Gio touched a hand to a sting on his upper lip that must’ve been hiding beneath all that grime on his skin. He went into the bathroom to check and it was a cut he hadn’t realised he’d got, but man, it was sore now. He dabbed tissue against it to stem the small amount of blood that had come to the surface.
‘I used the whole packet. Of sparklers,’ Marianne rambled on.
Gio could imagine her twirling around in her bedsit, holding her arm out like she was a kid with her own sparkler, not thinking of the fire risk, especially if she’d had a few drinks.
‘I tried to do what you boys used to and wrote my name in the sky.’
‘So you were outside?’
‘Of course I was outside. What sort of silly question is that?’
She’d bristled so he pulled it back quickly. ‘It sounds fun, Mum.’
Her voice gave away that this was upsetting her now. ‘You don’t remember us doing it together.’
‘I do remember. But it was a long time ago.’ And unfortunately, as well as remembering her giving him and Marco sparklers, he also remembered her being so drunk one time, she’d picked up a discarded sparkler and burnt her fingers. It had been her two boys who’d raced her inside and held her hand beneath the cool tap to reduce the pain, swelling and risk of scarring.
‘Do you remember that it was me who bought the sparklers, me who took you boys to firework displays?’ she persisted.
‘Of course I do.’ But that was before their dad upped and left more than thirty years ago. She’d been relatively together up until her husband Antonio left her and their sons without so much as a backward glance. He’d found a new life with another woman. That was when alcohol had wormed its way into Marianne’s life and, by default, her boys’. Gio’s older brother Marco had ended up being more of a parent to him than either of his actual parents. Marco had been the one to take Gio to after-school sports, he’d done the weekly shop, he’d helped Gio with his homework. Both of them had waited for the drinking to stop, waited for the toughest times to pass, but they never had. At least not until they both left home.
‘So will you get yourself some sparklers?’ Excitement laced her voice once again.
‘I’m not twelve.’ But he managed a laugh; she was so enthusiastic. ‘Maybe I will.’
‘Do they have a big display in Whistlestop River?’
‘They have one just outside town, but I’ll be working.’
‘You work too hard.’ She began to chuckle. ‘Remember all work and no play is bad for you.’ She was teasing but it didn’t work, not with their history. Because that laugh of hers made him want to crawl beneath the duvet and never come out again. He didn’t associate it with kindness or happiness. It merely reminded him of his younger days when he’d stay in his bedroom, away from her and the chaos her drinking brought. And if she came into his room to say goodnight, drunk off her face, he’d pretend to be asleep.
He’d rather be dull than in the mess she’d got herself into. He’d rather be single and cruise through life than turn into either of his parents.
They’d tried as boys, tried to hold it together as a family. They’d thought their mum had hit rock bottom when their dad walked out on them but there was no upwards trajectory. Rock bottom had become a way of life for her. No matter how many times the boys bailed her out of situations – kept the house tidy, made her eat so she didn’t get ill, fetched her medication when she did, made sure bills were paid on time, reached out to support groups on her behalf, only to be told by their mum that they were overreacting.
Marco had handled Marianne better in some ways – he was firmer than Gio, he’d started to say no to her more often, but as a consequence, Marco and Marianne barely spoke these days. Marco thought Gio was far too lenient with their mum. And maybe he was. But Gio had to believe there was a possibility that one day, she would wake up to herself. Unfortunately, it was akin to smashing his head against a brick wall, giving her chance afterchance, listening to the same old gripes every time. Gio had given up lending her money when it became clear that the more he gave, the more she asked for. Some days, having her in his life in any way, even if it was just phone calls, felt as though he was trapped in a never-ending loop he couldn’t escape from. But she was their mother. Neither Gio nor Marco, despite what he claimed, had it in them to turn their backs entirely.
‘Working won’t be dull. Although I would rather it was. Let’s just hope people aren’t too stupid this year.’ He’d attended more than one shout at a residential property around Guy Fawkes night where the homeowner seemed to think it was a good idea to blast off endless fireworks rather than go to an official – and far safer – display. Those fireworks often ended up on other people’s roofs or in their garden. He’d once attended a scene where the fireworks hadn’t launched into the air but towards the back of the house. The house hadn’t been the only thing to suffer; a little boy had been hit by one of them and experienced horrific burns. And then you got the idiots that set them off in the street, endangering their lives and those of others. If he could ban the sale of fireworks to the general public, he would.
‘You’re talking about me,’ Marianne said snippily. ‘One mistake and you won’t let me forget it.’ Paranoia was another thing she suffered from, thinking everyone was out to get her.
‘I didn’t mean you.’ He should’ve kept his mouth shut, skated over her comment about work making him dull, but he’d gone into defensive mode, not something that usually ended well because it normally resulted in a verbal showdown.
‘I told someone off last year, you know.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well, I didn’t tell them off, I gave them advice which they took and I saved a life. Two, actually. The man was about to light an enormous bonfire and I’d read something about hedgehogs,how a pile of logs is an ideal nesting place; they could hibernate there. I told him he needed to check, that he could be killing innocent creatures. Anyway, him and his wife inspected the fire while I watched on, and blow me down, they pulled out two hedgehogs. They did it carefully, released them somewhere safe, and you know what? They were ever so grateful. The man said he would never have known if I hadn’t spoken up.’
He didn’t have to see her to know she’d be chuffed with the compliment.
‘Well done, Mum. Good on you.’
‘I know I haven’t been the best mother,’ she said. And now he pictured her face, full of worry. He couldn’t reassure her that she’d been a good parent either because she hadn’t been and still wasn’t. It felt as though he and Marco were destined to always be the ones looking out for her rather than the other way round.
‘Tell me you remember some of the good times, Gio.’
She’d done this before too. She got emotional and needed to know she wasn’t the worst person in the world and again, Gio’s conscience got the better of him, as much as he wanted to hang up the ridiculously late phone call. ‘Of course I remember some.’ All of which were way before his dad walked out and she fell apart.
