I wrenched my arm from his grasp. “I don’t spoil him, all I did was ask Dad to put his music back onto to his iPod, and all I asked you was not to spill milk and cereal on the carpet, but you had to act like a child didn’t you.”
“I fucking didn’t.”
“Well what do you call that?” I pointed in the direction of the spillage, still watching Josh closely. “I’ll clean it up and then I’m going to bed.”
“Now who’s acting like a child? I’ll clean it up and then I’m going to bed’,” he said, mimicking me.
“Oh grow up.”
Putting Frankie’s iPod in my pocket, I moved toward the kitchen and before I’d taken three steps, the white bowl came whizzing past my ear and smashed on the wall above the door. As it landed with a resounding crash, I held a hand up to protect myself as china and milk sprayed everywhere and soggy Cornflakes splattered on the pale grey walls. I felt a sharp jab against my forearm that was in front of my face and milk splashed over me.
“You stupid idiot,” I screamed, turning to Josh who was standing behind me, his chest heaving. “You could have hurt me.”
“I meant to miss you,” he spat out. “I’m just sick to death of you fucking nagging me.”
Shaking my hands out, to get rid of the residue of liquid, I heard a noise on the stairs. I looked up to see Frankie bowling down the stairs.
“Frankie, go to bed sweetheart,” I said, giving him a soft smile.
“Are you okay, Mummy?” he asked, sounding small and frightened.
I nodded. “Of course I am.”
“You heard your mum,” Josh snapped, looking up. “Get to bed.”
Frankie’s eyes were tentative as he half turned on the staircase, hesitating.
“Go on Frankie,” I urged as calmly as I could, “get on to bed. I’ll be up soon.”
“But Mum-.”
As Josh stalked towards him with a hand raised, Frankie stopped talking and gasped as his eyes went wide with horror.
“Don’t you damn well dare,” I screamed, running at Josh, pushing him aside to get to my son.
“See, you’re spoiling him again. A slap on the legs wouldn’t hurt him once in a while.”
“You will never put your hands on my son.” I pushed Frankie behind me. “Frankie go up to bed.”
“No,” he sobbed. “Mummy no, I’m not leaving you.”
“Oh stop snivelling,” Josh groaned. “I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Leave my mummy alone.” Frankie’s little hands grabbed the back of my t-shirt, clutching it tightly.
“Your mum told you to go to bed,” Josh snapped. “Now go.”
“No. I’m not leaving her.”
I put an arm behind me to touch Frankie’s arm. “I’m fine, Josh won’t hurt me. He’s leaving.”
“What?”
“You heard,” I replied, trying to stop my voice from quaking. “You’re leaving. I want you out of this house.”
“Over one bloody bowl of cereal,” he scoffed, thrusting his hands to his hips. “You’re fucking joking.”
“No, Josh, I’m not. Things haven’t been right between us for a while and that,” I said, pointing at the mess on the wall, “is not acceptable. What is far worse though, is that you raised a hand to my son, so pack a bag and go.”
