“Don’t worry, I’ll look after her. She’ll be fine now that I’m here.”
Lorraine watched as Sonia relaxed, allowing Frank to take control. Jo, on the other hand, now seemed more shaken than Sonia.
Lorraine frowned, staring at her sister. “Shall we go then?” she suggested.
It was a moment before Jo spoke. “Yes, sorry,” she replied.
When she still didn’t make a move, Lorraine took her by the hands, pulled her upright, and guided her toward the door, wondering what on earth had upset her sister.
5
The walls of his bedroom seemed to be closing in on him, pressing down on his life, making everything seem unbearable. The room was a mess, he knew that, but he couldn’t be bothered to sort it out. There were other things on his mind.
Freddie went over to his bed and swept the pile of clothes and wet towels onto the floor with his arm. He lifted the corner of the mattress and pulled out his laptop from underneath. He’d started hiding it a few months ago, when things got really bad. His mum was always moaning about the state of his room, using it as an excuse to nose about, he reckoned, prying into his phone, his diary—except he’d given up writing that long ago. He’d hate it if she somehow managed to get on his computer, if he’d accidentally left it logged on.
He shoved a stack of dirty plates and mugs aside on his desk,clearing a space for the laptop. His heart began to thump as he waited for it to start up. It was like a drug—he had to know, had to get his fix, even though it was slowly, surely destroying him. His palms became sweaty, his fists balled up and tense. Why him? he wondered. Why wasn’t he allowed to enjoy life like everyone else?
A lump filled his throat, but he swallowed it down. He was beyond crying about it now.
First he checked his emails, laughing when he saw one from a gap-year company trying to sell him some working holiday in South America. Losers like him didn’t do things like that. What had he been thinking, signing up for information when they’d had that stupid talk at school? Some kids in his year had already gone off on their adventures—teaching English in China, kayaking stretches of the world’s longest rivers, helping to build schools in poor African countries. What was he doing with his life?
Freddie stared around his room again. He hadn’t even bothered to open the curtains in weeks.
His fist came down on the desk, sending a plate to the floor. It cracked in half.
He deleted all the spam emails and hovered the cursor over the only important one in his inbox. It was from Malcolm Wade, his stepdad, the only man who’d ever been a father to him. Except he wasn’t in his life anymore. What was the point of even reading it?
He still couldn’t believe he’d left. When it happened, his mum told him that they’d just grown apart, that it was best for all concerned if Malc lived in London near his work.
All concerned . He’d thought about that.
Did his mum think he was stupid? He’d known something was up for a long time, seen the signs, the little changes in them both—his mum always in a cheerful mood (except when Malc was home on the weekends) and Malc increasingly anxious, turning up unannounced, drinking too much. But with everything else going on in his life—exams; this shit —he’d not been able to do anything aboutit. He wished now that he could take time back, help them sort it out. Malc might still be here then, perhaps notice something was wrong, maybe give him some advice.
Freddie stared at the computer screen, idly drifting onto eBay to see if that hard drive he’d had his eye on was still there, then going to check what was on TV later. He didn’t take any of it in.
Finally, there was nothing for it. He had to know. Had to know what had been going on. That’s what they thrived on, he realized. The certainty that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he’d never be able to ignore it, walk away from it, act like he didn’t
Lorraine watched as Sonia relaxed, allowing Frank to take control. Jo, on the other hand, now seemed more shaken than Sonia.
Lorraine frowned, staring at her sister. “Shall we go then?” she suggested.
It was a moment before Jo spoke. “Yes, sorry,” she replied.
When she still didn’t make a move, Lorraine took her by the hands, pulled her upright, and guided her toward the door, wondering what on earth had upset her sister.
5
The walls of his bedroom seemed to be closing in on him, pressing down on his life, making everything seem unbearable. The room was a mess, he knew that, but he couldn’t be bothered to sort it out. There were other things on his mind.
Freddie went over to his bed and swept the pile of clothes and wet towels onto the floor with his arm. He lifted the corner of the mattress and pulled out his laptop from underneath. He’d started hiding it a few months ago, when things got really bad. His mum was always moaning about the state of his room, using it as an excuse to nose about, he reckoned, prying into his phone, his diary—except he’d given up writing that long ago. He’d hate it if she somehow managed to get on his computer, if he’d accidentally left it logged on.
He shoved a stack of dirty plates and mugs aside on his desk,clearing a space for the laptop. His heart began to thump as he waited for it to start up. It was like a drug—he had to know, had to get his fix, even though it was slowly, surely destroying him. His palms became sweaty, his fists balled up and tense. Why him? he wondered. Why wasn’t he allowed to enjoy life like everyone else?
A lump filled his throat, but he swallowed it down. He was beyond crying about it now.
First he checked his emails, laughing when he saw one from a gap-year company trying to sell him some working holiday in South America. Losers like him didn’t do things like that. What had he been thinking, signing up for information when they’d had that stupid talk at school? Some kids in his year had already gone off on their adventures—teaching English in China, kayaking stretches of the world’s longest rivers, helping to build schools in poor African countries. What was he doing with his life?
Freddie stared around his room again. He hadn’t even bothered to open the curtains in weeks.
His fist came down on the desk, sending a plate to the floor. It cracked in half.
He deleted all the spam emails and hovered the cursor over the only important one in his inbox. It was from Malcolm Wade, his stepdad, the only man who’d ever been a father to him. Except he wasn’t in his life anymore. What was the point of even reading it?
He still couldn’t believe he’d left. When it happened, his mum told him that they’d just grown apart, that it was best for all concerned if Malc lived in London near his work.
All concerned . He’d thought about that.
Did his mum think he was stupid? He’d known something was up for a long time, seen the signs, the little changes in them both—his mum always in a cheerful mood (except when Malc was home on the weekends) and Malc increasingly anxious, turning up unannounced, drinking too much. But with everything else going on in his life—exams; this shit —he’d not been able to do anything aboutit. He wished now that he could take time back, help them sort it out. Malc might still be here then, perhaps notice something was wrong, maybe give him some advice.
Freddie stared at the computer screen, idly drifting onto eBay to see if that hard drive he’d had his eye on was still there, then going to check what was on TV later. He didn’t take any of it in.
Finally, there was nothing for it. He had to know. Had to know what had been going on. That’s what they thrived on, he realized. The certainty that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he’d never be able to ignore it, walk away from it, act like he didn’t
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