Doncaster [Louis Tomlinson]

13: Oblivious

this chapter is actually somewhat early what is this

----------------------------------------------------------

The little blue Clio kept appearing smaller and smaller until it finally rounded the corner, out of sight. I took a deep breath before using the spare key to unlock the door. The inside of the house was silent, so I wondered if mum had gone to bed extra early. I gently nudged the door backwards until I heard a little click to signify that it was locked. Only then was it acceptable for me to jump in to the air and let my arms flail about in what I called a ‘happy dance’.

            I was utterly smitten. I propped myself against the door and pinched my nose, still not convinced that the events that had just took place weren’t a dream. I even pinched myself. It was impossible to hide the ear to ear grin on my face as I ascended the stairs, my mind racing with all the things I would say to him tomorrow at school.

            I headed towards my mum’s room, just to make sure that she was in bed -- considering the rest of the house showed no signs of life. I poked the door open enough so I could peer in. I was surprised to find the bed sheets still as pristine and untouched as this morning. My grin immediately dropped, and things such as Louis, hot chocolate and kisses on cold winter nights fled from my mind, only to be replaced with worry.

            I pushed the door all the way open and took cautious steps. “Mum?” I called. My head jerked around in all different directions, hoping that I’d see her standing by the wardrobe and that everything would be okay again. I tiptoed over to the bedside table, where the lamp was left on, illuminating the otherwise dark room. It gave the space a creepy touch. Something caught my eye. It was perched on the wooden surface, next to a digital clock which read 8:22 (We’d taken a little longer than expected) in green lines.

            A picture; evidently taken a while back due to its retro appearance. I recognised my mother -- she wore a turtleneck and Capri pants, and her hair seemed to be suffering an 80’s hangover. She was holding a baby, who couldn’t be anyone else but me. I was wearing some sort of striped jumpsuit; half looking at the camera but not smiling at it. And behind us, with their hand on mum’s shoulder, was somebody that wasn’t familiar in any form.  All except one tiny detail -- the colour of their eyes.

            I could presume that it was my dad; I’m quite bright, you know. And the clue was that we had the exact same light brown eyes that my mother did not possess. I’d always known that my father would have this eye colour, and I was always bitter over the fact that I didn’t receive the vibrant green eyes of my mother. I surveyed the photograph for a moment. We looked like one happy family; frozen in time.

            Suddenly, the main light switched on. I swivelled my head around in fear so quickly it made my neck hurt, still grasping the picture firmly in my hands. I was relieved to see my mother in the doorway, looking at me unsurely.

            “Where were you?” I pressed

            “Oh, ah” her expression seemed to soften and she rubbed her forehead to display her exhaustion “There was an emergency at the office.”

            “Did it all work out?”

            “Oh, yeah. It’s fine now. I’m about to drop-“

            “Is this dad?” I held up the picture, pointing at my father’s fixed face. I knew the answer already, but I wanted to hear it from mum’s lips. I needed some sort of assurance after all the absence of information of my paternal side for the last seventeen years.