The Meeting

Aoife

There is an age at which children aren't aware of what is going on, an age when things can be discussed without their little brains picking up on tones, what age is that? Who knows? I don't recalled a point that I suddenly developed a memory, or a time that I don't remember. I feel like I remember everything, like the Christmas Day photograph that hangs in a house that now belongs to Janice, one she still hasn't removed. Do I remember it though? Or do I feel like I remember it because I have spent years admiring the smiles of my parents and I?

I do, however, remember the first time I silently worried about a topic I wasn't meant to hear my parents discussing. Money. I was just 10 years old and sitting in my bedroom speaking to my friend Bethany through our radios that my parents had bought us for Christmas.

— — — —

Flashback

"We can do that tomorrow. Over." I told Bethany.
"Can I come to your house after school? Over." Bethany's voice crackled back through the speaker of the radio in my hand.
"Do you read me? Over." She repeated, our phrases picked up from Spy Kids.

I had heard Bethany, but my ears were straining to listen to my parents talking downstairs. Their voices weren't raised, but something was off. I think it was the tone that I picked up on first, the stressful tone of my Mum's voice.

"They're saying it could last years. What about our repayments? No one will buy from you during the recession!" I heard my Mum say.
"We've got food on the table, try not to worry." My Dad told her, looking back on it now I'm not sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.
"For now."
"We can always downsize." Dad announced.
"Move house? We can't do that! Alex will be devastated." My Mum exclaimed.
"If it comes to it, we'll explain it to her. She doesn't have to know for now." My Dad said through a hushed voice.

"Ally, do you read me? Over." Bethany snapped me back into my childhood.
"Sorry Bethany, got to go. This is code red. Over."
"Rodger that. Over." Bethany said firmly.

I didn't confront my parents; not for quite some time anyway. Instead I spent weeks fretting about the idea that I was moving house. What does downsize mean? Will I still have a bedroom? A bed? I heard that Alice Wishart's parents made her move into a car. Will we live in a car? Do we keep the dog? The thoughts spun around in my head, completely taking over my developing brain. I was at an age that meant stories travelled around school, kids were being put into counselling because their parents had split up over money, I fretted that my parents would split too.

It all came to a head when the teacher told me to concentrate. I tried to focus myself again, never being one to get into trouble, but my mind was so fixated on worrying about my life as I knew it. After three attempts to focus my attention on school work, Mrs Davis gave me a time out. At the end of the time out, she asked me what I was daydreaming about, her face dropping as I began to cry.

"I can't tell you because you'll tell my Mum." I sobbed.
"You can tell me anything, Alex" She rubbed my arm to comfort me.
"My parents are getting divorced, we're moving out and going to live in our car like Alice Wishart. I think we're going to kill the dog too." I blurted out.

Of course, Mrs Davis did tell my Mum as I expected. I was angry when my Mum told me, but relieved when she informed me that we weren't going to live in our car, nor were we killing the dog, and that her and Dad were still very much in love. She explained what a recession meant to me, telling me that we would be fine if we just lowered our living standards. She told me that we might have to start going out on family trips less often, maybe not go on a summer holiday for a few years, but that if we worked together her and Dad would do everything they could to keep life as normal. And that's what they did.