‘It will all be okay. We love you, your mum and I, we love you so much.’
‘You had a bevvy or two, Dad?’
‘Not yet!’ He felt the moments slipping away, and his heart squeezed in his chest. ‘See you in the morning, Dad’
‘Yep.’ His voice cracked and he swallowed, forcing the lie from his lips. ‘See you in the morning, love.’
***
Mikey woke in his bed with the curtains open and sunlight filling the room. He was relieved to see that Gemma was already up. This promised a better day than yesterday. Instantly he noticed the bedroom was clean, vacuumed, fresher than it had felt in recent times.
Treading the stairs, he heard the unfamiliar sound of music coming from the radio in the kitchen. The upbeat sound of pop fracturing the air that was usually silent and weighted. It was at once jarring and uplifting to be reminded of something he had once taken for granted, in the house that had grown as quiet as it was dark.
‘Here he is! Rip van Winkle! What time d’you call this?’ Gemma plonked a cup of tea on the countertop in front of him and kissed his cheek.
‘Thanks.’ He studied her, his wife who had washed and brushed her hair, was dressed and smiling, and moved with speed and ease of movement around their little kitchen. Gone was the stilted hesitance to her limbs as if every action caused her physical pain. Gone were the dark shadows of loss that lived beneath her eyes.
‘What you staring at?’ she fired, biting into thickly buttered toast and speaking with her mouth full.
‘You.’ He smiled. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Flippin’ ‘eck, what are you after?’ she blushed. ‘What time did you come up last night?’
Mikey sipped the tea. It tasted good. ‘Not sure.’
‘Recovered then from your upset over the footy?’
Placing the mug on the surface, he gripped the counter to keep himself upright. It was then he heard the sound of the TV in the lounge and the voice of commentary,
‘He is – he’s going for it! The ball’s moving to the forwards. It’s three yards out from goal in the middle of the six-yard box – there’s a tussle, the blues are defending, but too little too late, it’s over the line! And let me tell you, Anfield is making some noise! Oh, wait a minute, this doesn’t look good, the ref’s calling for VAR!’
Rising slowly, he walked along the hallway, listening intently, hardly daring to step into the lounge. Then he heard it, the sweet, sweet unmistakable sound of Aaron, his boy.
‘Come on, Ref! You’ve got to be bloody joking!’
Mikey stood in the doorway, as his son jumped up, arms flailing, as he watched the match on catch up.
‘You seen this, Dad?’ he pointed at the TV screen with the remote control. Mikey fell against the wall, his tears beating a steady path down his stubbled face, his breath coming in huge gasps between sobs. It was a miracle, a second chance, it was… he couldn’t find the words. That man, Chen, he’d shoulder barged him, when what he wanted to do was find him, hug him, thank him, ask him to explain!
‘Jesus, Dad! It’s only a goal!’
‘Aaron!’ Scrambling to his knees, he took his son into his arms and cried as he held him close. ‘I had the most terrible nightmare, the worst.’
His son shrugged himself free and sat back down on the sofa.
‘Give over! Have you had a bash to the head?’
‘I might have,’ he laughed, swiping at the tears that fell, ‘I just might have.’
‘Is Georgia coming for lunch, love?’ Gemma asked from the doorway.
‘Nah, we’ve broken up.’
‘Ah, that’s a shame, I like her. It’s true what they say though, Aaron, there’s plenty more fish in the sea!’
‘So I’ve heard.’
Aaron smiled at his dad, and Mikey knew he would never be more thankful, for this moment, foreverymoment he got to spend with his boy.
