Page 143 of Almost Ours

Dad glares at me. “See? This is what I mean. I try to be honest with you, and you make your feelings my problem.”

I wave a frustrated hand towards him. “I’ve barely said anything.”

“Your mother worries herself sick over you, trying to work out whether you’re depressed, angry, grieving or about to do something reckless. Do you have any idea how draining that is?”

My mother hasn’t spoken to me in months, couldn’t be bothered to be here when I got back, and is going away for Christmas, leaving me in a monolith to her favourite son. My mother couldn’t give two shits about me. “I imagine it’s very draining.”

“Good. Then you know to make this easy for her.”

“Sure.”

“And keep your shit in check.”

“I will.”

I’ve got nothing but single words. Whatever gets me out of this kitchen and away from where I’m not wanted. Mum never used to be like this, even if dad has always been a prick. She used to love me just as much as she loved James.

At least I think she did.

There are photos of the three of us everywhere from when we were little, Mum crouched between us with an arm around each of our shoulders, kissing whichever head was closest while we tried to wriggle away. She came to matches, packed our lunches, sat through parents’ evenings and drove us wherever we needed to go. When I was ill she’d sleep on the floor beside my bed because I hated being left alone, and if Dad took a joke too far she was usually the one who told him to pack it in.

This home is nothing like that now.

I lift my gaze to my dad’s. “Do I need to know anything else?”

He gives me a dirty look. “No.”

“Right,” I point over my shoulder. “I’ll go and unpack.”

“Great.” He half-sneers. “Just keep in mind that your mother is trying.”

Trying to avoid me, more like. “Yeah.”

I leave him there with his whiskey and head back through the house, keeping my eyes on the floor because everywhere else there’s James. James on the walls. James in frames. James in every version of this place where Mum could still stand to look at one of her sons without wishing he was the other.

Fuck me.

It feels like everything has been scraped out of me with a blunt spoon, and shell is going to have to survive here, alone, for weeks.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Thursday

December 24th 2015

Joshua:

RUBY (22:00): Hey, are you okay? I’ve been texting and calling but I haven’t heard from you? I’m worried x

RUBY (22:26): Some sign of life would be good. Just shoot me a text to let me know you’re okay. X

I know I should answer her, I just can’t. I’ve spent the last few months keeping her away from the shitty parts of my life because we couldn’t be more different if we tried.

She has this tiny council flat where everybody is constantly in each other’s way, her mum kisses her forehead while she’s trying to eat and Oscar can’t walk through a room without winding her up, while I’ve come home to a house big enough that I’ve managed to go nearly four entire days without seeing either of my parents for longer than five minutes. It’s Christmas Eve and we could all be living in separate fucking postcodes, which probably should’ve been enough to stop me coming back in the first place, but the hopeful prat I am, I thought it might be different this time.

The phone buzzes again against the wood of my bedside table and I reach across to turn it over.

RUBY (22:31): Josh please. You’re freaking me out now x