Afire Read online

  Relief fills his face. “Oh. Right. Uh, okay. I’ll go into the village for a bit then, yeah?”

  I nod and stare down at my hands. My knuckles whiten as I grip my cup. “Yeah. Only for a bit, though. I’ll ring you. Come and meet you after I’ve had a think.” I look at him, see the pain in his eyes and know he’s hurting for me.

  “All right. I’ll, um, go and freshen up, then.”

  Ryan leaves the room. His footsteps pad in the hallway, telling me he’s gone into the kitchen for his bag. I feel bad that I can’t have him here right now, can’t do this with him by my side, but my head’s so damn full I worry what’ll come out of my mouth if he stays. I might get angry, say stuff I don’t mean, and he might take it the wrong way. Like I don’t care for him, when I do. I fucking do. He passes the living room door, head down, and plods upstairs, each step creaking with his tread. The shower goes on, and I walk into the kitchen, the sound of the water hitting the tub above louder in here. I stare out the window, hearing the sounds of Ryan in the bathroom yet not; they’re so far away, my thoughts louder and more persistent, shouting to be heard. But I don’t want to hear them, not yet. Just wait until Ryan’s gone. A few more minutes. I continue to stare outside, seeing nothing but images from my childhood, Mum bearing down on me, Mum’s teeth bared, Mum Mum Mum…

  I clench my jaw and sense Ryan behind me.

  “I’ll, uh, leave these here.” He places two envelopes on the worktop. “Just in case you—”

  “All right. Thanks.” I carry on staring out the window. Just go, mate. Please, just go so I can…do what? Rant, scream…cry?

  “Um, I’ll be off then. You, uh, you take care, okay?”

  I nod, barely holding it together. “Will do.”

  The shift of his feet as he walks away tears me apart and eases my mind at the same time. I’m doing this for his sake. I never really grieved Dad’s death, can’t imagine I want to grieve Mum’s, but it’s best Ryan’s not here if everything comes spilling out, isn’t it? Yeah, it is.

  I pick up the envelopes—she touched them, they’re tainted—and also my phone. I go to the front door and open it, leaving it ajar. Turning, I walk upstairs and wonder if I’m just imagining Mum’s touch seeping into me from the envelopes. That kind of shit isn’t possible, but no matter how I try and shrug it off the feeling remains. She wrote on the envelopes, wrote the note inside one of them, when she lived and breathed and still hated me enough to kill herself and leave me a few words telling me how awful I am. Yeah, she wrote that, I’d bet on it. No way would she ever admit to being sorry. Not her.

  In my room I get on the bed and lay on my side, the curtains keeping the daylight at bay. I glance at the envelopes and make out my name on the fronts, so if I do decide to read the note I should be able to manage it well enough in this light. But do I want to open it? Do I want to read what she’s said, more vitriol to add to all the rest in my mind, stored there despite my promise to get rid of it all, every last scrap.

  I stare at the envelopes for a while, mind spinning with memories from childhood. All the times Mum hated on me, treated me badly, and I let them flicker on, suffering through them one last time before I cast them out for good. Tears come, and I let them fall unchecked, the relief to actually sob for the kid I was a big release. Feelings and emotions swirl along with the images, and I allow them to swamp me, giving myself up to the past and everything in it. When the last image fades away, I struggle to recall good times with Mum, and not many come. Even when Dad lived with us she was stern and proper, and I can’t think what he ever saw in her. Did she ever laugh? Was she ever carefree and young, so in love with Dad she felt the same as I do about Ryan? I can’t imagine it, can’t for the life of me see her as anything but what I remember, and I’m saddened by the fact that if she was once vibrant and alive with goodness it got snuffed out along the way, turning her into a bitter older woman.

  I sigh and rip open the note, steeling myself for what she’d written, and tell myself before opening the folded paper that this is the last time I’ll allow her to hurt me.

  BURNING

  ~

  Chapter Five

  I dry my eyes after reading the note, mixed emotions churning my gut and mind. Mum had returned to religion, then, after I left. Maybe she thought God was the only being out there who understood her, the only one who would give the answers she sought. I mean, she was the type who would claim to hear God’s words in her mind when really they were her own. She’d manipulate what He said to suit her own needs. Then again, she’d mentioned guilt, among other things, so maybe she had seen the light after all, realised that although I wasn’t the kid she’d always wanted I was still her kid. Doesn’t excuse her behaviour toward me, the way she treated me, but shit, I can’t keep chasing different scenarios around in my head to come up with answers. I just need to move on. She’s gone, I can’t talk to her about how she felt at the end, and whatever I would have asked her will just have to wait until I die—if there is such a thing as the afterlife, that is.

  Her funeral comes to mind. Has it been taken care of already? There’s only me left, so it stands to reason I’ll have to sort something out. Despite everything, I can’t just leave it to someone else. Wouldn’t be right, would it? No, I’ll have to get on with this and get through it as best I can. But what about the gun? Will her funeral be delayed by the police investigating? This is the kind of thing I need to find out. And I sound selfish as hell, but I’d rather not. Still, if I do one more thing for her it’ll be this. Maybe she’ll see from wherever she is I’m not such a bad kid after all.

  The last tear falls—or the last one I’m going to allow for now, anyway—and I shift my knees up, curling myself into a ball. I pick up my phone and text Ryan.

  HER FUNERAL BEEN ARRANGED YET?

  His response comes back fast. He’s been waiting for me, then. NO. THERE’S AN ENQUIRY BECAUSE OF THE GUN.

  Right. So there’s a lot to get through before I can lay her to rest and put the past firmly behind me. I suddenly feel alone, lost and vulnerable, and I think of Ryan in the village, wandering around, waiting for my response. I’m ready for him to return now. Ready to push forward with this shit and—I just want him here, simple as that. I text him again: NEED YOU. COME BACK.

  His reply comes back fast again—God I love him—and I settle down to wait, more content now I know he’s on his way back. I estimate the time it will take him to walk from the village and up the hill. Maybe twenty minutes, ten if he jogs. I stare at the envelope, one corner of the note sticking out of the opening, and I liken it to what’s going on with me. That note, Mum in my mind, is nearly out of sight, and that one corner resembles what lies ahead, what’s left to be done before I can shut her off completely. I close my eyes with the worry that my mind will show me more images, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but a black canvas. I think of my future and what pictures I can paint on it, what new memories I can burn into my brain. Ryan will feature, I know that much, but whether that means a long-distance relationship or not I have no idea. It’s something we should talk about, something I should bring up, because I can’t keep holding back on him. It isn’t fair or right.

  A soft knock comes from downstairs, and I smile at the sound of the front door creaking open then closing. His footsteps go through the rooms before they thump on the stairs like he’s taking two at a time. Out the corner of my eye I see him standing in the doorway, the scent of outdoors tinged with Ryan’s unique smell wafting over me. I stare at the wall, unable to look at him yet in case it sets me off crying again.

  “Uh, you all right?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I am now. You?”

  Ryan moves toward the bed and sits on the edge. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Silence takes over the room save for our breathing, and I think on what I should say to him. How to explain my feelings. After a few moments I begin, opting to just get it over with and see how he reacts to what I have to say. “Haven’t been crying for her.” I
fist my hands beneath my chin. “Cried for the kid I was. For how different things could have been if she wasn’t the way she was. Her letter…” I pause for a beat, then, “She killed herself out of guilt. For pushing me away. Took to going to church after I left, so she said. Made her see a few things. S’pose the guilt got to her in the end. Funny, because I heard the Bible didn’t tolerate the likes of us.” I laugh. Can’t help myself. The irony of Mum turning her back on what she’d been taught…too late, too damn late. “Maybe it was the Christian shit in there that got to her. Who knows? Who fucking cares? It doesn’t rub out all the things she did while I grew up. Doesn’t make anything better.” I blink, and a damn tear falls down my nose. Shit, I didn’t want to cry anymore, don’t want this…this horrible emotional roller coaster. “Wants me to have the money to make up for all the crap she put me through. Said I should spend it to bring me some happiness. That she hadn’t given me much of that.”

  Isn’t that the damn truth? But money won’t make it right. Money won’t dissolve my feelings. When Ryan first told me about the cash, I didn’t want it, but now, after reading that note? I’m not sure if she isn’t right. Could I spend it knowing it was hers? Doesn’t she owe me, like she said?

  I ask, “What would you do?”

  Ryan holds out his hand, and I take it, his touch warming not only my skin but inside me.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s something you’ve got to decide. If you think you deserve it, then take it, but if you’d feel sick spending it, then don’t. You’ve got enough to live on. You don’t need it. So what does it matter what you do with it?”

  He’s right. It doesn’t matter either way. “Thought the same.” I squeeze his hand. “Sorry about shutting you out.”

  “It’s all right. Nothing to worry about.” He pauses for a little while, as though he has something to say but isn’t sure whether to. But he does. “Uh, you going back to sort out the funeral?”

  I sigh. “S’pose I should. Make sure she’s really dead.” I chuckle to soften the words.

  “Want me to go with you?”

  I nod, grateful he wants to support me, help me through this. “If you wouldn’t mind.” I look at him. “She mentioned you. In the letter.”

  Ryan frowns. “Did she?”

  Mum had left me one last lie, one last bite at my nerves. “Yeah, said she’d always liked you, and if I couldn’t bring myself to like girls, she’d have preferred us two to get together rather than me pick someone else and be unhappy. She always did have to spoil her rare nice times with a barbed comment.” She must have known I wouldn’t believe what she’d said. She’d been nothing short of evil toward Ryan that last night, and prior to that she’d made it quite clear she disliked ‘his kind’. She’d barely tolerated him as a kid. Lies right until the end. But it wouldn’t hurt to tell myself otherwise, would it? To believe she meant what she’d said? “Still, after all these years I finally got her approval on something.” And how did I feel about that? “I hate to admit it, but it means a lot, you know? I mean, growing up like I did, I just wanted her to love me like your mum loves you. Just wanted to do something she’d be proud of. And I s’pose her approving of you, despite you being a bloke, is as close as I’m going to get.”

  “So, uh, d’you think you’re going to be all right?”

  “Yeah, once I get a hug from you.”

  * * * *

  The weekend ends all too quickly. Sunday morning saw us eating a cooked breakfast and making our way down the hill toward Josh and Sue’s. I store my car in their garage, and we’re using it for the long drive back to the place I once called home.

  The car trundles along at a steady pace, and Ryan’s dozing in the passenger seat. I take the time to think about what’s to come and how I’ll deal with it. I’ve got no idea how long the police enquiry will take, but I’m guessing the money Mum left me will see me through if my boss at the candle factory doesn’t take kindly to me just bunking off like this. Yeah, I know Josh said he’d tell him why I’d gone and that business is slow at the moment—and the boss is a good sort—but still, I can’t help feeling I’m taking the piss out of his kind nature. Well, nothing I can do about that now. We’re halfway back, and someone’s got to sort out the old dear’s funeral, clear out the house, and put it up for sale.

  I think about that for a while. Mum never told me much to do with her finances, and for all I know she might have remortgaged and still owe a stack to the bank. No matter. I’ll deal with that when it comes to it and not before. If I think about things now I risk overloading myself with shit and breaking down from stress. Because it wouldn’t be from Mum’s death. No, never that.

  But what if it hits me unexpectedly? What if, despite the past four years and me telling myself I don’t care for her, I find, when it comes right down to the wire, that I do? What if those good memories resurface—more than I realised were there—and I miss the woman? What if I miss her and hate her in equal measure?

  What if…what if…what if…

  I blink and sigh, shutting out the persistent thoughts, turning to other, more pleasant ones. Outside Josh’s, before our journey began, something clicked inside and enabled me to say the words I should have said to Ryan a long time ago. Maybe saying them in front of Josh helped, I don’t know, but I said them all right.

  “I expect I’ll bring Ryan back with me to live.”

  Ryan had nodded, and his face lit up, eyes wide, smile firmly in place. God, it had been so easy, and I wonder if I was able to say it because the old dear has gone. She can’t disapprove now, and there’s no one else left for me to ask permission to live the life the way I want to live it.

  Once we’d got in the car, Ryan had asked, “You all right?” the way he always does, always has, and yeah, right at that moment I was all right. Blinding, I was blinding, and now I’m burning.

  Burning with love.

  INFERNO

  INFERNO

  ~

  Chapter One - Lee

  Mum’s funeral wasn’t what I’d expected. She’d obviously made lots of new friends once she joined the church, and they all crammed into the tiny place to pay their last respects. Some looked at me with scorn—and yeah, I’d expected that—but the others smiled, treated me as the grieving son. Giving me concerned looks of sympathy. And I felt a fraud, you know? Like I shouldn’t even have been there, because, let’s face it, I wished I hadn’t gone. No forgiveness had seeped into my heart while in that cold church. No compassion for her had allowed me to forget what had passed. I remember sitting in the front pew, my mind wandering, zoning out the vicar’s words. I pondered whether I’d go to Hell for wishing the damn service would hurry up already, then told myself that it wasn’t surprising I’d feel this way. If I was someone else looking at my life, I wouldn’t expect me to feel badly for her either. But then there’s that inner voice, isn’t there, the whispers saying you’re a bad person for feeling no remorse that your mother shot herself. And how is it that suicide is frowned upon by the church yet the people who gathered to say goodbye glossed over it as though she’d died of a heart attack or something more…acceptable. Funny that.

  Still, I’m at the graveside now, staring down into a hole with her coffin settled at the bottom. The green fake grass covering the crumbly mud around the edges reminds me of the stuff they put in butcher shop windows, the produce neatly packaged on top to give us the impression the meat is fresh from the farm. But she isn’t fresh. It’s been a month since Ryan and me arrived back home—or the place I grew up anyway; hardly home, was it?—and her body was finally released a week ago. We made all the necessary arrangements, and today couldn’t come quick enough for me. There I go again, total bastard. But it’s true, and I’m sick of lying to myself. Sick of smiling and pretending she was a great mum when…she wasn’t. Once today is over, that part of my life is gone, wiped from my mind. No more trips back to childhood—none where she features anyway. No more memories of a sour woman who hated everything abou
t me. Despite the bullshit she wrote in her final note, I know she lied right until the end.

  The vicar drones on, his voice a succession of mumbles I don’t care to hear. Probably intoning what a good person she was and how He has taken her to His bosom. Reckon she’s gone to Hell myself, but there you go.

  Weird to think of her in that box. I mean, it looks smaller than she was. Or maybe she just seemed larger than life because her personality was so in-your-face. I don’t know, but when I walk away from here, that’s it, and I mean that. I can’t keep carrying the burden of “What if…” and “If only I…” and all the other crap that’s been floating around in my head.

  The vicar stops talking, and I continue to stare into the hole, soon to be filled with mud, keeping her in its cold, damp arms for eternity. Feet shuffle on the grass. People clear their throats. A couple of sniffles punctuate the air. Ryan nudges my side, and I look up to see his eyebrows raised and head tilted.

  “What?” I whisper.

  He smiles gently. “You need to… The mud. The rose.”

  Ah, we’d discussed doing this, me acting like the dutiful son because people would expect it. I’d argued the toss, told Ryan if I didn’t feel comfortable I shouldn’t have to do it, but he talked me around. He’s good at doing that.

  I turn away from him and eye the gathering. Expectant faces with watery eyes stare at me. One woman—the next door neighbour who found Mum— whittles a soggy handkerchief between gnarled fingers and gives me a wan smile. I feel sorry for the old dear. She hasn’t got a clue who she made friends with, what Mum was really like. I offer a smile back and nod before stooping to take a handful of dirt in my fist. It’s cool, damp, real and wretched, and I toss it into the hole. It lands on the polished beech, on the engraved silver plaque, with a resounding crack. Her name is obscured, like the mud has erased her, taken her away, yet she still resides within me. Someone else throws earth into the hole, and I stare at the clods and small nodules marring the pristine wooden surface. Bit like what she did to me, right? Ruined me with her ugliness.