well aware that we do a lot of the other, living together truly has it's perks.
“We did once, if my memory serves me correct.” Freddy slides off the sofa and holds out his hand. “Would you care for a dance, Amber?” I still feel an empty echo after he says my name. French should come after Amber, and it sounds all too obvious.
“Dance? But shouldn't dinner come first?” I giggle as he hoists me up and slides his hands around me.
“Are you a rule follower now, Amber?” He starts to sway us to a tune in his head and giggles take me over at the absurdity of it all. Eleven years ago I thought this was the most romantic thing ever, now I just feel downright silly. Isaac could come home at any moment, I haven't hidden the presents, and I’ve got to prepare the food.
“Amber, relax. Stop fighting me.” I didn't even realise I was. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, relaxing my body against his.
