Chapter 37 #3
‘What do you think we’re going to do? Remortgage the house?’
‘No. Course not—’
‘Again?’
‘Yeah – no. I don’t want that.’
‘So, what? Why are you here? What are you asking for if you know we can’t do that? I genuinely want to know what you think is going to happen here.’
‘I just...’ Fuck. ‘I just need it to stop, Dad.’
‘How many times have you said this? Stood in this kitchen and said these exact words?’
‘This time’s different. I really wanna get clean. I’m ready. Because something really bad happened and I’m scared that—’
I stop because he’s staring at me. Right in the eyes. Feels like I’m being skewered. ‘You know what I noticed at the table?’
‘What?’
‘Your mum can’t even look at you anymore. She’s scared of you. She’s scared of her own son.’
‘Dad, I know I’ve taken the piss—’
‘She thinks she ruined you. She blames herself, you know. What did we do?’
‘What do you mean? This isn’t about you—’
‘No. It’s always about you.’
‘No, sorry – I just mean...’
‘Try and put yourself in someone else’s shoes, for once.’
‘Right.’ Fuck. ‘I’ll go. I was going to anyway. Don’t wanna put this on you or Mum.’
‘I think that’s best. Come back when you’re ready to be honest.’
‘I wanted to be. I did, Dad.’
‘Not with us. With yourself. You live in a world of lies. You don’t even know what’s real anymore.’ I want to ask for a benzo – I think Mum has them upstairs – just to take the edge off, but he looks like he’s about to cry. ‘I’ll tell John and Jean you had to go back to work.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Yeah, OK.’
I wanna hug him. Feel his warmth. It’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
All those men
Just wanna hear him say, You’re beautiful under all this, son. You’re wonderful. You always were.
‘Can I say bye to Mum?’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘Right. I’ll be off then.’
‘Right.’
I can’t look at him. I unlock the backdoor, go round the side of the house, into the gulley next to the garage. I used to sneak out and smoke Benson Hedges Dark Blue inside it. They never cared, not really. I was fifteen then.
This fucking place. It gives me a pain in my chest. But that’s not it... It’s in my soul. Never felt this kind of pain before in my life. It’s in the centre of me. Right at the middle.
It’s been there as long as I can remember. I try to detach, to move from it, but it won’t go. It’s so fucking loud. That buzz, that thing that comes in waves.
Can’t go back to the canal. Can’t go to Mo’s.
The police. The police will fucking get me.
Running out of options. One left.
Mandy. Mallory.
She said she would help me.
She promised to.
If I show up... Honest – not out of it...
She might let me detox at hers. She has spare rooms – her house is huge.
She’ll have lorazepam cos she’s that kind of person.
But there’s something else she has. She wants something from me – I know she does.
It’s like she wants to be my mum. There’s something in her.
Like she has warmth that she doesn’t know where to put.
Like it’s all stored up for someone that isn’t that mad husband of hers.
And I think she wants it to be me. Cos I think she gets me.
I think she sees the person I am. I do. I think she likes me.
She sees me. She knows who I am. Under all this mould.
Maybe I can put my head on her shoulder and cry.
I feel like she’d like it. Like she’d want it.
I’d like that.
I’m fucking crying.
I start to run. If I don’t run, I’ll implode. It’s a blur. Everything is moving past me but it doesn’t feel real.
Back on the train, back in the bogs, hiding from the ticket man. Hopping the gate at Crouch End, and down the streets with the massive houses in orange brick. Through the park, to her street, where I stop. I can’t go in like this. I need to sleep.
I need to lie down first.
I go down the little side street, behind the row of houses, and see a run of bins. I move down it, keeping low, until I’m outside the back of her garden. Even the bins are fucking posh. Cobbles and ivy everywhere.
I pull myself up over the wall and take a look. It’s a long garden, with a patio by the back of the house. Everything’s dead quiet. I dunno if I can go in. Not yet. If he’s gonna be there, then that is a problem.
Wait. There’s a shed. A fucking shed.
That’ll work. That’ll do.
I pull myself over, quietly, landing down between some rose bushes. I need to fucking sleep. I don’t want to be all jittery and fucking mental in front of her.
I scan my eyes over the garden.
I creep along the edge, watching the back windows. Can’t see anyone inside. Not yet. The shed isn’t locked. Course it’s not. I pull open the wooden door. There’s nothing in it, not really. Some old paint cans and sheets. I push the door shut. Sit down on the floor.
Vomit isn’t coming.
Just need to lie down. Need to sleep.
But my brain feels stuck. Stuck on that fucking picture on the mantelpiece. Can’t stop thinking about it. Mum looked like a totally different person back then. She looked so happy. Now she doesn’t.
She doesn’t look the same.