Let’snotdo the Time Warp again.
CHAPTER 5
THE HOUSE
As I cross the bridge, a flood of memories overtakes me.
On the other side of the river lies the park where my mother and I had so many joyful times. There were ice creams on hot summer days, playing in the sandpit, bike rides to the bakery and picnics beneath blooming cherry trees. It’s hard to believe it’s been so long since we were here together.
I continue walking, with a feeling of her presence still lingering around me like a comforting embrace. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees above me, inspiring reassurance that she is always near. For a moment, I allow myself to be lost in nostalgia before finally I turn the corner and find myself in front of our last happy house together. I stand and take in its crooked form, looking for my mum in the windows, feeling a strange sense of comfort knowing she once filled this space with her presence. Steaming pots of soup warming our small kitchen; laughter as we sang karaoke to cheesy hits late into the night…
But as I step closer, the memories turn sour. The windows are blocked off with thick planks of wood, and the door is hanging off its hinges. Words scrawled in spray paint cover the walls, and the garden is overgrown with weeds that are taller than me. My heart sinks as I’m faced with the reality of what thisplace has become. It’s a far cry from the happy family home I once knew. Gone are the days of love and laughter – replaced by a hollow shell with not a trace of who we once were. This place holds nothing but shades of sadness and emptiness, a sad relic to how much we’ve lost. And how quickly.
An eviction notice hangs tauntingly up on the wall, reminding me of how we were turfed out onto the streets to fend for ourselves. Everything changed in an instant – my mum working herself to exhaustion just to keep us afloat in our new home, isolated from everyone and everything we knew. I almost expect to see her cycling along the path on her worn-out bike, her guitar strapped to her back and a bag full of supplies in her basket.
If only things had been different.
If only things had stayed the same.
I pause to take a steadying breath before pushing open the old gate that creaks and groans as it swings open. My feet sink into the thick grass of the garden path, each step sending an ache through my chest. I press my fingers to my lips. I can almost feel Mum standing beside me, singing to herself, picking flowers, telling stories, dreaming up promises and plans. Just the two of us, Mum and I, a bag of stale soda bread for the ducks, a biscuit tin of picnic snacks, her buttery honey-roasted ham sandwiches, flasks of tea and home-made scones with blackberry jam. I bend down, feeling the blades of wild grass brush against my hands. I’m taken back to days spent here on a simple tablecloth spread out as a blanket; playing games, weaving daisy crowns and listening to stories.
Remember when we belonged to no one but each other? Nowhere but together?
Our life before flashing sirens and blue lights and shop-bought flowers on the kerbside, the sea of grey faces sayinghow sorry they were, whispers about children’s homes and emergency placements.
My stomach tightens. There are reminders everywhere here. It’s tough to separate the bad moments from the good.
After my mum was knocked off her bike and killed, I had to move into a children’s home, since I had no other family. My mother was estranged from hers in Ireland, and I didn’t know who my father was… it was just another question that went unanswered.
I found my confidante and closest companion, Kayla, at the children’s home. She was an anchor in that period of time, always there for me. She still is. We shared a bunk for eight years until we waved goodbye for good to that place. No looking back.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, telling myself to keep it together. I can’t help it, though; I’m on the brink of tears. Grief is unpredictable; it never fully goes away, no matter how quickly it arrives or how long ago. Just when I think it’s dealt with, it’s under control, that I’ve‘got better’, am able to move on, heal… it catches me. It clings to me. It crawls over my body and soul, and I’m a wreck all over again. Even after all this time. Over twenty years!
I don’t know how. I don’t know why… I often feel I’m no further along than the ten-year-old girl I was, still feeling as confused and scared and angry and powerless. I’m still in the same place inside, despite all the changes that have happened in my life. Gathering up my nerve seems like a lost cause right now, yet I realise to even attempt something new I must first overcome my fear. It’s a catch-22: you need courage to make the leap, but at the same time, it’s hard to find it when you’re already scared. That’s the impossible conundrum with courage, confidence, commitment; they require themselves.
My steps quicken, my eyes focused on the ground ahead of me, as if I can somehow outrun the heartache, the despair, the haunting vacancy around me.
But I should know better by now – I’ve never been able to outrun it; I’ve never really been able to manage it. All I’ve learned is that stress and work can help suppress feelings of loneliness and sadness, which is why I threw myself into studying. After grinding away for years, putting in long hours and working late into the night to pass my exams, I finally achieved my art degree. That kept me occupied, stopped my thoughts from straying, helped tire out my brain, so I could sleep through the night. And then Ash came into my life and his high-maintenance needs suit me well. I get to focus my energy on caring for someone else, supporting him, understanding him – ensuring my wandering thoughts are kept at bay.
But today, there is no hiding away any longer from my pining for Mum and all the happiness being near her brought me.
That’s why I keep away from this place. I try to push it out of my mind and not let myself get upset. There isn’t anything that can be done – the events are in the past, and no matter what, nothing will undo what happened or bring her back. All this I understand – intellectually. Still, the tears swell in my throat right here and now. They’re so strong it’s impossible for me to pretend that they aren’t there.
I imagine Mum here with me: her long auburn hair is wavy and wild around her grinning face; she’s showering me with kisses, grasping my hand, caressing my cheek, raising my chin towards the sun. I’m counting the freckles on her nose and the hints of hazel in her green eyes. Out loud, I tell her how much I adore her ever-warm hands. And that I love it when she dabs me with clove water when I cut myself and when she draws me long baths with milk and lavender when I’m scared. Or feeling lost, like right now.
Is it being back here or is there more to it? Could it be theForest Fablesproject that has me feeling uneasy? Or maybe it’s fear of failing at work? Or hearing the soft lilt of Rory’s accent and him speaking about Innisfree? Or is it letting Ash down? Or the prospect of living in a new flat away from everything I know? Or wondering if I’m even ready for moving in with him? Living together is a major step…
Tears sting my eyes. I wish my Mum was still here. We needed more time. I wish I had asked more questions, that I’d insisted on hearing the answers.
I wish you knew how much I needed you. Need you still. Need you always. Send me a sign, Mum – I could really use one right now.
The breeze picks up, rustling leaves and rattling branches. The sun has long since disappeared behind the horizon, and the world is consumed by twilight. The moon is full and high, and the faintest line of light is visible between the earth and the darkening purple. I quicken my pace as evening draws in and the shadows start to lengthen.
My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. Ash on an update on the flat situation already? Or Kayla’s finally back from her work trip and we can sort a long-overdue catch-up? I pull my phone out, holding it up to examine it. I inhale sharply as I see the number on the screen – it isn’t Ash’s or Kayla’s.
Big Sean’s calling.
Now that only happens once in a blue moon.
