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7th June, 1955
It's raining in Liverpool. We'll only been visiting with our family for a bit in the city, coming to visit Mary Smith who just lost her husband. It was a tragic phone call, I remember mother crumpling to the floor and crying till her eyes couldn't anymore, as if she'd lost my dad. Her and George were close I presume, and I can't get the image of him out of my head, from the last time we visited.
We don't really visit as often as we should, but we try our best. Mum's busy with working and dad's probably out cheating on her. He's known for doing that, and it's our little secret. He doesn't really seem to have a care for mum's feelings.
I remember the ride here, how quiet my parents were. In fact, the entire car ride was silent. I would catch mum looking at me through the review mirror every now and again to see if I was alright, and I'd play me catching her as staring out the front windshield. Our car is old, and the only sound heard was the rattling of the semi-broken window of mum and dad's last fight. That was another thing that was notorious in our household.
George's face corroded my mind until we pulled up to a small, cramped looking house. There was a barred gate in the front, with a small, golden sign. Mendips.
When we had collected our stuff from the car, we seemed as crowded as the house while mum knocked on the door. I vaguely remembered Mary, her face as cloudy as the image of George that swirled in my mind. I didn't want to see his dead body lying lifeless in the casket tomorrow, I really didn't. It would only bring back what we had, I suppose. I know it would make me cry.
Mary opened the door, and my mother dropped her bags to collect the dead-looking woman into her arms. They hugged for what seemed like ages, me and dad sharing bored looks. We were tired and it was obvious. Driving from Manchester down to Liverpool is exhausting.
From behind Mary, a boy looking about my age stepped from around her. He had glasses, like mine, except his were round like a granny's. Mine were thick and square, and ugly. His nose was pointed, his eyes looked puffy, but I could see the brown orbs staring at me, his thin lips forming a tight line. He looked as bad as Mary.
"I'm so happy you've come, Emily," she greeted my mother with a sniffle, nodding towards my dad, "Martin."
"How wonderful to see you again, Mimi," my mother agreed, grabbing her forearms. They gazed at each other as if to revive all the years they'd gone without seeing each other. Seeing Mary made the visions come back of when I was little. For some reason, I seemed to remember 12 years back in '43, when it was my birthday and my parents took me down to Mendips to meet Mimi and George. George immediately grabbed me and swung me around, hugging me as tight as he could and tickling under my arms, making me laugh. I remember Mimi smiling and giving my cheek a small kiss before George whisked me away again. He was like another father to me. I'd never experienced something like that with my own parents, them working all the time and never having time to actually see me. I never got what George gave me; fatherly love.
