26 May 2012
10. Holly
“Mum, I’m going to be twenty next year, I’m old enough to be making my own decisions.” I explain to her knowing it’s not going to help.
She stands in the doorway holding onto it with her left hand which sports black nail polish which is chipped almost to the point of not being there at all. A lit cigarette hangs limply from her mouth, placed in a Dunhill holder to give her some semblance of class which her clothes have failed to give her for years. Her dirty blonde hair falls in all directions over an old, sea blue cashmere cardigan which she
Hasn’t taken off for three days and her legging clad legs are placed permanently in sheepskin Ugg boots. “I don’t understand why you want to leave, you’ve got everything you want here,” she protests.
“I’ve lived here my whole life!” I can feel myself already losing my patience. “It’s not that I don’t have what I need here, I just want to move out, start standing on my own two feet you know.”
She shifts uneasily against the doorframe, planning her next wave of persuasion. “But Holls, baby, you’ve been standing on your own two feet since you were twelve and I’m proud of you for it. Living somewhere else isn’t going to change that.”
I take another top from one of the hangers in my cupboard and begin folding it top put in the enormous Delsey case which is open on my bed. “Mum, if I’d gone to uni I’d have left here last year anyway, this isn’t that different,” I say with my back to her. “I mean, I’m not moving out of the city, I’m going to be half an hour away.”
“Exactly! So I don’t see the point.” She searches the room for something to flick her ash into.
“Oh we’re going in circles here now!”
“What am I meant to do without you?”
“You mean; who’s going to look after you? Is it really going to be all about you again?” I ask without sounding frustrated in order to maintain the calm.
She chews her bottom lip and changes her position to lean against the door frame so that she can flick the ash into her cupped left hand. “That’s not what I mean, Holly. I just mean that you’re all I have in the world and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Come on, Mum, don’t get sentimental on me now.” I say reassuringly, our roles as ever reversed. “I won’t be far away, you can call me in an emergency and I’ll be there. I’m growing up Mum, this happens to everyone. You moved out when you were my age.”
“I moved here to live with your great aunt and uncle,” she says as though jealous.
“And then had me, they died and you stayed here. What’s your point?”
“That you’re family is important and you should stick with them!” She spits.
I survey my jeans which are laid out in a pile on the bed, all twelve pairs of different styles, colours and cuts, then begin picking them up one by one and folding them so that they will take up the minimum amount of space in the case. “I don’t think it’s all going to fit, I’m going to have to come back on the weekend for the rest of it.” A desperate dive for a change of subject.
“Holly, don’t ignore me.”
“I’m not ignoring you, Mum but I’ve made up my mind and I am moving out today,” I say trying to conclude this conversation. “It’s got nothing to do with family or anything like that. iIt’s about me doing something for me.”
She narrows her eyes and takes another drag on her cigarette. “Has this got something to do with your pursuit of your father?” She asks indignant. “Because I don’t know how many times I’ve told you; he doesn’t give a shit.”
“How do you know? You haven’t seen him in twenty years!”
“Even if you tell him who you are what do you think that will possibly change?”
“Did it never cross your mind that maybe he deserves to know?”
“So it is all about him then?”
“No!” I shout.
“Then it’s me, you don’t want to live with me anymore, that’s it isn’t it!” She’s beginning to scream now. “Because I’ve been the worst mother in the world to you is that it?”
“Stop playing the victim Mum, I’ve told you it’s not you at all,” I say with forced calm. “I-just-want-to-move-out. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”
“Fine, leave me!” She shouts. “But when all this goes belly up don’t expect me to be the shoulder to cry on because that’s exactly what I told you would happen.” With that she turns to leave, forgetting about the pile of ash in her left hand and dropping in onto the cream carpet of my doorway. She stomps down the stairs and I hear the familiar sounds of her shuffling over to the fridge and taking out the half empty bottle of buy-one-get-one-free Pinot Grigio from the fridge, take a glass from a cabinet and bang it down on the counter with a loud chink of glass on marble.
Once my jeans have been safely lodged into the case I make a start on jackets, shirts and anything made of a fabric I don’t want creased for long so will unpack first. I look around my room, which is almost bare, as I assembled all the belongings which I wanted to take with me ready to be packed. Photos of me as an infant, being swung through the air by my Mum, her looking young, vital and happy. Something I don’t remember and must have been captured by her aunt or uncle. I put the photo in between the top two layers of clothes in my suitcase. One drawer remains open in the chest of drawers which plays host to all my underwear, unable to find the energy to organise it in any way I simply take the entire contents in my arms and fling it onto the bed. With all my underwear stuffed into the lining of the suitcase lid all that remains is most of my shoes, heels and a couple of coats but for now this will have to do because the prospect of taking the tube with even one case is unpleasant, but more than that would be catastrophic. As I close the case I’m careful not to apply too much pressure to where I placed the photo, revealing a sentimental value I didn’t even know it had, or maybe just the desire not to have to clean up the broken glass, I’m not sure.
As I lug the suitcase down the stairs it collides with every step threatening to break either its handle or my legs, Mum sits motionless on the sofa refusing to look at me or offer me any help. In front of her the television is projecting some benign morning talk show but she has the volume turned off and the subtitles turned on instead. Once I manage to get the off of the stairs in one piece I leave the suitcase poised at the ready to leave and make my way over to where she’s sat and lower myself onto the sofa next to her. She still doesn’t look over but concentrates all her attention on the subtitles on the screen.
“Mum,” I whisper to get her attention. “Mum, can you just talk to me please.” She turns her head to me but doesn’t say anything, I can see the marks on her face where she’s used her hands to wipe away tears. “Look this is probably going to be good for both of us, me going. All we do when I’m here is argue anyway and then you just start drinking again.” Another tear escapes her eye and slowly rolls down her face. “I’m not really going to be gone Mum, just in a different flat, it’s a lovely flat trust me I’m going to be fine. Plus with me gone maybe you can find a man to keep you busy while I’m not here.” She stifles a laugh and sniffs loudly. “I love you, Mum, I know things have been bad between us for a while, and I know you don’t want me to tell Felix, but I have to, sorry.”
She raises a hand to brush a long lock of my dark hair behind my right ear. “I love you too, Holly,” she says wiping away her tear and smiling to herself. “I’m sorry, for how I’ve been while you were growing up. I was supposed to look after you but it’s been the other way around for too long, I know I let you down.” Another tear starts making its way down her face but she catches it and wipes it off quickly. “But it used to be just me and you, nobody else, ever. Then you started to get older and you didn’t want me anymore, you started to ask questions about your dad and where he was. I’ve been losing you ever since, I even thought telling you would help but it didn’t.”
“Oh, Mum! You’re not losing me, you’re always going to be my Mum, I’ll always love you and I’m grateful for how you raised me, even if it was,” I pause, “unconventional. But I can’t live here forever and nor can you Mum, this is going to be a new start for both of us, it’ll be good you’ll see.” I lean over her to hug her, wrapping my arms around her and sucking in that smell of stale smoke which has been a comfort to me my whole life. “You’ll see, in a couple of weeks you won’t even miss me.” I feel her laugh into my shoulder and when we separate I can feel the small moist spots which her tears have left on my shirt. “I’m going to go soon, I don’t want to be stuck on a packed train with that thing.”
“Okay then, will you give me your new address though?” She asks in between sniffs.
“I don’t know the exact address yet, but I’ll get it and send it to you tonight,” I reply.
“Alright then,” she stands up and moves over to the kitchen counter where a box of cigarettes lies open, she takes one and struggles to wedge it into her holder with her lightly trembling hands. “And when are you going to come back to pick up the rest of your stuff?”
I get up and walk over to where she’s still standing trying to attach her cigarette and its holder. I take it from her and put the two together easily. “Why do you even bother using this thing?”
“I like it, that’s why,” she says. “So when will you be back?”
“The weekend no doubt, that’s probably about how long I can survive without the heels.” I hand her back her cigarette and smile but she only takes the cigarette and lights it without bothering to smile back.
I roll the suitcase over to the hallway and put on a dark grey, waist length sailor’s jacket and turn up the long collar to shield my face from the wind which I can hear whistling past the windows. “If
Daddy's Gone 10.0 • Opuss № I