Page 32 of Indie
Disappointment hit harder than I had expected, stalling my heart for a fraction of a second, my chest tightening as though I were on the edge of a panic attack. And now this felt like rejection, that he didn’t want to be here with me. I dropped my eyes to the floor, both of us now studying the ageing laminate.
Fingers smoothed under my chin, tipping my face.
“I don’t mean to push you away,” Indie’s voice was careful, gentle, but raspy. “But I need to know you’re comfortable with this.”
“Because you’re not?” I whispered, unsure whether I wanted the answer. Or whether I could cope with it if he even gave it.
Indie pursed his lips, and the next drop of dread hit my stomach. His hands moved, and desperately I tried to diffuse the little spark of fear that the sudden movement ignited, my nails digging into the kitchen bench beneath me. His fingers were rough against my cheeks, hands full of years of hard work.
“No, Spuggy. Because someone has taken advantage of you nearly your whole life. And I want you to know, despite our age differences, I would never do that to you.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t little sparrow. You can’t know that just because I told you. I need to show you.”
“Then show me,” the strangled whisper sounded desperate, and an embarrassed heat rose to my cheeks. “I’ve a day off tomorrow.”
For a moment, no one moved. Indie’s hands stayed on my cheeks, his deep brown eyes boring into mine as we now stared silently at each other. Maybe I’d been too forward. Too desperate. But then the intensity in his eyes cleared, and his mouth flickered, a thin smile appearing.
“In that case, Spuggy,” he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The kiss on my forehead was light and chaste. And it was the most meaningful thing. He stepped away from me, smiling gently, and then turned, leaving me alone in the kitchen, the door thumping into place. The spot on my forehead was hot, reminding me where his lips had been.
*****
“Mam! Mam! You’re burning my toast!” Luke shouted, his voice filled with annoyance.
“Shit.” I winced, glancing round to see if either of the kids had heard me.
Luke sat scowling as I plucked the blackened toast from the toaster and tossed it in the bin, where it bounced off the side and dropped to the floor.
“God’s sake.”
Daisy bounded forwards, reaching the cremated bread before I could get it, grabbing both slices and dashing off to the lounge where she was probably now spluttering burnt crumbs all over my carpet. I stood at the bench, pinching the bridge of my nose, and mentally counting to ten.
“What’s wrong, mam?” Lily’s little voice pierced the tiredness engulfing my system and shorting my fuse.
“Just burnt the toast, baby,” I paused, looking at the concern on her sweet little face. She was getting older. Not so oblivious to the way I behaved, or the feelings I gave off. She frowned. “It’s nothing, I’m just tired.”
“Can we stay home with you today?”
“I’m not staying here all day,” Luke chipped in. “This house is boring.”
I ignored him. Ignored the guilt that inflamed in my stomach.
“No baby. It’s a school day.”
“I don’t want to go to school,” Lily whined. “I want to stay here with you, Mammy. I miss you.”
It had been days since I’d seen them properly, with a pattern of night shifts this week and twilight shifts the week previous. My mother had dropped the kids off at 6.30 this morning, all dressed and ready for school before she herself went off to work. And now, as I stood watching Lily slurp the remnants of milk out of her bowl and Luke finish another round of toast as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks, that threat of guilt from earlier hit me again. Only this time, it had doubled.
Daisy’s tail knocked at my legs painfully, just happy to be in our company, all of us together. It had been a long time. A long time since I could let them have second and thirds at breakfast, not knowing where the next pound was going to come from. I was far from rich these last two weeks, but at least I was keeping what I’d earned. If it kept up, I might afford some new toys for them at Christmas, rather than the ones I bought from a charity shop.
And there it was again, the spear of dread. Punishing me for every hopeful thought. For every thought that wasn’t worry and despair, reminding me that hope wasn’t a good emotion, just raised expectations before cruelly cutting you back down.
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard of the car, the display showing we were ahead of time, but that time we’d made, was quickly going to be used up as I scanned the streets for a parking place closer to the school gates. The morning rain had misted a thin coating on the pavements, my headlights reflectingon the slippy sheen. And it seemed everyone had taken their car to the school, ditching walking for staying dry.
“You’ve parked miles away,” Luke complained.