Page 57 of The Second Chance Supper Club

The next challenge wasn’t the one she’d imagined.

That very evening, as she was getting out of a warm, soothing bath and beginning to feel a little more like herself, she heard her mobile ringing from downstairs.

She had left it in the kitchen. There was no way she could get there in time without risking an injury on the narrow cottage stairs, and hah, she was in fact naked.

She decided to check the caller and ring them back, once she’d had chance to dry properly and get her PJs on.

It’d be nice to sit down and have a natter with whoever it was; unless it was a junk call, of course.

A few minutes later, she reached her phone. Oh, it was Adam. Well, that was nice. She’d go and make a cup of camomile tea, ready to settle down in the front room and call him back for a chat.

She dialled. It took several rings before he answered.

‘Ah … he-ey, Mum.’ His voice sounded groggy, somehow off.

She struggled to put her finger on what was odd about it.

Had he been drinking perhaps? It was almost ten o’clock at night, perhaps he’d been out with friends or something?

Oh, but why wasn’t he working? Wasn’t this in fact one of his shift nights in the bar he’d told her about?

‘Adam, are you okay?’

The question lingered between them for a few seconds. ‘Ah …’ His subsequent ‘yeah’ came out flat.

‘Adam, something’s up. You don’t sound at all yourself …’ ‘Argh, sorry, Ma. I shouldn’t be b-bothering you with this…

It’s all right. I’m fine … honest.’

She wasn’t going to be fobbed off that easily.

‘Well, something’s troubling you,’ she persevered.

‘Talk to me … Is it money?’ she prompted.

He wasn’t in a well-paid job doing bar work after all, and a flat and expenses, even if shared, soon added up.

Cath didn’t have an awful lot of spare cash herself; but she could certainly help him with finances by dipping into her small savings account if necessary.

‘Well, partly … it’s just … I’ve only gone and lost my job in the pub. They said they wanted me for the s-summer,’ his voice was slightly slurry, ‘but now we’re in September, there’s a queue of eager students turning up again, happy to take minimum wage.’

‘Oh, Adam. That’s such a shame …’ Cath sighed.

‘And well, yesterday, I got a last-minute interview. Something I’d really love to do … a zoology research project linked to the uni, so I texted … let the pub know, and took the afternoon off. Hah, let’s just say it didn’t go down well … I-I was fired.’ His tone sounded so dull, weary.

‘Ah, sorry, son. But hey, it’s good news about the interview, at least.’ Cath tried her best to be upbeat, trying to boost her son’s battered confidence.

She knew all too well the stream of ‘no thanks’, of second interviews that had led to blind alleys, and rejections that he’d already had to deal with.

‘Well … I’ll just hang out and wait for the email saying “Thanks, but no thanks”. There’re literally hundreds of us trying to get one job … I keep hitting my head against a brick wall with it all. S-so fucking frustrating.’

She’d normally admonish him for swearing like that, but she could hear the pain and frustration in his voice. She let it go. Silence ensued, with both lost in their own thoughts and emotions for a few seconds. Concern was mounting in Cath’s already troubled mind. Her son sounded so low.

‘Adam, is James there?’ That was his flatmate.

‘Nah, he’s off with the new girlfriend, Kim.’

Oh, he was there on his own, bless him.

‘Just little ol’ me … and my mate, Jack Daniels.’ He gave an ironic chuckle.

No wonder he sounded odd. He was down and he was drinking, not a good combination. Jesus, might he be thinking of doing something stupid? Or not really thinking at all? Anxiety thrummed like an alarm bell in her mind.

She’d never dreamt until this moment that he might feel totally depressed, might consider hurting himself …

not even with all the shit going on between her and Trevor, but tonight he sounded different.

With all that had happened as a family, that destruction still very raw for all of them, and now this, coming back to a jobless Leeds, it was no wonder if he might feel like he wasn’t getting anywhere.

And he sounded so bloody low.

Her maternal instinct fired up. ‘Right, that’s it. I’m coming down. It’ll take a couple of hours in the car. I need to see you, Adam. I need to be there for you.’ Cath was resolute.

‘Mum, there’s no need … I-I’ll be fine.’

‘No, you’re not fine.’ She was certain of that.

‘Ah shit, I knew I shouldn’t have rung. My bad. I’ve got you all worried now.’

‘Well, I’m glad you did.’ That he’d at least reached out to her; surely that was a good sign. ‘And I’m coming, whether you like it or not.’

She heard him groan.

She was actually already on her way up the stairs, ready to remove her cosy PJs as quick as she could, pop on some clothes and chuck a few things in an overnight bag.

She’d seen the ‘Three Dads Walking’ recently on the BBC news, dealing with the aftermath of their daughters’ suicides.

So dreadfully sad. She wasn’t going to risk anything.

She had to go and see him … she had to be there with him.

See the emotions in his eyes, feel the warmth of his hand. Share a hug.

‘I’ll just grab a few essentials,’ she explained, still on the line for now. ‘And I’ll call you back shortly from the car. Adam, are you sure you’ll be all right? I can keep talking if you like …’ ‘Mu-um, I’m o-kay,’ he slowed the words, for emphasis.

‘I think … you might be o-ver dramatising this …’ He drawled, then gave a hiccup.

‘I’m on my way …’ Her mind was buzzing into action …

She could get a late-night Travelodge down there or something.

Even better, the flat’s sofa would do, where she could keep an eye on him.

If he’d drunk that much, he might be sick or anything.

In less than three minutes, she was locking the door and dashing for her Mini.

Her mind flashing up scenarios, as she revved up the winding hill to the moorland that led to the A1.

The road that led to her son. She prayed he would be all right in the meanwhile.

She was doing the only thing she could … go to him.

Though it had turned into a midnight dash, this was no Cinderella moment. They’d been chatting on the phone as Cath made her way down, and Adam still seemed okay, though he’d sounded a bit pissed off with her the third time she called, saying he just wanted to be left alone and sleep.

She navigated the city streets, and found a parking space on the roadside in Kirkstall – satnav telling her she’d got to the right spot – reverse parking in a rush at a slightly odd angle, but she left it anyhow. She’d sort it out in the morning. A parking fine was the least of her worries.

There it was, Carlton Towers. A bland beige-brick five-storey tenement.

She found the main door, and beside it a grid of numbered steel button buzzers.

Which flat … ? Shit, she didn’t even know.

Why the hell hadn’t she been here, yet? Yes, they’d chatted regularly, but it was almost six weeks since he’d moved into the flat, after all.

Guilt bit at her. She’d been too damned wrapped up in her new country life, that’s why.

And yes, another voice added, she was afraid of having to face Trevor and the new girlfriend …

of coming face to face with the wreck of her old life.

She hadn’t felt ready for that. But … at the expense of Adam, she now realised.

Right, the flat, which one? Something A, came to mind.

Well, that was useful … she scolded herself.

Six, seven? She pulled out her mobile, and called him.

No answer this time. Crap. He was probably asleep now, dammit.

Hopefully, asleep … Don’t even go there .

She swiftly scrolled back through a plethora of chit-chat messages to find the one with his new address.

There, finally … Seven A, phew … She was just about to try the buzzer when an Asian guy headed towards the glass door, coming out of the building.

She took her chance, smiled sweetly, faking an air of confidence, and he held the door open for her. Yes!

She bounded up the drab concrete stairs that felt more like they belonged in a multistorey car park than a residence, now passing four, five, six, six A …

damn, another floor to climb then, up to Seven A …

and there it was. The silver figures stuck onto a depressing black-paint-chipped door that had seen better days.

She pressed the doorbell – a plastic rectangular square with a button, that had been re-stuck to the door with thick blue electrical tape – and hoped the bloody thing worked.

Come on, come on … It was taking far too long. Come on, Adam, open the door.

She pressed again, hearing the faint buzz from the other side and then rapped out a knock. Cath was so damned relieved to hear the disgruntled, ‘O-kay, okay … I’m coming.’ Adam’s voice. Ooh, thank phew, thank fucking phew.

The door cracked open, Adam standing bleary-eyed. ‘Jeez, you’ll wake up the whole building at this rate.’

Cath really wouldn’t have cared if she had. He was there. He was fine, if looking frail. Her gorgeous son. Her heart pulsed with relief. ‘Oh, Adam.’

She gave him a massive hug. He emitted a half-protesting groan, but then melted into her arms, smelling of baked biscuits, a little musky of sweat and the smoky whisky sharp on his breath.

Yes, he was grown up, an adult in the eyes of the world.

But that tie remained between them, no matter what …

he would always be her little boy. Oh, Adam. Tears were misting her eyes.

In the lounge now, shabby grey curtains half-heartedly drawn, a dim table lamp only serving to highlight the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels with a used tumbler beside it. Adam slid himself down wearily onto the worn maroon velour sofa.

Cath sighed. ‘This isn’t the way to make things better, Adam …

’ But she wasn’t angry, just so very sad.

Guilt was sitting heavy within her. How didn’t she know?

How hadn’t she realised things were this bad for him?

Had they, she and Trevor, and the whole shit-show between them, had it a lot to do with messing him up?

No doubt. Oh yes, their family was well and truly broken. Cath bit down on her lip.

‘Maybe … maybe not. It felt pretty good at the time …’ Adam was still evidently very drunk at this point, giving a wonky smile, which slid into a grimace. ‘Ugh … don’t feel so good now …’

‘Are you going to be ill?’

‘Just need a mo.’ He sat still, then closed his eyes, as if trying to anchor himself.

Cath stayed with him, a hand gently rubbing his back, monitoring him.

Oh, but if he was going to be sick then she might need a bucket …

or yes, in absence of that, a washing-up bowl.

She found it in the tiny kitchen, removed a couple of used mugs, swilled it out and returned with that and a pint glass of water, which she placed in front of Adam.

Now was not the time for a lecture, or more reasonably, a talk about what was underlying all this. That could wait until tomorrow and the chance for him to clear his head.

After checking he didn’t need to be sick, making him drink the water, and then waiting ten minutes more, while she chatted generally, she suggested getting him to bed.

The pair of them trundled in a little zig-zag to his student-style bedroom.

She sat him on the bed and got him undressed down to a T-shirt and boxers.

‘I’m okay,’ he managed to slur, ‘I can do this.’ Evidently trying to hold on to some modicum of decency, but nearly sliding off the bed.

‘I’m sure you can … but just get under the covers, Adam,’ her stern mum-voice muscled in, and did the trick, as he rolled in under the duvet. Hmm, she hadn’t had to use that for a while.

After waiting up a while, sat there perched on the end of his bed with a cup of tea for herself, and then looking in on him a couple of times more, finding him snoring softly, she realised she felt totally shattered.

Cath slept in her underwear and T-shirt on the sofa, under a navy fleece blanket that she’d remembered sending Adam off with to uni several years ago.

Back when they were all full of the hopes and dreams of a bright future.

So much had changed. Life felt so damned precarious at times.

And just when you thought you were getting it back on track, a big bloody truck slammed into you.