We’d both stopped crying by the time the key scratched in the lock. Dougie pushed through the front door, banging into our huddle on the floor. I can’t imagine what we looked like, what the house must’ve looked like.
“My blood’s not real,” I whispered. “I’ve been filming.”
He hid his shock well and just crouched down and put his hand on Mum’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m back.”
“Dougie?”
His appearance made Mum sob again. She reached out, her arms wobbling, and he fell into her embrace and started crying too.
“I love you, please, we both love you so much.”
Instinctively I stood to give them some time alone and walked back to the trashed kitchen. It looked like a crime scene. Blood everywhere, china everywhere. I pushed debris off the breakfast bar – the same breakfast bar I’d sat at every Saturday morning while Dad whistled and made pancakes – and put my head on the cool surface. I closed my eyes and stayed like that until I heard Dougie cough.
I looked up.
“I’ve booked a taxi. I’m going to take her to hospital.”
I nodded. So glad it wasn’t me who had to call the taxi, to make the decisions. So grateful there was someone else here. Someone else but me finally here.
“You can come? Or, I guess, maybe you want to clean up? It might be hard for her to come back to this.”
“You’re right. I’ll stay here.”
“Are you okay?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
We smiled at each other. Then, “Dougie?” floated round the door.
“You’d better go.”
I heard them shuffle out to wait for the car. Mum wincing, “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” with each step she took. Then the door clicked closed and I was left, just me. To digest whatever the hell had just happened. That could never be taken away.
Harry.
I picked my way through to the living room where my phone lay dormant on the upturned sofa. I was expecting multiple missed calls. I’d been ages. He must be worried.
Just one message though.
Harry: Hey baby, where u at?
I’m not sure what part of my brain was capable of thinking, Why hasn’t he called? considering everything that had happened. But, part of my brain did think that. And I found myself constructing a melodramatic reply.
Audrey: Can’t come. Things really bad here with Mum. Proper drama x
I left it dangling like a carrot, for him to ask me what was up. So I could go into detail and he could come running over and let me cry on him and him tell me it was all going to be okay.
He didn’t message back though.
The house was quiet. The only noise was the sound of paint dripping onto the floor. I surveyed the scene around me, trying to work out where to start. I dug in the cupboard for a paintbrush and got to work just spreading the puddles of paint out a bit. Before they dried into pools that would be impossible to chip off. The paint had splashed mainly across one wall, with only small splatters on the other three. So, when I’d finished, it looked more like a badly done “feature wall” than a post-divorce mental health crisis. I hoovered up as much glass as I could with the nozzle attachment and then spread the paint around on the floorboards – covering up a lot of the blood. It was pitch black outside though I had no idea what time it was. My phone buzzed and my heart jumped ten feet.
Dougie: Waiting in A&E. She’s not cut a tendon, so it should be okay. We’re going to be here a while though. Are you okay? X
Relief flowed through me and my hands shook as I tapped out my reply.
Audrey: I’m fine. Tell her I love her. See you when you get home x
I put my phone down and looked around again, figuring out what to do next. I got a bin bag out, crouched down and picked big shards of glass off the destroyed cabinet.
“Ouch.” Blood appeared on my finger. I shoved it into my mouth to stop the bleeding. I picked up the offending piece of glass with my spare hand and saw something behind it, nestled in a pile of crushed ornaments.
Mum and Dad’s wedding photo.
She’d never taken it down. We’d argued so many times about why. But, after tonight, I understood. She’d always believed he’d come back. This photo was like leaving the windows open for Peter Pan. I traced their faces with an unbleeding finger, smiling sadly. Mum looked so hip. The same blunt fringe as Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday. Dad so suave in his suit. They looked so…happy. Raw, unpacked happiness. This particular shot especially. An unposed one, their heads together, laughing outside the church. Tears tickled at my eyes as I stroked Mum’s face through the glass. How could a couple so besotted with each other end up like this? Paint and blood and graffiti and heartbreak and jealousy and screaming? It made no sense. I put it down and looked up at the wall. At Mum’s angry message adorning most of it. Something clicked inside of me, like someone had pressed a button labelled Activate. I stood up, my fists clenched, and I turned.
Then I ran out of the front door, smashing it closed behind me.