How Hard Can Love Be?

by Holly Bourne

  I still kept my arms crossed.

  “I didn’t have a choice, Amber,” she said. “I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Oh, are you? I hadn’t realized.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “No, that’s where you’re wrong. You expect me to understand all the time. Every day. Whenever you mess up. It’s your trump card – ‘Oh, I’m an alcoholic’.” I took a deep breath. “And I get that it’s hard. I do. But that doesn’t take away all the hurt you cause…”

  “It’s not my fault,” she said, crying harder. “I can’t help it. It’s a disease.”

  “I GET THAT!” I almost yelled. “But I’m allowed to be hurt by the disease, aren’t I? You don’t even let me talk to you about it… You don’t even…” I trailed off. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted to say.

  Mum reached over and took my hand. Part of me wanted to shake it off, but I didn’t.

  “Amber, look, I know I wasn’t as here for you this summer as you wanted me to be. I didn’t mean to give you any…false expectations of what I could be for you. But I am a recovering addict. It’s very important I stick to my routines – that I stick to what works for me. The addiction…it’s bigger than me. It’s bigger than you. Bigger than my love for you. My love for anyone… If it wasn’t, don’t you think I wouldn’t have screwed up in the first place? I was such a terrible mother…” She trailed off and sobbed again. I held her hand, waited while she got it out. A small part of me in wonder that everyone around us was ignoring the scene we were making. “The addiction always comes first, Amber. It came first when I used to leave you as a child, alone in the house, while I went and drank by myself in the park. It came first when I destroyed my marriage, your dad’s life. It still came first when the doctors said I’d be dead in two years if I didn’t stop drinking. It came first all the time. Therefore I have to put tackling it first, all the time. Otherwise, I’ll die, Amber… I’ll die. It will kill me.”

  She really was sobbing now. I tried to steel myself against her tears. That freedom I’d felt that morning, in the swimming pool. I thought I’d somehow, finally, after all these years, managed to stop her getting to me.

  “You have my photograph in the guest room!” I said, weeks after I’d first thought it.

  She looked up. “Because it’s too painful to look at you every day. It’s too painful to remember what I had to leave behind to stay alive.”

  Mum was answering. She was finally answering. I’d had to run away from her, give up on her at last to make her follow. But she was here now and she was talking. It didn’t seem real. And, now she was here, now she was sharing, I was scared of what her answers would be.

  “Why did you have to move away to America though? It’s so far, Mum,” I said, my voice cracking. “And you never came to visit.”

  She tried to compose herself, sipped more water. Her hand was so tight in my hand.

  “Because I couldn’t bear to see the mess I’d made of our family. The hurt I saw in your face. It destroyed me, Amber. The way you looked at me…” Another sob bubbled. “It made me feel like such a failure, it made me want to drink. I had to move away, to have a fresh start. And Kevin, I know you hate him and blame him for me coming here, but he saved me. He believes in me. He loves me, despite all I’ve done. He lives a healthy life, he gives me a healthy life – one that doesn’t make me want to drink. We go hiking, we help others, we run the camp, we live in the mountains… I’m a different person, I’m someone to be proud of. But I’m still an alcoholic, Amber. And I’ve found this summer so hard, because you still look at me like that. Like, if only I tried harder, I could be a better mum. But I’m trying my best, Amber, I really am.”

  When Mum left for America, Dad made me go to this one counselling session, where they handed over all these leaflets about alcoholics. The leaflets said that addicts were “manipulative” and that they could be “emotionally abusive”. Right then, I could’ve chosen to interpret Mum like that. But she was my mum, and she was actually answering my questions for the first time ever. This was the first conversation we’d ever had about everything that had happened, beyond her just going on the defensive or changing the subject. It hurt so much, but I finally realized maybe I wasn’t the reason she left, she was the reason she left. There was nothing I could’ve done to keep her at home, make her better myself. I listened to what she said, and I…believed it. If she hadn’t met Kevin, if she hadn’t moved here, she would probably be dead. It still ached, I still wished she’d never left me, but I knew now…

  I could finally understand why.

  “I’m really proud of you,” I said. And I was.

  I stared at her, her healthy skin, her glass not full of vodka. I couldn’t imagine the strength it must’ve taken for her to get to this place, to give up what she needed to get here. I never thought I’d feel proud of my mum. But now, now I did.

  “And I’m so proud of you, I really am, honey,” she said. “It’s been…a blessing having you here this summer, seeing how strong and beautiful you are, despite all you’ve been through.” She looked up into my eyes, and it was my eyes staring back at me. “Please come back, Amber.” She held my hand tighter. “You won’t get into any trouble. Kevin said so. He’s really not the monster you think he is. If you need to blame someone for leaving, blame me. I’ll try and make more time… We only have a few weeks, but we’ll make them count.”

  Blame. She was finally accepting blame. She was finally saying everything that I’d wanted to hear.

  Yet I let go of her hand.

  “No.”

  Her eyes fell. “What?”

  “I’m not going back. I’m driving to Brown. With Kyle.”

  As if on cue, Kyle appeared at the elevator doors. We’d agreed he’d give us half an hour then come down and check on me. The worry on his face made my heart truly, fully, give itself to him. I made a hand signal, telling him to wait. Mum saw, turned round and scowled.

  “Amber, you can’t drive off with him. How will you get back?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “You’re underage. I could stop you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “But…but…what about our time together?” She looked like a child.

  I sighed and pushed a stray tear back into my eye. So much of me wanted to go back – to have those fairy-tale weeks I’d imagined when I first booked my plane ticket.

  “Mum, you said you need to put the addiction first, and I get that, I really do. And I’m so happy you’ve come here, and you’ve told me all this.” My voice wobbled. “But I need to do something for me now. I need to put my own happiness first. And driving to Brown, with Kyle, who you’ve totally underestimated by the way, is part of that. I need to do this, Mum… For me… It’s my turn to need to be selfish…”

  Her head fell down, and I thought she was going to cry again. But when she looked back up, she was smiling. Sadly, but smiling.

  “Then, go for it… And, Amber?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry…”

  She said sorry…

  The apology melted in the air between us.

  And then, like all apologies, I realized I didn’t need it.

  “I love you, Mum. It’s okay,” I said.

  Because it was okay now. As okay as it could be. And that’s all you can ask for sometimes, when it comes to love.

  We both cried, and hugged, and said goodbye. Because that was the last time I’d see her that summer. That year. Maybe even the next year after that.

  And that was okay too.

  SITUATIONS THAT WON’T FAIL IF YOU DON’T LET THEM:

  You

  +

  Someone who loves you

  +

  Whatever the world throws at you

  Thirty-seven

  We woke well before dawn, like we said we would. Piled ourselves into the car and drove out of the city, leaving the still-glittering lights behind us.

  Soon there w
as just desert. And a horizon. And us driving into it.

  Kyle’s hand stayed on my knee. Still checking I was all right.

  I was all right.

  The first twinges of sunlight inched their way up the sky, casting yellow light over the vast expanse of the desert stretching out in front of us.

  We weren’t driving off into the sunset.

  We were driving into the sunrise.

  Our journey hadn’t even started yet.

  @Usborne

  @UsborneYA

  www.usborne.com/youngadult

  And for more fabulous Usborne YA reads, news and competitions, head to usborneyashelfies.tumblr.com

  About Holly Bourne

  Holly writes YA novels and blogs about feminist issues. Her favourite things to complain loudly about are: the stigma of mental health, women’s rights and the under-appreciation of Keanu Reeves’ acting ability.

  Holly’s first two books, Soulmates and The Manifesto on How to be Interesting, have been critically acclaimed and translated into six languages. The first book in the “Normal” series, Am I Normal Yet? has been chosen as a World Book Night book for 2016, and has inspired the formation of Spinster Clubs across the country.

  @holly_bourneYA

  hollybourneYA

  www.hollybourne.co.uk

  Acknowledgements

  I’ve been very lucky in that I’ve never found love very hard. For that, I can only thank my brilliant family – for loving me and supporting me no matter how hard I am to love. So Mum, Dad, Eryn, Willow – thank you as always for being the glue that binds me back together again. Through writing this book and being in Amber’s head I’ve understood how blessed I am. So, cheers.

  Thank you to Connie, for letting me come and stay with you in California when I was a confused teenager who didn’t know who she wanted to be. It breaks my heart that you will never get to read this book.

  Thank you to Peter Alsop, for shaping my childhood. I still cannot believe I’ve got your songs into my books. I cannot tell you how much that means. Thank you in particular for “Rachel and the Moon”, which played constantly in my head while I wrote this.

  As always, I want to say thank you to my agent, Maddy, for continuing to be the best agent a gal could wish for. And Cara and Thérèse too. And Usborne – brilliant, wonderful Usborne – for letting me write this trilogy and getting it and making it so much better than it would be without you. Thank you, Rebecca, Anne, Becky, Sarah, Amy, Anna and Hannah especially. I will never stop hugging you all and gushing at you whenever we meet. Sorry about that. If you want me to stop, you’re going to have to stop being so wonderful. Thank you so much to Neil and Kath for my continually-amazing covers.

  This was supposed to be a road-trip book, until Amber and Kyle kept refusing to get in the car. I’d like to thank Christi and Alexia a LOT, for a year of listening to me panic over cocktails, wailing “WHY WON’T THEY GET INTO THE CAR?”. You two have become such rocks and I am so grateful. In fact, there are infinite amounts of UKYA people that make me feel good about humans. Thanks to Mel, Holly S, Anna, Carina, Matt, Lara, Kelly, Lee, Lisa, Non, Lucy, Jim, Lucy P, Jess and SO MANY OTHERS for being such a supportive community full of goodness and prosecco.

  Thank you to Rich, for driving from one side of America to another with me and not strangling me along the way.

  Thanks as always to Owen, for holding my hand through this crazy year.

  I’d like to thank my readers, who have taken such a shining to the Spinster Club since Am I Normal Yet? came out, especially to those of you who’ve started your own feminist rebellions. Honestly, I love you. Please keep sending me updates and photos. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me. We will kick this patriarchy – I have such faith in the future with brilliant feminists (male and female) like you out there.

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  by Holly Bourne

  One

  It started with a house party.

  This wasn’t just any house party. It was also My First Date. Like first EVER date. In my entire life. Because, finally, following all the crap that had gone down, I was ready for boys.

  His name was Ethan and he liked the Smashing Pumpkins (whatever that is) and he’d managed to grow real stubble already. And he liked me enough to ask me out after sociology. And he was funny. And he had really small, but cute, dark eyes, like a ferret or something. But a sexy ferret. And he played the drums and the violin. Both! Even though they’re, like, totally different instruments. And and…

  …and – oh, Christ – what the HELL was I going to wear?

  Okay, so I was stressing. And obsessing. “Obstressing” times a million. In an utterly deplorable way. But this was a big deal to me. I was doing something NORMAL for once. And I reckoned I could just about pull it off. And I did know what I was wearing. I’d run through every possible clothing combination in existence before opting for tight jeans, black top and a red necklace, i.e. what I reckoned to be the safest date outfit ever.

  I was going to be normal again. But I was going to step back into it safely.

  The outfit

  JEANS = Cool, just-like-everyone-else, and I-won’t-sleep-with-you-right-away-so-don’t-even-think-about-it-mister.

  BLACK TOP = Slimming – yes, I know…well it was a first date, and my drugs had made me a bit…puffy.

  RED NECKLACE = Hints of sexiness underneath, for when you’ve been a good boy, and in six months’ time, when I’m ready, and you’ve said you love me, and lit some candles and all that stuff that probably doesn’t actually ever happen to anyone…

  …Oh, and you’ve been deep-cleaned and put through ten STI tests.

  Nice. Safe. Outfit.

  Put it on, Evie. Just put the damn thing on.

  So I did.

  Before I get into how it went and how it was the beginning of something, but not the beginning of Ethan, I guess you’ll want to know how I met him so you have some emotional investment.

  Bollocks. I just gave away that Ethan and I didn’t work out.

  Oh well. Whoever had a great love affair with a guy who looked like a sexy ferret?

  How Evie met Ethan

  New college. I’d started a brand new college, where only a handful of people knew me as “that girl who went nuts”. Despite my tiny collection of mostly-home-educated GCSEs, the college let me in to do my A levels because I’m actually quite smart when I’m not being sectioned.

  I noticed Ethan in my very first sociology lesson. Mainly because he was the only boy in there. Plus, the sexy stubble ferretness.

  He sat across from me and our eyes met almost instantly.

  I looked behind me to check who he was staring at. There wasn’t anyone behind me.

  “Hi, I’m Ethan,” he said, giving me a half-wave.

  I waved back with a flap of my hand. “Hi, I’m Evelyn…Evie. Always Evie.”

  “Have you done sociology before, Evie?”

  I looked at the crisp new textbook on my desk, its spine still utterly intact.

  “Erm, no.”

  “Me neither,” he said. “But I heard it was a Mickey Mouse subject. An easy A, right?” He did this big grin that caused all sorts of stuff to happen to my insides. So much so that I had to sit down in my chair – except I was already sitting in it, so I just sort of wiggled awkwardly, panicked, then giggled to cover it. “Why are you taking it?” he asked.

  A question. You can answer questions, Evie. So I smiled and said, “I thought it was safer than psychology.”

  Oops. Think. You think before you answer questions.

  His face wrinkled underneath his mop of unruly hair. “Safer?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, you know,” I tried to explain. “I…er…well…I didn’t want to get any extra ideas.”

  “Ideas?”

  “I’m very impressionable.”

  “What sort of ideas?” he leaned over the desk with interest. Or confusion.

  I shrugged and fiddled with my bag.

  “
Well in psychology you learn about all the different things that can go wrong in your brain,” I said.

  “So?”

  I fiddled with my bag some more. “Well, it’s more to worry about, isn’t it? Like, did you know there’s this thing called Body Integrity Identity Disorder?”

  “Body Identi-what-now?” he asked, doing the smile again.

  “Integrity Identity Disorder. It’s where you wake up one day, convinced you shouldn’t have two legs. You suddenly hate your spare leg, and you really want to be an amputee. In fact, some sufferers actually pretend to be amputees! And the only way to cure it is to get a limb hacked off illegally by this special leg-hacker doctor. People don’t usually get BIID, that’s what they call it, BIID, until their early twenties. Either of us could get it. We don’t know yet. We can only hope we stay emotionally attached to all our limbs. That’s why sociology is safer, I reckon.”

  Ethan burst out laughing, making all the other girls in my new class turn and stare.

  “I think I’m going to like doing sociology with you, Evie.” He gave me a tiny wink and a cheeky head tilt.

  My heart started beating really quickly, but not in its usual trapped-insect way. In a new way. A good way.

  “Thanks, I guess.”

  Ethan didn’t do anything other than stare at me for the rest of the lesson.

  That’s how we met.

  I looked at my reflection. First up close, my nose pressed against the mirror. I stepped back and looked again. Then I closed my eyes and opened them really quickly to surprise myself into an unbiased reaction.

  I didn’t look bad, you know.

  From my reflection, you definitely couldn’t tell how nervous I was.

  My phone beeped and my heart did a little earthquake.

  Hey, just on the train. Looking forward to seeing u tonight. x

  He was coming. It was real. Then I saw the time on my phone and panicked. I was seven minutes away from leaving late. I chucked everything into a bag, then ran to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my hands.