Sophie's Throughway (11 page)

My house was wrecked: Pizza boxes, muddy trainers, cups, glasses and empty crisp packets lay all around. I felt like waking them all up like a screaming banshee and forcing them to clean it up but it was just easier to do it myself. The rest of the morning carried on in the same vein, as was the norm.

Afternoon soon arrived and Brendon and his friends slowly emerged downstairs complete with their living stench, like Pig-Pen from Peanuts. They mooched around filling bowls with colossal amounts of Cheerio's and Coco Pops; enough to feed a village.

“
Mommy
,” Brendon said grabbing hold of me in a bear hug and not letting me go. “You're awesome sauce.” He squeezed me tight and lifted me up high off the floor.

“ARRR put me down! I have a weapon and I'm not afraid to use it.” I pointed the potato peeler at him.

“Got myself a chick last night Mama!” he said, flexing his muscles and making his friends spit their Cheerios all over my table.

“Oh..?”

“Yep. She's been after me for months but..you know, I let her sweat for a bit.”

“You're such a dick Brendon,” Joe sniggered, “you know she's only going out with you so she can get close to me.”

“Yeah whatever, Joe, you fag.” He walked over to Joe and put him in a friendly headlock as he tried to eat his cereal.

“And who is this girl?” I asked.

“Her name,
Mother
, is Jessie.”

“You mean Hussy,” Tom chipped in from the table.

“Shut the
fuck
up Tom, you waste man.
Like man won't leng you down!
Brendon joked. “When you're as hench as me then the babez may come a running…but… that's never going to happen to you,
fat
boy!”

I found it amusing that boys used insults as a term of endearment. Especially Brendon. He would always take it one step further than most, picking out all their faults and weaknesses and using them as ammunition. I wondered how his friends coped with him sometimes. They either
found him fun and refreshing or were too scared to make a fuss.

“I hope she ISN'T a hussy!” I said. The last thing I needed was some young girl being knocked up, “And how old is she?”

“Sixteen and sweet.” He smiled at his mates who all cracked up laughing. “No seriously Mum, she's really nice. The only problem is she's a devout Catholic. You know what I'm sayin'..”

“Well good. I'm glad she is. Maybe she can teach you some morals and how to be pleasant. Maybe she'll convert you into a good boy since I am unable to get through to you.”

“ERRR – not gonna happen
Mommy.
I am a true atheist. God is for people who are just scared of dying.”

I left the God conversation for now. I'd been in that debate several times and told Brendon that he shouldn't argue with people who had faith in something just because he thought it was a load of bullshit. I was glad he'd met a nice girl and just hoped he wouldn't start trying to argue with her about religion. I also hoped she'd last longer than the other girls before her who had been instantly discarded when they got too needy.

His friends finished their breakfast and got ready to leave so they could all get back together virtually in the next hour, to fight the bad boss. As I shut the door to them and said goodbye I was left in the hallway with Brendon.

“I'm going for a shower.” He went to go upstairs.

“Wait!” I demanded, “I want to talk to you. I want to
go through this issue with marijuana. I'm really not happy about it and what you did to me and your Dad. And the governors meeting. We need to discuss that. You need to start behaving. Big time.”

“Not now, I'm too tired. Look, the weed thing, get over it. I'm going to have it now and then so I can either
tell
you about it or do it behind your back. Make a choice. I know I've got to try harder at school. I GET IT Mum. You don't have to keep going on about the same shit.”

“Well I'm not supporting you any more unless you make a massive effort.”

“Yeah, Mum. Yes you will. And I do make an effort, believe it or not. “He trudged upstairs indicating that the conversation was now over.

I let it go. Picking your moments was crucial in order to stop a kick off. Sometimes you just had to trickle your concerns through via constant nagging and pray he eventually got the message.

I went to the living room and flicked on the magic box. There was nothing particularly interesting on. I hated Sunday nights. They always seemed a little depressing and uncomfortable like that night before school feeling. I turned, as always, to my virtual entertainment and to ‘The Voice'. God. I was miles behind score wise.

I got sidetracked by the TV for a second. A woman on the Antiques Road Show had just brought in a little flowery vase she'd purchased at a car boot sale and found out it was worth thousands. I must take a look round this house, I mused. Money was getting so tight lately.

I checked the game.

I re-read the message several times. Here we go. Just when I thought you had a bit more about you Mr. Voice.

I'd met these sorts before on games. Normally they were straight in there with the “Got any saucy photos?” Yeah mate, because of
course
I'm gonna send you a picture of my tits so you can wank yourself stupid over them.
Really
? I'd usually reply with, “I'm a transvestite. Do you want me normal or in drag?”

Another message appeared.

Now he'd put it like that it seemed perfectly acceptable. However, I was still nervous. I felt like I was on a back to front date and I didn't know how it had got to this point without me realising.

The Voice sent me an email address via the chat message bubble. For some reason, getting an email address seemed serious.

I wondered what picture to send and whether I really wanted to go down this road. I scrolled through my iPad looking through my camera roll at the collection of photographs. ‘No, I don't like that one – my hair's too messy, absolutely no sign of sophistication there. Hmm, look a bit hammered on that one…no, no, not the Halloween one in my pussy cat suit…Oh my God, whatever possessed me to buy that shirt..eww. And on it went. Finding a normal picture amongst my photos was proving more difficult than I thought. And why did I care? Why was it important that I was visually pleasing to this man in the ether? But for some reason, it was.

Eventually I opted for my FB profile picture. Smiling face shot, outside of work with my sunglasses on. Normal. I pressed send and heard the email sound
whoosh
it off across the Atlantic. I sat still looking at my iPad not knowing what to do next and feeling anxious. I felt like a stupid teenager and inwardly chastised myself. I closed my tablet and went to make a cup of tea. I then washed the pots and cleaned down the kitchen surfaces and then made a shopping list. Anything to bring back the feeling of normalcy.

I returned to the sofa with my cuppa and stared at my closed tablet, not daring to open it but dying to at the same time. I had two messages: One on my email and one on my game. I opened the e mail message first.

A smiley face.
A smiley face? That was it?
I hated emoticons. Particularly on their own as they were too ambiguous. I only used them myself to appease others. I'd had my texts misconstrued on many an occasion and therefore had to add them at the end of everything I sent, along with kisses so people didn't read it in the wrong way and get upset with me. Annoying.

But what did a smiley face mean on its own? I like it? Thanks? I can't really be arsed to respond? Actually, not as attractive as I was expecting?

I moved swiftly on to the chat bubble message.

Wow. For some reason that
really
moved me. He wanted to see my eyes. It was soft and chivalrous and the idea of him looking into the windows of my soul had a certain quixotic appeal. I sat there for a moment wondering what to do. I felt like I'd walked into a situation that I didn't understand or a conversation I wasn't part of. I was at odds with myself.
Why
did I have to analyse everything to death, I thought. It's just a photo. Of my eyes. No big deal.

I scrolled through the pictures again trying not to be
so picky and found one. I sent it before I had time to change my mind. Again I sat there, still, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

I didn't get a smiley face back. I didn't even get a return mail. I just got a message in the game in the little green chat bubble.

 

Chapter 14

I was always knackered on a Monday morning. I'd open my eyes at the sound of the alarm and feel nauseous with fatigue. Except that never happened at the weekend, oh no. My eyes would ping open and my brain would be saying, “
Come on, get up, lots to do, come on, let's go.”
On a Monday it wasn't even responsive.

I crawled out of bed and thought about how I was going to explain my drug induced behaviour to my boss. Ugh.

The calendar on my phone beeped on my dressing table reminding me it was Brendon's paediatrician appointment. We had to go as they usually liaised well with the school on what he needed support wise. Not that anything ever changed. I'd forgotten on Friday to ask Colin if this was OK.
Damn
. I was sure he'd be alright with it but I knew I was taking the rise with my flexible hours at work. I got ready quickly and woke Brendon up telling him we had an appointment with Kathy.

“Oh for fucks sake. I don't want to go. Can I have the rest of the day off school after?”

“No. You've got exams this year, so no,” I reiterated.

“I can pass them in my sleep.”

“Just get up! You said you'd try so how about sticking to that and getting up. NOW!”

I went downstairs to ring Colin. He answered in seconds.

“Hi Colin, It's me Sophie.”

“Yes, Soph, I KNOW it's you, your name comes up when you ring.”

“Oh yeah, I don't know why I do that..Anyway, I forgot about an appointment at Brendon's paediatrician this morning. I have to go which means I'll be in late..is that OK?” God, I felt really bad about doing this.

“Yeah, sure but it means you'll miss this morning's meeting.”

I clasped my hands over my eyes and sighed. I'd forgotten that too.

“But we can go through it when you get in. What time will that be?”

“About ten -ish…” I offered tentatively.

“Ok babe. See you then and you can tell me all about the phone box idea!”

I suppressed a groan and said my goodbye's quickly.

After dropping Bryony at school, Brendon sat very quietly in the car staring straight ahead.

“Are you alright?” I inquired. He seemed very subdued, which was odd. Nice, but odd.

“Tired.”

I decided to take the opportunity to talk to him, since he was in a calm frame of mind and stuck next to me in the car, unable to escape.

“You know what I said yesterday? You know, about behaviour..” I gave him a sideways glance as I drove and he remained fixated to the road ahead. “It's really important that you reign in a little. Try not to react to teachers if they something you don't like.” I looked over as we stopped at the traffic lights. He was still staring straight ahead like he was in a trance. “It's really important that we get through your exams and th..”

Suddenly, he lurched forward and punched the dashboard again and again. I froze in the seat, flabbergasted and expecting the passenger airbag to explode at any minute. The car behind tooted me because I was oblivious to the lights turning green. I drove forward slowly trying to find a place to pull up.

“Just shut the FUCK UP,” he yelled. “Stop the fucking car.” He opened the glove compartment and slammed it shut. He then moved his hand onto the handbrake. “Stop the fucking car or I WILL.”

I pulled over quickly onto the zig-zags outside a primary school where I wasn't supposed to. A woman walking by and pushing a buggy gave me a dirty look, like I was a stupid parent who thought she could just stop where she wanted and flaunt the rules.

“Brendon..” I didn't know what to do. My heart was pounding. Where had this rage come from?

“Stop fucking talking,” he shouted. I stopped and remained quiet, wondering how to deal with this. He yanked off his seat belt and opened the car window wide. His breathing was laboured. Leaning suddenly
forward in the seat, he clasped his hands behind his neck and bent his head down to his knees. After several minutes, he then sat up, opened the car door and got out, slamming it hard behind him.

“Where are you going?” I called after him. He didn't answer. I watched as he paced up and down the street, tight faced and angry. I saw him taking deep breaths and stretching his arms up high and gripping his hands tightly together. My heart was racing and I felt powerless. I could normally see when he was going to flip out but I hadn't seen that coming.

A man in his late forties with three kids in tow stopped at the open, passenger side window and leant down to speak to me. “You can't park here love – zig zags.” He waved his arms at the connecting yellow ‘V's painted on the floor. “Have you passed your test?”

“I'm sorry…really sorry… I know. I had to stop because my son was unwell.” I replied, feeling like crying and pulling at a piece of thread on my skirt.

“Well you coulda drove down a few more yards, this
is
a school, it's dangerous.” He walked off chuntering about me as he made his way to the school gates. A lot less dangerous than my son yanking up the handbrake and causing a serious accident near children, I thought. But he hadn't seen that part.
He,
like the woman in the buggy, just assumed I was some dilatory Mother, with no regard for anyone as was always the case. It made me hate people.