infrequently, they are said to last a lifetime, to burn in my head like a beacon in case I forget who she is and what she means to me. When Mum begs in her own quiet way, she is begging me not to do that thing I could do that would replace her. When Mum pleads and asks me not to leave her, and it probably is once in a blue moon, she is imploring me not to look for my biological parents. She doesn’t want me to find the woman who gave birth to me. To her, it’s not about me needing to find people who look like me, those who could hold the pieces that complete the puzzle of the quirks of my personality or adding another branch to my family tree that could help me to stop feeling like I’m from nowhere and could be from somewhere. To her, it’s a source of unknown terror and anxiety.
Mum doesn’t have Dad any more so the thought of me finding another mother, maybe half-siblings and maybe even finding another father, is frightening to her. Her fears have been heightened, cranked up to a level nearing hysteria now Dad isn’t here to reassure her she wouldn’t be replaced. He was good at that, at calming her fears and encouraging her to accept any decisions I made.
Even then,
even then
, it’s always been an unspoken agreement that I wouldn’t do it while she was alive. Me moving to Brighton, where I was born, must have pushed the panic button in her mind. She must have been convinced that I was about to renege on our deal. Her fears are mingled, like dye in water, with her grief and uncertainty about the future.
I look over at the cup sitting beside my green, many-pocketed bag. I’m not enjoying this very much if it’s a cappuccino kind of day. Shame really, as Tyler the coffee man’s cappuccino is very good.
I bring myself back to my mother and to what she wants me to do. ‘I promise, Mum,’ I state. Well, what else am I going to say to the woman who gave me everything, especially now that I have no one else but her.
With Seth, April 2015, Leeds
‘I’m so sorry about your dad,’ Seth said.
He’d been saying this repeatedly. I guessed it was his way of trying to make himself believe it – if he kept saying it, it might, in one of the repetitions, become a fact in his mind. Seth and Dad were similar kinds of people: laidback, fiercely protective, generous with their time and affection.
We moved through the darkness in our flat, both heading for the bedroom to strip off our funeral clothes, get into something else, anything else but these black garments.
I’d offered to stay with Mum, of course, but after the wake, she wanted to be alone. We stayed to clean up, loitering and tidying as much as possible because we were both reluctant to go home. When I left I knew that would be it. I would be admitting my time there with Dad had come to an end and I couldn’t bear for that to be true right then.
Instead of taking my clothes off, I collapsed on to the bed, flat on my back, a starfish out of water, staring up at the ceiling. It reminded me of the picture of Seth from when we’d first moved in here. He’d starfished on the bed and I had taken a snap of him. Then we’d lain together on the bed and Seth had held the camera up to take a photo of us together: two loved-up starfish in their new home.
Seth sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes, which we’d never normally wear in the house, let alone into the bedroom. I felt the motion of him loosening his tie, releasing his top button. ‘Shall I make a coffee?’ he asked. ‘Or do you want something stronger? I think there’s some port left.’
‘No, stay here a minute.’ Maybe longer. Maybe for ever. Maybe if we stayed where we were for ever, nothing would change. Everything had to change now Dad was … now we’d reached this stage. Maybe if we stayed here, though, maybe if I didn’t let Seth out of my sight, nothing else would have to change.
He stretched his long body beside me, stroked his fingers down my face, tucked my hair
Mum doesn’t have Dad any more so the thought of me finding another mother, maybe half-siblings and maybe even finding another father, is frightening to her. Her fears have been heightened, cranked up to a level nearing hysteria now Dad isn’t here to reassure her she wouldn’t be replaced. He was good at that, at calming her fears and encouraging her to accept any decisions I made.
Even then,
even then
, it’s always been an unspoken agreement that I wouldn’t do it while she was alive. Me moving to Brighton, where I was born, must have pushed the panic button in her mind. She must have been convinced that I was about to renege on our deal. Her fears are mingled, like dye in water, with her grief and uncertainty about the future.
I look over at the cup sitting beside my green, many-pocketed bag. I’m not enjoying this very much if it’s a cappuccino kind of day. Shame really, as Tyler the coffee man’s cappuccino is very good.
I bring myself back to my mother and to what she wants me to do. ‘I promise, Mum,’ I state. Well, what else am I going to say to the woman who gave me everything, especially now that I have no one else but her.
With Seth, April 2015, Leeds
‘I’m so sorry about your dad,’ Seth said.
He’d been saying this repeatedly. I guessed it was his way of trying to make himself believe it – if he kept saying it, it might, in one of the repetitions, become a fact in his mind. Seth and Dad were similar kinds of people: laidback, fiercely protective, generous with their time and affection.
We moved through the darkness in our flat, both heading for the bedroom to strip off our funeral clothes, get into something else, anything else but these black garments.
I’d offered to stay with Mum, of course, but after the wake, she wanted to be alone. We stayed to clean up, loitering and tidying as much as possible because we were both reluctant to go home. When I left I knew that would be it. I would be admitting my time there with Dad had come to an end and I couldn’t bear for that to be true right then.
Instead of taking my clothes off, I collapsed on to the bed, flat on my back, a starfish out of water, staring up at the ceiling. It reminded me of the picture of Seth from when we’d first moved in here. He’d starfished on the bed and I had taken a snap of him. Then we’d lain together on the bed and Seth had held the camera up to take a photo of us together: two loved-up starfish in their new home.
Seth sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes, which we’d never normally wear in the house, let alone into the bedroom. I felt the motion of him loosening his tie, releasing his top button. ‘Shall I make a coffee?’ he asked. ‘Or do you want something stronger? I think there’s some port left.’
‘No, stay here a minute.’ Maybe longer. Maybe for ever. Maybe if we stayed where we were for ever, nothing would change. Everything had to change now Dad was … now we’d reached this stage. Maybe if we stayed here, though, maybe if I didn’t let Seth out of my sight, nothing else would have to change.
He stretched his long body beside me, stroked his fingers down my face, tucked my hair
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