All I Ever Wanted

Chapter Four

We pull into the car park. I see a man coming out of the building; he's hurrying, breathless and seems oddly familiar... oh! It's the therapist. The car we're in happens to belong to him. Oops. This isn't going to end well.

I open the car door and sprint silently down the path. I stand a distance away so I can watch; this is going to be hilarious! Mike looks over in my direction, he sees me and a confused expression crosses his face, while he's looking I point towards the approaching man. Then Mike looks from me to the man and back again. It's comical to watch as it dawns on him what's happening. His face becomes a mask of horror.

I can hear voices but the words are incomprehensible. But I can tell by the way the therapists face is flushed that he is yelling. Mike remains unfazed. John has gone the palest shade of white and he hurriedly runs away. The therapist looks angry and bewildered.

I'm somewhere between laughing and crying. I know that this is a serious situation and Mike and John could go to jail but somehow I don't think the therapist will call the police. What makes me so sure is the recognition in his eyes. He knows that it's partly his fault. Handcuffing two unwilling people together is the perfect way to lose his job.

I stand in front of an escaping John. I put my index finger up in a gesture to stop. Grabbing his phone out of his coat pocket and flipping through his contacts I absentmindedly pull the knots out of my hair. My curly, long, blond locks are virtually untameable. I find the contact in his phone labelled Lauren and text her. I write as if it were John sending the text.

Then I point John in the right direction. "Walk in that direction until you reach the church." Just along the road is an old church. My grandfather is buried there. I sometimes visit the grave but I never really knew my grandfather. I must have been only a tiny baby when he died so I can't remember him. Sometimes I feel a bit guilty about that, I wish I had at least one memory because then he would seem more real to me.

I saunter past Mike who is getting yelled at. The therapist sees me and spins around with wide eyes. He hesitates, unsure what to do. That moment of hesitation is enough time for me and Mike to escape his judging glare.

I run. Possibly faster than I have ever ran before. My legs stretch in long strides, the wind ruffles my hair and I love every moment. I'd run forever. As it is I run until my throat is on fire, my tongue is dry and my legs can't take it anymore. I collapse in a heap on the grass and take huge gulps of air.

Mike is a couple of meters behind me and he's as red as a tomato. He flops down next to me panting for breath. I'd laugh at him but I don't have enough air and I don't look much better. When my breathing becomes something closer to normal I speak, "That was fun!" It comes out a bit breathless at the end.

Mike snorts, "Sure, fun." he says sarcastically.

I roll my eyes but I'm not really annoyed. The sun beams brightly down and I lie comfortably on the grass. I should go home but I don't want to. Here I feel free. At home I feel trapped. I love my sister though, but sometimes it feels like too much responsibility. The happy smile slips off my face.

Mike asks, "What's up?"

Sighing I tell him, "I've got to go home now."

He sits there contemplating the thought. He looks like he has another question on his mind but I don't ask what it is. I might not want to know.

I get up, wipe down my clothes and walk away. My arms dangle by my sides rubbing against my blue jeans. Mike's different to other adults I meet. I just can't put my finger on it.

I reach my house in a few minutes. The house has an upstairs and downstairs, just like every other house on the row. It also has a front and back garden decorated in flowers. Many are trampled and squished but there still beautiful. I open the white front door and call out, "Anyone home?" No answer. I walk through the house flipping on lights as I go. I walk through the hall which is decorated in a dull white paint. Some parts are lighter, where photographs used to hang. One or two have survived and still sit on the wall. I ascend the stairs and open the door to my bedroom. I share the bedroom with my sister, who is currently curled up on the bed. I can't see her face because she's hidden her head in her knees.

"Phoebe?" I ask. She looks up and I take in her puffy eyes, downturned lips, and tear stained cheeks. I stay calm and ask "What happened? What did she do?" even as I speak I'm crossing the room and hugging my little sister close.

She cries silently and her words come out in little gasps, "I stayed in my room after you left, just like you said. You were gone too long though. Mom came back and asked me where you were. She... she... I was scared Emma." She looks up at me with those big blue eyes. She looks at me like I have the power to fix everything, to make it all better. Maybe I can make it all better. A few soft words and lullaby to help her sleep is all it takes. But that doesn't stop the cause.

Because the reason my sisters crying and the reason I'm the one comforting her is my mother can't. Can't or won't. What happens is my mother goes out. Innocent enough. I'm going meet with some friends! She calls up to us. Then she slams the door, turns the key, and leaves.

We are too young to be left alone. I asked once why she didn't hire a babysitter. Too expensive she said. That made me feel horrible. Like my sister and I weren't worth the few pounds it cost to hire someone to keep us safe.

She always says she's going to meet some friends, and maybe she does. But that's not all she does. When she comes back her words are slurred and her coordination is off. When that happens I take my sister to her room and we stay there playing games until my mother falls asleep.

She never makes us tea or dinner on days like that, days like this. So when she's asleep we creep downstairs and make something to eat. Sometimes it's something fun, like popcorn sandwiches. Sometimes it's something sensible like spaghetti bolognese. Whenever we made something we used to burn it so we danced around in the hall with tea towels trying to stop the fire alarm from going off. Now were better at cooking, we never burn anything. We stuff our faces and slip happily into sleep.

Coming out of my deep thoughts I stroke Phoebe's hair gently. I mumble a lullaby in her ear. I'm probably too quiet to hear but she knows the words off by heart. I get through the first verse before we both fall into sleep.