other friends but talk about Peter all the time.
As a family we were feeling more positive about Traceyâs frame of mind and we hoped her troubles were behind her. Little by little, like drops of rain over a parched landscape, her smile had returned. She was still not her old self, but it was a relief to see her so much better than she had been for the past nine months.
But this upturn wasnât to last. One night, about seven months after she met Peter, he was visiting and we were all waiting for her to come home. I was annoyed that she hadnât told anyone she would be home late. It was dark and getting cold. I was worried that she had had an accident. The weekend before she had lied to me, saying she had been late home because her bike had broken down when in fact she had been with friends. She also told me she had lost her bike licence and asked for money to get a new one, but I found it easily when I looked in her room. We had a minor row about the importance of honesty and letting people know if you were going to be late, so they didnât worry. I also confronted her about using drugs. She denied it.
âYouâve already lied to me, so how can I believe you?â I retorted.
âSo have me tested, then,â she snapped, sticking out her chin.
Now, just three days later, she was late again without letting anyone know where she was. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard the throb of her motorbike coming up the driveway. She growled a cursory greeting wit hout looking up, then pushed past me. I could taste the anger at the back of my throat.
âWhere are your manners?â I shouted. âI thought we agreed youâd let me know where you are and if youâre going to be late.â
She barely looked at me, refusing to answer, which goaded me further.
âIâm sick to death of your behaviour,â I said, my voice raised. âI canât live with your mood swings and filthy temper any more. You know something? I donât even know how I can love you so much when I dislike you so intensely.â
âIâd better go,â said Peter, his eyes wide.
âSit down and shut up,â I yelled. He sat down meekly next to my mother.
âCome on, Carol, calm down. Letâs talk about this quietly,â my mother intervened.
Sick with frustration and anger, worn out by all the recent problems with Tracey and guilt-ridden that I didnât seem to be able to help her, I turned on my mother too.
âStay out of this, Iâm sick of you always defending her!â
Tracey glared at me as though I had two heads. Then suddenly she was screaming at me, her mouth wide, her eyes dark. All hell broke loose and I shrieked at her to get out. Fizzing with resentment and sullen defiance, she stomped through the back door. I could hear her sobbing in the garden. Peter made a move to go to her, but I told him to leave her be. I was shaken and heartbroken that our relationship had reached this new low. My eyes prickled with tears and I went to my bedroom to lie awake most of the night.
In the early hours of the morning, I heard the back door open and foot steps coming towards my bedroom. Bedraggled, dirty and cold, Tracey padded softly to my side and gently kissed me.
âIâm sorry, Mom,â she said. I hugged her close for a moment or two.
âGet some sleep before you go to school, Trace. We can talk about everything this afternoon.â
Later that morning the school headmistress phoned me at the office to ask why Tracey wasnât at school. She had left for school at the normal time, so alarm bells started ringing. I phoned home, a few friends, her extra-science teacher, with whom she had a good relationship. I thought Tracey might have confided in her about what was troubling her. No one knew where she was.
Tracey had run away again, I was sure of it. I hurried home and went through her room, but she had removed all her friendsâ telephone
As a family we were feeling more positive about Traceyâs frame of mind and we hoped her troubles were behind her. Little by little, like drops of rain over a parched landscape, her smile had returned. She was still not her old self, but it was a relief to see her so much better than she had been for the past nine months.
But this upturn wasnât to last. One night, about seven months after she met Peter, he was visiting and we were all waiting for her to come home. I was annoyed that she hadnât told anyone she would be home late. It was dark and getting cold. I was worried that she had had an accident. The weekend before she had lied to me, saying she had been late home because her bike had broken down when in fact she had been with friends. She also told me she had lost her bike licence and asked for money to get a new one, but I found it easily when I looked in her room. We had a minor row about the importance of honesty and letting people know if you were going to be late, so they didnât worry. I also confronted her about using drugs. She denied it.
âYouâve already lied to me, so how can I believe you?â I retorted.
âSo have me tested, then,â she snapped, sticking out her chin.
Now, just three days later, she was late again without letting anyone know where she was. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we heard the throb of her motorbike coming up the driveway. She growled a cursory greeting wit hout looking up, then pushed past me. I could taste the anger at the back of my throat.
âWhere are your manners?â I shouted. âI thought we agreed youâd let me know where you are and if youâre going to be late.â
She barely looked at me, refusing to answer, which goaded me further.
âIâm sick to death of your behaviour,â I said, my voice raised. âI canât live with your mood swings and filthy temper any more. You know something? I donât even know how I can love you so much when I dislike you so intensely.â
âIâd better go,â said Peter, his eyes wide.
âSit down and shut up,â I yelled. He sat down meekly next to my mother.
âCome on, Carol, calm down. Letâs talk about this quietly,â my mother intervened.
Sick with frustration and anger, worn out by all the recent problems with Tracey and guilt-ridden that I didnât seem to be able to help her, I turned on my mother too.
âStay out of this, Iâm sick of you always defending her!â
Tracey glared at me as though I had two heads. Then suddenly she was screaming at me, her mouth wide, her eyes dark. All hell broke loose and I shrieked at her to get out. Fizzing with resentment and sullen defiance, she stomped through the back door. I could hear her sobbing in the garden. Peter made a move to go to her, but I told him to leave her be. I was shaken and heartbroken that our relationship had reached this new low. My eyes prickled with tears and I went to my bedroom to lie awake most of the night.
In the early hours of the morning, I heard the back door open and foot steps coming towards my bedroom. Bedraggled, dirty and cold, Tracey padded softly to my side and gently kissed me.
âIâm sorry, Mom,â she said. I hugged her close for a moment or two.
âGet some sleep before you go to school, Trace. We can talk about everything this afternoon.â
Later that morning the school headmistress phoned me at the office to ask why Tracey wasnât at school. She had left for school at the normal time, so alarm bells started ringing. I phoned home, a few friends, her extra-science teacher, with whom she had a good relationship. I thought Tracey might have confided in her about what was troubling her. No one knew where she was.
Tracey had run away again, I was sure of it. I hurried home and went through her room, but she had removed all her friendsâ telephone
Similar Books
