Walk Away

September 2022

The sat nav was still talking, but I couldn’t hear it over the sound of my own breathing—shaky and shallow, like I was trying to hold it all in. One hand on the wheel, the other wiping tears before they could fall far enough for the kids to notice. Charlie was slumped in the passenger seat, drunk again, with empty bottles clinking around his feet like the soundtrack to my humiliation.

This was meant to be a break. A reset.

Instead, I was driving us through the middle of nowhere, pretending everything was fine while silently screaming at myself: You should’ve known better.

“Can we get some food now, Mum, please?” said Izzy from the back of the car.

I swallowed my tears. “Yeah, course. Nearly at the shop, sweetheart.”

Izzy isn’t silly. She knew I wasn’t okay—eleven years old but so much older in her head. My fault. I really worry about her. Part of the reason I get stuck in things is because I’m so scared of making the wrong decisions. I don’t want to keep letting them down. But I also can’t be on my own. I really struggle with attachment and not liking myself.

Damn, I’ve got so much unhealed trauma and I don’t even know where to start fixing it.

We went to the shops, Charlie had calmed down a bit, and now we were at the glamping site. Theo, Izzy, and Kyra were playing on the grass with some games I’d gone out and bought. Cameron didn’t want to come with us—he’d gone to see his dad for the week.

Charlie was lighting the fire and I was sat in a deck chair with a glass of wine.

This—this was more what I had in mind.

He just always feels the need to drink.

I thought back over the last couple of months. How drunk he got every time I drove him to Norfolk. Him being so drunk the first time I met his dad, and telling me he had to be. It was all the time.

I just wish he could be the person I know he could be.

I can help him.

“How nice is this, babe?” Charlie called over.

I smiled at him. “It really is.”

That night, we both had too much to drink while the kids were sleeping. I opened up too much—shared parts of the past that made me who I am. His reaction? Dismissive. He minimised the trauma I’d lived through, and it killed me a bit inside. I told him that, and we went to bed after yet another argument.

The next morning, he apologised.

We had a good day with the kids at the beach. He played with them in the sea, checked on me, thanked me constantly. Told me he loved me and loved our holiday.

This was more like it.

“I love you too,” I’d said—and I really felt it.

But I also felt scared. Because I knew… this was it now.

The rest of the summer holidays went quickly. I’d gone back to work, but Charlie started saying he didn’t like me working in the children’s home. He said it was unsafe. And I guess, with the shifts, it didn’t help.

I told him I’d worked in sales before and did well, and every time I was at work, he’d go on at me to apply for sales jobs. I suppose he had a point. It could be unsafe at times. And I did earn more in sales. But there was no enjoyment or passion there for me. Still, he made some valid arguments.

So I made the leap and handed in my notice.

A job had come up—a sales manager role—and with my experience, I knew I’d get it.

“I’m just going in now, I’ll call you after,” I said, walking to the office for the interview. Charlie was on the phone. He was always on the phone—unless he was away or out.

“Ok babe, you got this yeah.”

Two days later, the lovely manager called. “We’d love to offer you the position.”

I was standing in the garden at Charlie’s mum’s house in Norfolk. I’d brought him here for a funeral.

Well… at least that’s some good news, I thought.

I was staying at his mum’s while he went to the funeral. Later, I was supposed to collect them.

He was so drunk it was a struggle to get him out of the pub and into the car.

That’s what happens a lot at funerals, though. I can’t blame him.

I looked after him all night and told him I was there for him.

We drove home the next day. Charlie was basically living with me now.

There were some really good days.

The money issues still weren’t sorted—Charlie’s boss owed him a lot.

Turns out his boss liked to spend the wages on cocaine.

Charlie had gone to work in Ireland for two weeks, and it seemed like they all indulged in every way possible. The phone calls weren’t often, and when they came, they were concerning.

But since he’d been back, things were better.

Still, I felt like it had been years of me and Charlie—not just four months.

So, so much had happened.

And I could feel there was still so much more to come.