Page 23 of Indie
“Indie? You want a coffee?” I asked, trying to spare him the glare of an almost ten-year-old boy.
“Aye, lass. That’ll be great.” He answered, his voice still a little shaky.
I moved from the table, turning my back on my two kids and the man I’d brought home last night. A man I barely knew. I must have been mad. But there was something safe about Indie. Or I’d just completely lost the plot.
“Hi guys,” I heard from the table, the voice soft and more gentle than the exterior that was attached to it. “I’ve not had the chance to introduce myself this morning. I’m a friend of your mam’s.”
Both kids glanced at me, then back at the strange man sitting across the table from them. Neither knowing what to say to the man they’d never met till this morning. The man they walked in on cuddling a pink fluffy unicorn and sleeping off last night’s liquor fest on their sofa. The man they didn’t know was a better man than the one who brought them into this world.
I stifled a sigh, watching the cold interaction. Watching Indie try to make conversation with kids staring him down across the table. And whilst they sat there scrutinising him, I didn’t need years, or months, or even weeks to know he was a good man. I’d spent enough time with an abusive monster to know otherwise. Yet, here I was living in a fantasy, because no amount of Indie trying to protect me would save me from Gary. Gaz didn’t want me. But no one else could have me either. That didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it, just for a few hours. Some hint at what normality could look like, feel like. Life was cruel, showingme what I couldn’t have, tempting me, then taking it all away again the moment he left this house.
Still, Luke and Lily sat across from him, not answering, the three of them glancing nervously at each other, not really knowing what to say.
“This is Luke, my oldest,” I said eventually. “He’s nine, nearly 10. And this is Lily. She’s six going on 16.”
Indie smiled at her, and Lily’s face melted, breaking into that big, beautiful grin of hers. Then she turned to Luke, expecting him to smile too, but getting nothing; her big brother sitting staring, disapproval etched on his face.
“What are you doing here?” Luke’s voice was accusatory.
“Well,” I started.
“I drank too much,” Indie interrupted. “So, your mam helped me out last night. She gave me a place to put my head down for the night. I’m sorry I cuddled your unicorn, Lily. But Mr Morris was really good company.”
Lily giggled, light and beautiful, and Luke scowled even more.
“I don’t even know where I left my bike,” Indie muttered to no one in particular.
Luke sniggered. “You have a bicycle?”
“No. A motorbike.” I watched Luke’s eyes light up, replaced quickly by the scowl he’d worn all morning. “It’s at the hospital somewhere. I just don’t know where, or whether it’ll still be there this morning.”
“I could drive you over for it?” I asked.
Indie shook his head. “Thank you. Really. I’ll get someone to drop me over for it. You’ve done way more than you should have done for me last night. I would have left me to sleep in off on the bar top.”
“Maybe get it later?” I prompted, feeling responsible for this man’s wellbeing. “You’ll still be way over the limit.”
He looked at me, his eyes fixing on my face, a small smile pulling in the corner of his mouth, and something sad in his eyes despite the smile. I tugged my gaze from his, suddenly self-conscious, glancing around the room and catching the curiosity on my children’s faces. They watched us intently, Lily grinning from ear to ear, revelling in a burst of happiness around the kitchen table and Luke looking tense, unable to process what was going on in front of them. It was probably the first time they’d seen their mother and another man have a conversation that didn’t involve some sort of sarcasm and degradation. In fact, I don’t remember the last time a man made me feel so comfortable in his presence. That happiness filled me momentarily, before a bitter taste chased it away, realisation that this, whatever it was, could never go any further. The scab on my lip was crusting over. The swelling had gone down, but the memory of pain was still there. And it was only the sting of my fingers moving over the tightness of the scab that made me realise I was touching the spot.
Indie stood up from the table, sliding his plate from where he’d been sitting in front of it and then collecting up the empty plates from in front of Lily and Luke. I held out my hands as he brought them to the sink.
“I’ve got it Indie, thanks,” I muttered, waiting for him to drop the plates in my arms.
But he ignored me, instead edging to the sink and dropping them under the soapy water, nudging me gently to move over.
“I got this, Spuggy.”
I watched as he pulled a plate out of the soapy water and cleaned it, placing it on the draining board. Eventually I turned, plucking the clean crockery from where he’d left them, rubbing them dry with a tea towel. And for a few moments, we worked in silence, his arm brushing against mine, his presence enveloping me. With his eyes focused on the plate he was gently washing; I sneaked a glance at him. Light grey stubble now covered his jaw, and strands of thick greying hair out of place from a drunken sofa slumber.
“Emmie,” he said, turning towards me, and I jumped, my heart bounding in my chest.
It was a reaction I’d never get over, one that would always be with me, probably for the rest of my life. Indie noticed my nervousness, his jaw tightening as if he disapproved, making my stomach feel like I’d thrown it over a cliff. I smiled weakly, feeling the heaviness of his disapproval, a twinge of fear worrying about what might come next.
His tone softened further. “Would you mind if I took a shower? Freshen up before I move off this morning? I might feel a little less like a rave victim.”
“Of course. I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”
Stairs creaked behind me, the combined weight of us making the old wooden steps complain. The staircase seemed so narrow right with Indie following me closely, the sound of his steps and the gentle tickle of his breath on the back of my neck, pressurising the small space. The same pressure I felt in my stomach. But it wasn’t dread this time, or fear, or anxiety,but something I’d not felt for years. I shook my head, stemming the stream of unhelpful thoughts filling my brain. Unhelpful. Misplaced.