Chapter 2 #2
I didn’t say that. I said something kinder, about grown-up problems and how none of it was his fault.
Truthfully, I have no idea what happened.
My husband left for work one morning, kissed me on the cheek as usual, and then never came back.
For weeks, I cried by the window, praying he’d open the garden gate and magically reappear as if nothing had happened.
He didn’t. Eventually, the police informed me that he’d been found, but he didn’t want them to tell me where he was. He just wasn’t coming home.
I watched something shift in Hudson in the weeks that followed. A seriousness that didn’t belong to a child so young.
“He makes sure the doors are locked at night,” I tell Emma now. “Even when I’ve already done it. He checks the windows, too.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Emma reasons.
“No. It’s not.” I take a sip of wine. “But he also insists on carrying the heavy shopping bags. And if a man so much as looks at me too long in Tesco, he’s suddenly at my elbow.”
Emma smiles softly. “You’re his mum, he loves you.”
“I know he does.” My voice softens despite myself. “I just don’t want him to feel like he has to be the man of the house.”
“Well,” she says lightly, “until you bring someone else in, he sort of is.” I give her a look. Hudson would call it my mum look.
“Oh, don’t start,” she says quickly. “I’m not matchmaking.”
“Good.”
We both know why. Dating has always felt complicated.
Not because I can’t or don’t want a relationship or companionship, but because Hudson’s stability has always come first. Every time I’ve even considered it, I’ve pictured his face if it went wrong again.
It’s easier not to risk seeing him hurt even more.
Emma drains half her glass in one go and then brightens suddenly. “Oh! I forgot to tell you.”
“That’s never good.” I try my best to suppress the giggle that’s bubbling in my chest.
“It is this time.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I won something.”
“Please tell me it’s not another slow cooker.”
“Better.” She grins. “Family tickets to the Panthers game next weekend.”
I blink. “The Manchester Panthers?”
“Yes! At their home stadium. Proper seats near the front, not the ones that give you a nosebleed.”
I laugh softly. “You don’t even like hockey.”
“I like free things.” That’s fair.
She tilts her head. “Come with us.”
“Emma,”
“Bring Hudson. We can make a night of it. The ticket is for up to three adults and two kids anyway.”
I automatically hesitate because I don’t like crowds or noise. Then it’ll be a late night, and Hudson’s never been to a live hockey match before. I’m not even sure he likes hockey.
“He might like it,” she presses. “Didn’t that team visit the school recently?”
I feel my mouth twitch despite myself. “Yes, today actually.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You’re deflecting.”
I roll my eyes. “They came in for community engagement. Talked about discipline and teamwork, then they signed a few autographs.” I gulp down a large mouthful of wine as I try to avoid eye contact.
“And?”
“And that’s it.”
She studies me for a long second, then lets it go. “Hudson would love it,” she says instead. “It’s fast-paced and exciting. Violent in a controlled way. Very teenage boy.”
I laugh because she’s not wrong. “He’s been watching more sport lately,” I admit. “Football, mostly.”
“See? Expand his horizons.”
I swirl the wine in my glass, thinking. Hudson doesn’t ask for much. He doesn’t complain or push boundaries the way some of his friends do. Sometimes I worry he’s too contained. “Alright,” I say finally. “I’ll ask him if he wants to go.”
Emma grins like she’s won something else entirely. “Yes!”
“But if he hates it, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal.”
Hudson is sprawled on the sofa when I get home, a textbook open on his chest, a pen tucked behind his ear. The television is on mute, subtitles flashing at the bottom of the screen. Apparently, he needs it on in the background to concentrate.
He looks up immediately when I walk in. “You’re late.”
“It’s half past eight. I’ve been gone two hours. I was just down the street at the Fox. You could’ve come down if you were lonely.”
He checks his watch anyway. “Still.”
I hang my coat up and toe off my shoes. “Did you finish your dinner?”
“Yeah.” He sits up, pushing the book aside. “Left you some pasta.”
“Thank you.”
He watches me as I move into the kitchen, as if he’s assessing something. “How was work?” he asks.
“Busy. Alfie tried to climb one of the tall radiators.”
He snorts. “Why?”
“Because someone told him not to.”
“Makes sense.” He chuckles.
I lean against the counter and study him properly. His hair’s getting too long again. I make a mental note to take him for a haircut. There’s a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek from football. “You alright?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Just yeah?” I push a little harder.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Maths test was fine.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He meets my gaze, and for a split second I see the little boy he used to be. Then it’s gone, replaced by teenage composure. “I’m good, Mum.”
I nod slowly. “Emma won tickets to the Panthers game next weekend. She asked if we’d like to go with them.”
His eyebrows lift despite himself. “The hockey team?” I nod, and he pretends to consider it carefully. “Might be alright.”
“Just might?”
He shrugs again, but there’s interest there now. “Depends where the seats are.”
I bite back a smile. “Good ones, apparently.”
He nods once; it’s decisive. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. We’ll go.”
I swallow the lump in my chest. “Alright then,” I say lightly. “I’ll text to tell her we’ll go.”
He stands and moves towards the hallway, but he pauses before he gets there. “Did you lock the back door?” he asks.
“Yes, and the front one.”
“And the side gate?”
“Yes, Hudson.”
He hesitates before he turns to make his way to his bedroom. “Okay.”
I watch him disappear upstairs and feel that familiar mix of pride and ache.
He shouldn’t have to check. He shouldn’t feel responsible for our security, but he does.
And maybe, just maybe, a loud hockey match next weekend will let him be fourteen for a few hours, rather than the self-appointed guardian of our quiet little world.