pair of sturdy walking sandals she’d bought from a catalogue recently. We followed her out. I stood on
the drive while she looked quickly around at the yard and the flowerbeds and the pebbledash walls of Silverweed, and I thought,
Why don’t you look at
us
?
Sam stayed where he was, at the midpoint of the path.
Dad put his axe down, and came to wait behind Sam. Fiasco ran up and down the path with her head low, like she was in trouble.
‘I’ll ring every week, and write,’ Mum said. ‘And as soon as I’ve worked out a proper plan, we’ll talk about what’s going to happen next. This is
nothing to do with you. Remember that.’
She pulled me to her and kissed the side of my head, and told me not to worry. I was a teenager now, and I had my dad and my brother, and we were to look after each other. She said she needed to
do something for herself, but she’d be back, and she’d be
happy
.
‘I’m not leaving
you
, I love you,’ she whispered, but it didn’t make me feel better, because Dad was standing right there and she couldn’t say the same to
him.
She went to hold Sam but he shrank away. She looked at the ground where rain had pooled in the dips of our wonky paving stones. She nudged at the water with her toe.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘
Okay
.’
Her van was painted sky blue, and it was the only patch of colour in the yard, and I thought that if it had been sunny she wouldn’t be able to leave because it was so beautiful here
then.
She opened the door and got in, and it creaked like any other car door on any other day and I wanted to jump in the back and throw her stuff out onto the drive, but instead I watched as she got
the engine going, and struggled with her seatbelt, and waved very seriously, like she was taking the dog off to the vet’s to be given a lethal injection. And then she went.
Sam’s face was grey when I looked at him, and he was trembling, but his eyes were dry. The sound of her tyres passing over the rocks and stones on the lane was really loud for a few
seconds, maybe because we were all so stunned and then Sam ran onto the lane. He ran after her for a few seconds, then stopped and picked up a stone. He threw it, and it crashed against the van.
She didn’t stop.
‘Bitch!’ he shouted.
Dad had put his arm around me at some point, and he was trying not to let me know he was crying, and it was making my breathing so uneven that my whole diaphragm got out of synch. I
couldn’t believe she’d done it. She’d gone. I couldn’t understand what was happening.
‘Breathe,’ Dad said. ‘That’s it, breathe.’ And I thought I’d breathe a bit easier if Sam would stop acting so mental.
He crouched in the middle of the lane, his hands running over the stones like he was feeling the surface of the sea, and he had this awful expression on his face, like he didn’t even know
what he was doing.
I’d heard him shouting at her, the night before. The two of them had been sitting in his room, and out of nowhere I’d heard his voice.
‘If you aren’t leaving
us
, why can’t I come? If you’re
coming back
, why can’t I come too?’
When his door slammed, I went to have a look, and she was just standing outside his room, staring at the door.
‘
Sam
. Sam, come on, listen. Sam! Let me . . . Let me . . .’ she said, but he wouldn’t let her anything. He turned his music up.
She’d stared at the floor, and I could see from the way her shoulders moved that she was doing her breathing exercises. She did them every morning, cross-legged in the living room if it
was raining, in the garden if it was dry. It was another one of her new things.
After she’d driven off, we drank sweet tea at the kitchen table, but it felt wrong being together. We couldn’t look at each other. We ended up in our own rooms.
I re-read
The Darling Buds of May
because after a while it always stops me from crying. Later on, Dad bought chips for tea.
The next day came, and the next week,
the drive while she looked quickly around at the yard and the flowerbeds and the pebbledash walls of Silverweed, and I thought,
Why don’t you look at
us
?
Sam stayed where he was, at the midpoint of the path.
Dad put his axe down, and came to wait behind Sam. Fiasco ran up and down the path with her head low, like she was in trouble.
‘I’ll ring every week, and write,’ Mum said. ‘And as soon as I’ve worked out a proper plan, we’ll talk about what’s going to happen next. This is
nothing to do with you. Remember that.’
She pulled me to her and kissed the side of my head, and told me not to worry. I was a teenager now, and I had my dad and my brother, and we were to look after each other. She said she needed to
do something for herself, but she’d be back, and she’d be
happy
.
‘I’m not leaving
you
, I love you,’ she whispered, but it didn’t make me feel better, because Dad was standing right there and she couldn’t say the same to
him.
She went to hold Sam but he shrank away. She looked at the ground where rain had pooled in the dips of our wonky paving stones. She nudged at the water with her toe.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘
Okay
.’
Her van was painted sky blue, and it was the only patch of colour in the yard, and I thought that if it had been sunny she wouldn’t be able to leave because it was so beautiful here
then.
She opened the door and got in, and it creaked like any other car door on any other day and I wanted to jump in the back and throw her stuff out onto the drive, but instead I watched as she got
the engine going, and struggled with her seatbelt, and waved very seriously, like she was taking the dog off to the vet’s to be given a lethal injection. And then she went.
Sam’s face was grey when I looked at him, and he was trembling, but his eyes were dry. The sound of her tyres passing over the rocks and stones on the lane was really loud for a few
seconds, maybe because we were all so stunned and then Sam ran onto the lane. He ran after her for a few seconds, then stopped and picked up a stone. He threw it, and it crashed against the van.
She didn’t stop.
‘Bitch!’ he shouted.
Dad had put his arm around me at some point, and he was trying not to let me know he was crying, and it was making my breathing so uneven that my whole diaphragm got out of synch. I
couldn’t believe she’d done it. She’d gone. I couldn’t understand what was happening.
‘Breathe,’ Dad said. ‘That’s it, breathe.’ And I thought I’d breathe a bit easier if Sam would stop acting so mental.
He crouched in the middle of the lane, his hands running over the stones like he was feeling the surface of the sea, and he had this awful expression on his face, like he didn’t even know
what he was doing.
I’d heard him shouting at her, the night before. The two of them had been sitting in his room, and out of nowhere I’d heard his voice.
‘If you aren’t leaving
us
, why can’t I come? If you’re
coming back
, why can’t I come too?’
When his door slammed, I went to have a look, and she was just standing outside his room, staring at the door.
‘
Sam
. Sam, come on, listen. Sam! Let me . . . Let me . . .’ she said, but he wouldn’t let her anything. He turned his music up.
She’d stared at the floor, and I could see from the way her shoulders moved that she was doing her breathing exercises. She did them every morning, cross-legged in the living room if it
was raining, in the garden if it was dry. It was another one of her new things.
After she’d driven off, we drank sweet tea at the kitchen table, but it felt wrong being together. We couldn’t look at each other. We ended up in our own rooms.
I re-read
The Darling Buds of May
because after a while it always stops me from crying. Later on, Dad bought chips for tea.
The next day came, and the next week,
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