by J. S. Brent
In the evening I would go downstairs for a moment to say ‘hello’ to my parents and my sister. At the weekends we would eat as a family, in silence, with the television off, before heading upstairs to watch a movie together.
In the morning I would wake up alone, often from a bad dream, often with sleep paralysis.
My books gathered dust in my suitcase. I could revise when I went back, when there were less lectures and more Jimmy.
On a good day there would be a message from one of my friends. On most days my inbox was empty.
My incense began to work less and less as I smoked more and more.
All the while the seed of that cigarette butt in the garden grew roots.
One night I had been invited to a pub quiz. I had set off, walking through those desolate streets, avoiding all that I once knew, until I had reached the pub, walked around, and found nobody that I recognised. When I had returned to my house with a bottle of bourbon and a takeaway, I saw a lot of apology messages on my phone. I understood.
And so, the loop continued.
I had hoped that the breaking of the loop would be my triumphant return to university.
When the cycle of wake up, survive, sleep was broken, I wished that it would restart. I would have given anything to go back to monotony.
It happened on the day the storm lifted. The day my Father finally decided to mow the lawn.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I had been out for a walk, attempting to find some semblance of inspiration in that stormy weather.
When I had returned the house was strangely quiet. My parents were supposed to be home but there was no argument. No passive aggressive comments being passed around the house. There was simply nothing.
I took off my shoes and began to head up the stairs to my room.
On my way up I saw Hannah sitting on her bed, doing nothing. She was curled up in a ball. I tried to say something to her but she didn’t hear me.
I continued up the stairs.
My room was a mess, but it wasn’t my mess. It looked like it had been ransacked.
I checked my pocket. My cigarettes were still there, along with my lighter. The room smelt of smoke but I could try to blame the incense. I couldn’t tell what was wrong.
I headed back downstairs.
In the kitchen sat my Mum, silently. She had obviously been crying. In front of her on the table lay a wet cigarette butt, a plastic pack of gum with the lid broken off, and a pack that contained one solitary cigarette.
‘Why?’ She asked me, seething and maintaining her gaze into the empty space in front of her.
There was scattered glass and broken crockery on the floor.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked, slowly. She didn’t respond.
‘Is it us?’ She looked at me, her rage subsiding into a deep sadness. ‘Is it our fault?’
I had no idea what to say. I tried to open my mouth. Nothing emerged from between my lips. ‘And Hannah knew this whole time.’ My Mother said, filling with resentment. ‘Is that what you do?’ There was a brief moment of silence. ‘Do both of you get together and just find new ways to hurt us?’
I had nothing to say.
My Mother scoffed at my silence. ‘We’ll sort it out tomorrow.’ She said to herself through teary eyes and a shaking voice. ‘Go to bed.’
I was conscious of every slight noise that I made as I left the room. My Mother put her head back into her hands and cried some more behind me.
Our family’s cracks had finally been uncovered and it was all my fault.
Upstairs Hannah had not moved.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked her.
‘He went out.’ She said, shaking slightly. I heard the door slam downstairs. Hannah glanced at it as if it had been a gunshot.
I walked downstairs. The lights for the driveway had been put on.
I stepped outside into the cold.
There he stood. His eyes red. His shoulders low. His eyes looking up to the moon. In his hand he held a blazing cigarette.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked softly. He spun towards me.
‘I’m seeing what all the fuss is about.’ His voice was trembling. He took another drag before coughing heavily and dropping to his knees in agony. The cigarette skidded across the driveway. He held his hands up to his temples and wept, his tears mixing with the stone slabs and ash beneath him. I had never seen my Father like this. I had never known that he cared so much.
I saw blood start to seep through the skin on his hands. ‘I don’t see the appeal.’ His voice shook as he fought back tears.
I tried to put my hand on his shoulder.
‘Get off!’ He growled, rising to his feet and towering over me with a raised hand. His face fell. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He hugged me tightly. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ He repeated it so many times but it never seemed to lose its meaning. ‘I’ll make you a coffee and we can talk about this. Like adults.’ He wiped his nose and eyes. ‘Come on.’ I was frozen. ‘I said come on.’ He pleaded.
We walked into the kitchen. ‘Everything’s fine.’ He said as he put on the kettle. ‘Everything’s fine.’ My Mother had gone to bed. My Father stepped through the broken glass as he made my coffee. He didn’t seem to feel it. ‘Here you go.’ He said, placing a cup of coffee in front of me. I sipped it. It was bitter.
There was a silence as we both sipped our coffee. ‘Why did you start, Tom?’ He eventually asked.
‘I was seeing a girl…’
‘You can’t throw your life away because of some girl.’ He said, tears returning to his stony eyes. ‘Don’t worry. It’s just a cigarette. We’ll sort it out. We’ll help you.’ But it was more than just a cigarette. When they had found them, they had also found my sister’s forgotten sadness. ‘Maybe you should go back tomorrow.’ He said. ‘Maybe that would help.’
I nodded. ‘Go pack.’ He said. I left in silence.
The house slept. All of the doors were closed. I didn’t want to think about what state my Father was in downstairs and so I packed to keep my thoughts from wandering.
Nobody got any sleep that night.
In the morning I stood in the doorway, my backpack heavy on my shoulders and my suitcase in my hand. My family stood around me in silence. I saw that my Father had bandaged up his foot and on his hands there was a mess of plasters.
‘Come on.’ My Father said to me, leading me out of the door. I hugged my sister and my Mother before I left.
When we got to the station we sat alone in the car for the moment.
‘I’ll quit.’ I said.
‘I know.’ He responded. ‘I know you will.’ I nodded. ‘Call us when you get back.’
‘Ok.’ I said, leaving the car.
‘I love you.’ He said as I left.
‘I love you too, Dad.’ I said, hugging him.
I stood in the doors of the station, watching as he drove away, a different man than he was the day before. He was a good driver.
I threw my cigarettes and lighter in a bin before I got onto the platform and started to wait for my train. I tried to forget about the night before. I tried to at least think of other things, but all I could see was my Dad’s broken grimace. All I could see was the pain that I had caused. That was it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
CHAPTER NINE
‘They overreacted.’ Flora said. She held a smoking cigarette in her hand and there was a coffee on the table. We were in my favourite café in Durham. She had come home early because she had ‘gotten bored of that shit village’.
We were outside. The sun was shining up here. The area was heated and umbrellas covered the tables on the stone slabbed floor. We were surrounded by crooked shops and cobbled streets. Inside was large, but cosy, and the café had an upstairs area. The walls were painted red.
I had a salmon and cream cheese sandwich. I don’t know how they made them to taste so perfect. They had crisps made from both normal potatoes and sweet potatoes. All Flora had in front of her was her sol
itary cup of coffee.
‘Coffee and cigarettes for lunch. Isn’t that unhealthy?’ I asked, desperately craving for just one more cigarette.
‘Hey, I already had lunch.’ She said, leaning in and gesticulating wildly with her hand, the smoke from the cigarette rising upwards, only to get trapped amongst the umbrellas. ‘Besides, you only quit, what, today?’
‘I don’t even know if I have quit.’ I said, before looking up at her. ‘I want to, but…’
‘You don’t have to, come on, it’s just a cigarette.’ She passed her half smoked one towards me, I shook my head.
‘Your parents smoke, don’t they?’ I asked.
‘Yeah…’ She started inquisitively.
‘Mine don’t know what it’s like. For mine it’s more than just Effy’s philosophy.’
‘Yeah, but Effy has a great philosophy.’
‘It makes sense in theory.’
Flora paused to take a drag before leaning in.
‘Would you rather die of stress or smoking?’ She asked. I considered it. It was a question I had considered ever since Effy had said it.
‘I don’t know, I’m not that much of a stressy person, anyway.’ I said, trying to get at least a whiff of second hand smoke. ‘Besides, it’s more than that.’
‘What, then?’ She asked the question without frustration. Between us we had had so many discussions in this manner. We were only trying to understand each other’s point of view, we were not trying to impose our own.
‘They think it’s self-harm.’ I whispered at the end. Flora took a sip out of her coffee too hard, coughing slightly. I was unsure if she was trying not to laugh or if she was in shock.
‘I know why you started, Tom.’ She said flatly.
‘I know you know and I told my Dad that, but… Well I’m not seeing her anymore and they thought I had more willpower than that.’ I said. ‘Besides, they’re devout Catholics. They don’t believe in abortion or gay marriage or anything.’
‘You’re just like them, you know.’ Flora said. I felt a brief moment of shock play across my face. ‘You try not to be, don’t worry, but every now and again you’ll put great significance on something pointless.’ She sighed. ‘Did you call them last night?’
I had called my parents. The phone call had been short and business-like. Did you get home safe? Are you OK? Have you had any cigarettes?
‘Yeah.’
‘How was it?’
‘It was short.’ I finished the last bite of my sandwich. Flora checked her phone.
‘Hey, look at this.’ She said, putting a video of a cat chasing shadows under my nose.
‘It’s cute.’ I said, still thinking about what had happened the night before. Flora had helped me but I knew there was no helping my parents for a while. I knew that they would lie awake at night, wondering whatever could be going wrong. Whether I was smoking, whether I was doing drugs, whether I was having unprotected sex.
Hannah had messaged me and told me that the house was silent. Nobody was arguing. She was trying to get a conversation out of my parents to no avail. They merely grunted and muttered to each other. Suddenly all of the photos that they had accidentally seen online had much more significance to them. Suddenly I seemed a lot more broken to them than I had before.
‘When’s your open-mic, thing? Are you doing that?’ Flora asked, scrolling through more pictures of cats on her phone, trying to keep the conversation lively.
‘Yeah, Couple weeks’ time.’ I said, distracted by the smoke emanating from the end of her cigarette. She smoked menthols. That could have solved the taste issue with regards to my mouth, but so could abstinence.
‘Know what you’re going to play?’
‘No.’
‘I can help you prepare if you want. You know, help you pick the best song for your voice.’
‘Thanks, Flora.’ I said, smiling at her. Maybe she was right. Maybe my parents would realise that it was just a smoking addiction sooner or later. It was the summer term, soon, and so after exams I would have the freedom to talk to them at any time that I wanted.
There was a pause.
‘Jimmy’s back, today.’ She said.
‘Oh, yeah?’ This was good. Jimmy was an international student and so it was only natural that he would have to come home early.
‘You going out tonight?’ Flora asked. I knew what I had to say. I was conscious of what I was like before the holidays. I had gone out almost every night. I couldn’t change that, not now. I wanted to drink, anyway.
‘Hope so.’ I said, forcing a grin onto my face. ‘What about you?’
‘Not tonight. I have to call my parents.’ She nodded slowly. ‘They just want to see that I’m doing alright.’
‘Fair enough. I’ll go with Jimmy.’ In the past I had blamed Jimmy for my dry nights. The second I had been on a night out without him, I had gotten off with someone. My mouth was like an ashtray. It didn’t end well. It was his awkward dancing or lack of dancing or his inability to lie whenever someone said to him ‘hey, I know you’. I was looking forward to going out with Jimmy this time, though.
Flora thrust her spent cigarette into the ashtray. We got up and walked through the alleyway back onto the open streets of Durham. Flora retrieved her pack of cigarettes from her inside pocket. She got out two.
‘Look. If this is going to be your last one, I want to be there.’ She handed me one.
‘And menthol, as well.’ I said flatly.
‘It’ll help you get up the hills.’ She said. It was broken logic like this that had made me wary of my addiction. It’ll help you write. It’ll help you think. It’ll help you sing. It’ll help you sleep. Nothing can do all of that.
‘Maybe next time.’ I said.
‘Well, if you’re serious, then...’ She smiled, putting the both cigarettes back into the packet. This was the thing about having good friends. They never pressured me into anything. I was allowed to say no. I was allowed to eat meat. I was allowed to do drugs or not do drugs. I was allowed to quit smoking.
‘Thanks, anyway.’ I said, linking arms with her.
‘Let’s skip.’ She said. We laughed as we crossed the Old Elvet Bridge. The water beneath us still. The sky above us clear. The Cathedral in the distance peering out from some trees. I was home. At least for a moment. At least until the term started.
CHAPTER TEN
I was sitting in my room, on my bed, playing some ostinato I had come up with when there was a knock on the door. Before I could answer Jimmy burst into my room.
‘Jimmy, sometimes you should wait until someone responds. I could’ve been naked.’ I said.
‘Naked?’ He asked in shock. ‘I heard you playing on your guitar.’
‘I could’ve been playing it naked.’
‘You said nine, though.’ He said. I checked my watch. It was ten to nine. I had been sitting there for hours. Usually it would be at this point where I told Jimmy to wait a moment while I got ready, but I was happy with what I was wearing. I had had a shower and a shave that morning and I was wearing some of the clothes that I had left behind before the holiday.
‘Fair.’ I said, before rushing to my feet and placing my guitar against my desk. ‘Let’s drink.’ I grinned, putting music on. It was only on for about thirty seconds before Jimmy walked over to the laptop and changed the song.
‘This is better.’ He said. It wasn’t, but I found his music taste so incongruous to his personality I always let it slide. He either played supposedly deep, meaningful songs or anything that was so generically upbeat nobody could imagine him listening to it.
I saw that Jimmy held some expensive vodka in his hands. ‘Welcome back.’ He said to me, passing it to me. It was the kind of vodka that was so refined you could simply drink it without grimacing. I still mixed it with some lemonade that had been left behind on my shelf. I could drink it faster that way.
‘Want some wine?’ I knew that Jimmy hated beer. I wondered if he’d actually prefer the watered down
equivalent of American beer. His parents didn’t like him drinking. It was fair enough, most of the time I didn’t like him drinking. There was no such thing as ‘tipsy’ to Jimmy, there was only sober and one drink too much. He nodded vigorously.
I looked around me, picking up the cheap bottle next to me.
‘Erm. Just drink it out of the bottle.’ I said, failing to see any other glasses other than the one in my hand. Jimmy scowled for a moment. He was above drinking out of a bottle. ‘It’s fine, it’ll only be you drinking it.’
‘Why?’
‘You are getting drunk tonight.’ I said, taking a large sip out of my mix. It was warm but I didn’t mind. It tasted fine. That’s why it was a dangerous mix. You couldn’t taste any of it, even if it was 40% alcohol. You could easily down the entire thing. ‘I’m getting you laid.’ I said, painfully aware of how tacky it was.
‘Am I?’ He asked, slightly grinning.
‘Yeah, I’ll be your wingman.’ His song changed to the next one on his mix. I’d seen worst DJs. He also didn’t take suggestions when it came to his set.
‘When are we going?’ He asked with a boyish smile on his face.
‘Half ten?’ I saw his face fall. ‘We don’t want to get there too early.’ He still looked upset. ‘Alright, ten past.’ His face once again rose.
I heard a clattering out in the corridor. Jimmy and I stopped talking.
‘Hello?’ He asked.
‘Hullo.’ A voice from the corridor responded. Within a moment John was in my room. ‘You drinking?’ He asked, holding some ales that his Dad had obviously bought for him.
‘Fuck yes.’ Jimmy said.
John was tall. He had piercing blue eyes and could have pulled most people in the club if he knew how. The amount of conversations he had had at the bar with pretty girls that had ended with him walking up to me and saying ‘I just made a friend’ was too high.
‘Going out, I’m guessing.’ John asked.
