Chapter 3
542 Words
3
As soon as I walk through the front door, Mum calls me into the living room. I sigh impatiently, but go to her. She’s sitting on the couch, dressed in her green nurse’s uniform, her face looking even puffier than this morning, and her skin a strange shade of purple.
“How was college?” she asks, patting the space next to her, prompting me to sit down. I remain hovering in the living-room doorway. I can’t seem to conjure up the will to join her.
“Fine,” I reply, fiddling with the latch on my bag. “Usual stuff.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know what the usual stuff is because you never talk to me.”
“I’ve just got a lot of homework to do.”
Tony enters the living room, holding a can of cider, his wide shoulder brushing past mine. I wince a little. “What, you don’t have two minutes to talk to your mother?” he asks, his voice a little slurry.
I drop my bag on the floor and push it against the wall. “Fine. How was your day, Mum?”
“That’s it?” Tony asks with a grimace. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“Leave it, Tony,” Mum says, quietly. “It’s all right.”
He shakes his head and takes a sip of cider. “No, it’s not, Jane. She owes you an apology.”
“For what?” I bark, revisiting this morning’s events in my head. Is she pissed off with me because I didn’t slide across the floor on my knees, screaming hallelujah that wanker has knocked you up?
“You know what me and your mother have been through, so a little more positivity would have been nice this morning, instead of rushing out of the house like that.”
“I had to catch the bus.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You had a few minutes. This baby means everything to us, so if you want to stay a part of this family, then you’d better start acting like you give a shit.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’re not my father, so you don’t get to tell me what to do.”
He takes a step towards me, his bloodshot eyes wide with rage. God, I’d love to ram my knee into his balls. Just once. “At least I’ve had the decency to stick around. Pay the bills. Put food on the table. So you better fall in line.”
“Or what?” I ask. “You’ll hit me again?”
Tony doesn’t retort, just brings his head closer to mine, his cider-breath making me want to vomit.
“Look, everyone needs to calm down,” Mum says, getting up off the couch.
“She’s got to learn respect, Jane,” he says, turning to Mum. “You let her walk all over you.”
“Look, it’s hard to get excited for a baby that may never get here. You’ve had nine miscarriages, Mum. When are you going to stand up to this prick and tell him enough is enough?”
Tony swings his arm to slap me, but I grab his wrist. With a glare of disbelief, he struggles to free himself, so he drops the can of cider on the carpet and tries with the other arm. I snag it and then push his arms into his chest as I step back.
I catch a glimpse of Mum before I storm out of the living room. She’s just standing behind Tony, her hand on his arm, trying to tame the beast. Mrs peacemaker all over again.
Holding back a stream of tears, I flee the house.
Maybe I won’t be back this time. I’ll quit college. Get a job. Live a normal life.
Screw the pair of them!
Part III
SEAN RICHARDS
- Writer
