Life Goes On (and on, and on....)

A Story by KirstK

The curser taunts.

Blinking louder and louder as time slowly etches its way through the day.

It has been an endless week; a relentless year.

The blank page mocks.

A constant reminder of my failure and undoubted ruin.

Closing my eyes I allow my head to fall down down and thud upon the desk.

“Ring-ring, ring-ring.”

I let it ring but the caller persists. Sighing and without lifting my head from the desk I fumble for the phone and answer with a muffled, “Hello”

“MIchael, it’s Janine”

I do not have the energy to respond

“You know, your editor.”

Still no energy.

‘Michael are you there?”

Still none.

‘MIchael!’ The voice repeats impatiently.

I shouldn’t have picked up.

“Michael, I have not heard from you in days, your deadline has been and gone!”

Nothing.

“Michael!”

I hang up the phone.

It’s been this way for weeks.

_________________________

Mummy went away last year. I don’t really know where she went. I don’t think daddy does either. I used to ask Daddy where she had gone but he doesn’t seem to know. I asked when she was coming back and Daddy got a funny look on his face and told me Mummy wasn’t coming back. I cried when he said that. Daddy cried too and I got scared. Grown ups aren’t meant to cry. I don’t let Daddy see me cry anymore. I wait till after he has tucked me up in bed and goes downstairs. Daddy looks sad all the time now. I’m sad too but even sadder because Daddy is. My Gran says Mummy has gone to be with God in heaven. I don’t know where heaven is or why Mummy would rather be with God than with us. I hope God tells Mummy to come back.

__________________________

Every morning I wake: bleary eyed, muggy headed. I undertake the daily task of dragging myself out of bed, get Jess washed, dressed, fed and walked to school. Thankfully the other parents, mostly mothers, now offer no more than a perfunctory nod after their initial condolences, offered up with with sweet smiles and token “How are you’s”, received, what I assume they considered an unsatisfactory response. So most days I manage to make the trip without having to converse with anyone.

Job done, I immediately return to the house, throw my jacket over the banister, keys on the kitchen table and turn on the TV, mercifully expelling the insufferable quiet. Silence, once a dear friend, now endeavors to suffocate me. Whereas noise, even the rubbish that is day time television, has become a cordial companion: subduing, almost liberating, giving me air to breath another day.

I turn on my laptop in the vain hope that today will be different from yesterday. But really I know it wont. I light a cigarette, having broken my five year stretch of health consciousness, and take a deep deep drag in, then breathe out my will to live. It’s only Jess that inspires me to keep on trying.

She once asked me where her mummy had gone, looking to me for answers to the very same questions plaguing my mind. I wanted to tell her it would be alright. I wanted to help her make sense of it all, but I didn’t have the heart to lie so I left her hanging, groping with a fragile hope that she’d figure it out for the both of us.

Seriously! There is something gravely wrong with that - grappling with some ridiculous notion that a six year old child will lift me out of this pit when it should be me who is lifting her up and creating some sense of normalcy around her. But kids are resilient, aren’t they? Quick to adjust and stronger than we give them credit for. I think she’ll be alright. Yes ... I think so. My Jess will be alright.

Every day, my mother picks Jess up from school bringing her home just in time for bed. It used to be for dinner, but I always forget to cook. It’s meant to be so I can have a full day to work. Though I know that it is as much for Jess’s sake as for mine. I rarely get any work done anyway. I wish I could. I’d love nothing more than to escape to some created place, a reprieve from this house full of memories and happiness past. Excluding the one by Jess’s bed, I removed all the photos of her, locked them in a box under our bed. Still, I hear her: her voice, her laugh, her tears, reverberating through the walls. I turn the TV up louder.

My screen, temporarily occupied with a long and frustrated ‘ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’, is going to remain an enemy today. Glancing at my mobile next to me I see that I have one missed call - my mother. I sigh, but call her back anyway.

‘Michael?’

‘That’s me.’ I reply.

‘Mrs Galloway, from next door, tripped on her way out the door today. She hurt herself quite badly and with no family near by I had to transport her to the hospital.’

‘Mother, I really do have a lot of work on right now.’ I reply, seeing where this is heading.

Ignoring me, she continues, ‘I won’t be back in time to pick Jess up from school.’

Sigh.

‘Mum, it’s not really a good time, I have ... ‘

‘It is not going to hurt you to take a bit of time off Michael,‘ in her oh so motherly tone. ‘Anyway there is nothing else for it.’

‘Alright, Mother.’

‘Oh and Jess is having one of her friends over for dinner.’

‘What ...!’

‘Her mother will pick him up after dinner, around 6 O’Clock.’

‘No, mum ...’

‘I’ll let his mother know your address. Bye, Michael, much love.’

She hangs up before | have the chance to refuse. Immediately I try to call her back, but she has clearly anticipated this move and her phone is now switched her phone off. Typical mother like behaviour. The last thing I need is two six year olds running amok around the house.

It’s already quarter to three and so closing my laptop lid, I get up, grab the keys from the kitchen table, my jacket from the the banister and pull the door behind me. The sun is bright and I squint as my eyes adjust to the light. The air is cold for August, so cold I can see my breath. Shoving my hands deep into my pockets I start the familiar short walk to Jess’s school. I arrive a few minutes before the bell rings and wait outside the gate, away from all the other parents who huddle together in the playground on the other side of the fence. I watch the big clock set in stone above the entrance as the second hand creeps closer and closer to 3 O’Clock. I brace myself as the bell loudly sounds. In a flash the school door is flung open and the kids come thundering out. I spot Jess running amongst the horde. She is trying to locate her Grandmother and when she spots me instead she stops in her tracks, confusion washing over her face. Then giving me an apprehensive smile she turns around and grabs the hand of a little boy. They both slowly walk towards me.

‘Dad, you’re here!‘ she says upon reaching me. ‘Is Gran ok?’

‘Gran’s fine chicken,’ I assure her, ‘She had to take a friend to the hospital. nothing serious.’

‘Ok,’ she replies, not yet entirely assured. Still holding the little boys hand she now pulls him forward, thrusting him in between us. ‘This is Sam, he is supposed to be coming to play with me today.’

‘Yes, your Gran told me all about it. Nice to meet you Sam.’ I hold out my hand for Sam to shake. He takes a step backwards, almost stepping on Jess’s toes, and gingerly takes my hand. He says nothing. Preferring instead to stare and nod.

We walk home in a row characterised by height. Me on the outside holding Jess’s hand. Jess holding Sam’s.

‘How was school?’ I ask.

‘Fine,’ Jess replies. Sam still seems to have lost his tongue.

‘Fine? Is that all you can muster?’

Neither respond.

Reaching the house, I unlock and open the door. Jess and Sam stand hesitantly on the doorstep.

‘Go on,’ I say, a little more harshly than I intended. With that they dash inside. I throw my jacket over the banister, walk through to the kitchen and throw the keys on the table. The TV is still on. The kids remain standing in the hallway.

‘Go play or something,’ I call. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

I hear the two running up the stairs and thumping into Jess’s room. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I take it through to my study and return to my desk. I open my laptop, fingers on the keys, ready to type. I write a few lines, I delete them. I write some more, I delete them. I light up a cigarette and lean back in the chair, blowing the smoke high above my head.

“Dad?’ I hear Jess’s voice from the other side of the door.

‘Yes, Jess. What is it?’

‘Is is dinner time yet?’

‘It’s too early for...’ I begin to say while looking at my mobile for the time and realise that it is almost 5 O’Clock. Again time opposes me and I wonder where I’ve been for the past hour and a half.

‘Yes Jess.’ I call, ‘Go on through to the the kitchen, I’ll be right there.’

Standing up, I stub my burned out cigarette in the ashtray and go to the kitchen. Jess and Sam, sitting at the kitchen table, look up at me as I enter the room, Sam quickly turns his attention to the wooden table, while Jess smiles nervously at me. I open the fridge but find only some milk, beer and a half eaten Pizza from the take away on the corner. Next I try the cupboards but find them sparse.

‘Ok kids, I’m just going to pop out to Spar and grab us something for dinner. Be good and don’t answer the door.’

I grab the keys, my jacket and rush out the door.

_________________________

I got a surprise when I saw my Dad waiting for me after school. Since Mummy went away, Gran picks me up. I was happy to see him and I smiled but I hoped nothing bad had happened to Gran. I grabbed Sam’s hand and we ran towards him. Sam seemed scared, I think it is because my Daddy looks funny these days. Since Mummy went away his hair has gotten long and messy and he has a beard. I don’t like it either. I can’t see his face properly and his beard tickles my face when he kisses me goodnight.

Daddy has gone to get some food for dinner. I normally eat at Gran’s so there is not much food in our cupboards. I am not sure what Daddy eats but he drinks a lot of beer. Maybe when you drink beer you don’t have to eat so much. Me and Sam are in the kitchen waiting.

‘Your Dad looks weird.’ Sam says and it makes me really mad. I tell him to shut his mouth.

Sam doesn’t say anything for a while after that and neither do I cause I am mad at him.

Daddy never used to be so crazy. His eyes used to have happiness in them but now they’re sad. Sometimes I get mad at Mummy for leaving because everything is horrible now. Most of my friends have both a Mummy and a Daddy, except for Jeremy. His Dad lives in Spain, or somewhere, with a new wife. Jeremy says his Mummy hates his Daddy. Jeremy goes to visit in the holidays. It’s not fair; Jeremy has two Mummies and I don’t even have one!

‘Your Dad really does look weird.’ Sam says again.

‘No he doesn’t! Take it back!’ I wish Sam would stop saying that. He is making me very mad. I wish he hadn’t come to play.

‘His hair is all messy!’

‘Shut up’ I yell. I am so angry that I dig my fingernails into the table.

‘And he smells bad.’

I get up out of my chair, walk over to Sam and punch him in the face. ‘I told you stop saying that!’

Sam starts crying as my Daddy walks in.

_________________________

I return to the kitchen to find a very red faced Jess standing with her hands clenched in tights fists by her sides while Sam bawls in the seat beside her.

‘Hey, hey,’ I say, ‘What’s going on?’

Sam’s crying eases to a sob at the sight of me and Jess, no doubt the guilty party, stares at the floor, her hands remaining clenched by her side. Normally such a placid child, I have never seen her so het up, and it stirs something inside of me.

‘Jess, I asked you a question.’

Still no answer and so I turn to Sam. ‘Sam?’

Through sobs, Sam begins to speak, ‘Jess hit me.’

‘Jess, did you hit Sam?’

Jess looks at me and in a angry voice, I do not recognise as my daughter’s, she says, ‘Yes.’ She does not flinch nor does she offer up any excuse. She simply stares at me, remorseless.

‘Go to your room,’ I order her. She remains still for a few moments as if deciding what to do and then she dashes from the room and scrambles up the stairs.

‘Ok Sam,’ I say tonelessly, ‘I’m sorry for my daughter’s temper. Let’s have some dinner.’ I have to feed him after all.

I still have the fish and chips in my hand and plonk them on the table.

‘No need for plates, eh?’ I unwrap the greasy package and after putting a small portion aside for Jess, I drop myself into the seat opposite. I am not hungry but I can tell that Sam is not going to touch a chip until I do, so I grab a couple and shove them in my mouth. They taste like plastic in my mouth and I have to force myself to chew and swallow. I can’t stop thinking about Jess’s face, the sheer anger and frustration in her ordinarily amiable face.

The door bell rings breaking me away from my thoughts. Sam, exerting more energy than I thought capable of him, hops out of his seat and into the hallway. By the time I catch up with him, he already has his jacket on and is picking up his school bag ready to go.

I open the door but do not invite his mother in. I don’t say anything about the fight. I just say the customary ‘Hello, nice to meet you, yes it was lovely to have him and see you again’, give a quick wave good bye and mercifully shut the door behind them.

_________________________

I am so angry with my Daddy and so when I told me to come down for dinner, I didn’t go. So he came upstairs and now he is standing at my door. I won’t look at him. He took Sam’s side when I was only sticking up for him. He comes and sits down beside me, he puts his arm around my shoulder. For a minute it makes me feel happy cause Dad hardly ever hugs me anymore. But I’m still angry at him so I push him away. I think that hurt Daddy, but I don’t care. He made me feel bad too and so it’s fair.

He stands up and walks round to the other side of my bed. He picks up the picture of me and Mummy. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares at the picture. Then he says, ‘I think Mummy was better at looking after you, Jess.’ I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.

‘You miss Mummy a lot too, don’t you?’ Daddy asks. I nod and he says that he misses her too. Suddenly I feel like I am going to cry. I try really hard to choke them back but they are too strong. I can feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. Daddy sits down beside me and pulls me in close. This time I let him and Daddy starts to cry too, but it doesn’t scare me. I think sometimes it is ok for adults to cry; when something is really sad. It doesn’t make everything better but I think it helps.

_________________________

I stand with my back against the front door and breathe. I am glad to get rid of Sam, but now I must muster the energy to deal with Jess. I shout up to her that she can come down for dinner but get no response. Slowly I walk up the stairs, hoping that by the time I get to Jess’s room I will know what to say to her. I open the door and find her sitting on the side of her bed hugging a pillow. Her face is hard and she does not look at me as I enter the room. I sit down beside her and awkwardly try to comfort her, but she is quick to shrug me off.

I stand up and pick up the photo beside Jess’s bed. In it I see my happy child, the antithesis of the one now sitting angrily on her bed. I force myself to look at Karen. Oh Karen, how long has it been since I even uttered your name never mind looked at your face! I have worked so hard to shut out everything that reminds me of you: the memories, our friends, our daughter! Still I can’t seem to make the pain go away.

‘I think Mummy was better at looking after you.’ I say to Jess. As soon as I say it, I realise how pathetic it sounds. I am making excuses, when there are no excuses. Karen is dead. Even thinking it causes a fountain of grief to rush up from the pit of my stomach. I manage to stop it in time before it gushes out of me.

I can sense Jess looking at me and putting the photo back in its place I turn to face her.

‘You miss Mummy a lot too, don’t you?’ I say softly. Her face begins to break as her bottom lip trembles. She nods her head.

‘I do too,’ I say, finally letting go of the facade. For a second time I sit down beside her and pull her little body close to mine. She doesn’t fight me this time and I feel her crumble against me as her tears begins to flow. This time I can’t hold the flood back and I feel the tears running down my own face. I let them come.

We remain that way for a long time, one comforted by the other in our shared grief. By the time I decide to go, Jess is asleep against me. Carefully I change her into pyjamas and tuck her up in bed. Kissing her on the forehead, I turn out the light and walk into the hallway, leaving her door open a crack, just the way she likes it.

Going down to my study, I sit down in front of the laptop and begin to write.

_________________________

Daddy wrote me a story. He’s not done that in a long time. It is about Mummy. About where she is now. It is a beautiful place. Much better than here. The sun is always shining and it never rains! Things can be whatever you imagine them to be. Like having a tiny elephant for a pet or eating hot vanilla ice cream for breakfast. All you need to do is shut your eyes and believe. Mummy must be having so much fun. She is waiting for us - for Daddy and me and every day she takes a look to see how we are doing. I think that maybe, things might be ok.