Story 10 – Just a Bit More

Brenda cupped her hands around the mug of hot coffee, liking the little sting in her fingers it caused.

Marie was still chattering away.

Brenda blew on her coffee, not from a desire to cool it down but more for something to do until her friend paused for breath so that she could actually join in this one sided conversation.

“Anyway, how are you doing?”

The sudden change from a monologue into a question threw Branda for a second. How was she? Her brain misfired and she couldn’t think of a real answer.

“Oh, you must still be devastated. I’m sure you are. Look at you, you’re drawn, pale. Brenda, you really must get out into the sun more. I know there’s not a lot of sun with the rain right now, but when you see a break in the clouds, you should go out and grasp it.”

Brenda knew for a fact that Marie wasn’t speaking in a metaphor, she really did mean what she said literally. However, she wasn’t wrong, she was just talking about the wrong type of clouds.

“You’re right.” Brenda told her “I’m letting myself sit in the dark too much.”

Marie reached out a hand across her kitchen table and gently gripped Brenda’s forearm “You’re here, now. That’s a start.”

Brenda reconsidered her uncharitable thought about her friend.

“He’s been gone for two months now. He doesn’t have to occupy your every thought any more.”

Brenda glared at her, feeling the heat of rage flush her face “What do you mean by that?”

Marie jerked back, shocked by the venom Brenda had failed to keep out of her voice. She tried to laugh it off, “You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”

Now both of them were leaning back from the other, forcing space between them. What had been a nice moment was shattered by a stupid comment.

“Brenda, you’re still grieving. You’re upset. Let’s not argue, that’s not why I wanted to see you.” Marie’s voice was soft, conciliatory.

Brenda wasn’t having that, she knew exactly what Marie had meant. What they all meant every time they talked about him. Saying it behind coded words, always dancing around their real thoughts. Did they honestly think she was that stupid? That she hadn’t been aware of what they thought of her son?

“Isn’t it?” Brenda could find no kindness for her friend “You ask me round to chat and then you talk for half an hour without stopping. Only after trying to make me care about the boring things Sue and Lisa have got up to at the supermarket do you even think to ask how I am? Then you don’t even give me a chance to answer before you slander George’s name?”

“That’s not what I was doing at all.”

“So, you didn’t plan it? The stupidity just fell out of you?” In the back of her mind, Brenda knew she would apologise for this later, but that was later. Right now she wanted to be angry, to let it all out and poor Marie had just made herself a target.

“That’s deeply unkind.”

“But badmouthing my dead son barely two months after he passed isn’t? That’s kindness? Friendship? That’s the love for me you assured me you had? If that’s your kindness you can keep it. And keep your own company.”

Brenda stood and left, remembering to grab her coat on the way out.

Halfway home Brenda let out a sob of rage and sadness, unable to tell which one was in control right then. Had George been a perfect son? Of course not, who was perfect anyway. She had wanted so much more for him than he had achieved in his thirty two years of life. But that didn’t mean she had loved him any less. You couldn’t be disappointed in someone without caring for them, without loving them. Her disappointment had only come because she knew he was better than he had let himself be.

Stopping into the Co-op on the way home she grabbed a loaf of bread, some milk and some teabags. At the counter she asked for forty Rothman cigarettes.

It was only once she was outside and on her way home that she realised what she had done. Buying on autopilot because George would have wanted his ciggies. She didn’t smoke, never had. What to do with them now? Throwing them would be a waste of money and she hated to waste money.

She could decide what to do later, it wasn’t like they had an expiry date on. Maybe she could give a pack to one or two of the homeless people in town, if they smoked. A little act of charity of George’s behalf, that would be a nice thing.

Walking home, she could feel the cigarettes in her pocket, they seemed to weigh more than they should. Carrying not only the weight of her grief, but also that of Marie’s accusation. They were a reminder of George but not pleasant one.

“Just a bit of cash, Mum. Or a packet of fags. I’m a little short. Come on, Mum. Just a bit.” That old refrain. She had heard it, tickling away in her brain as she shopped. 

“I’m a silly woman.” She told the world, without being sure exactly which of her actions this morning she had been referring to.

Once home she put the milk and bread away before making herself a cup of tea. Streaming songs by The Carpenters through her bluetooth speaker, Brenda settled in her chair to read on her iPad.

She woke up to see it was dusk. The iPad asleep in her hand and the music finished. She hadn’t even felt tired when she sat down, and it had only been just before eleven in the morning. She looked at her mug, still full of tea but now stone cold. She didn’t think she had even drunk a sip of it.

Her phone rang and she was surprised to see she had five missed calls from Angelica, who was calling for a sixth time.

Brenda answered “Hello, Angel. Have you been trying to get hold of me?”

“Oh God, yes.” Angel sounded worried “I’ve been calling all day. You wouldn’t answer.”

“I fell asleep, love. What’s the matter?”

“Marie rang me.” Of course she had.

“Really? And what did she have to say for herself?”

“She said that she had upset you, but you had been really out of character. She thinks you don’t look well.”

“Oh does she?” Brenda could feel that anger building again. “What does she think is wrong with me?”

“She said you looked pale, drawn. She doesn’t think you’re getting enough sleep. So I wanted to see how you are. I know I don’t get to see you much at the moment, but I do still care about you. You would tell me if there was something wrong?” Brenda could feel the sisterly concern through the phone.

“Sleep hasn’t been exactly restful, if I’m honest.” Brenda confessed “I’m trying to find a new routine, you know? I used to have everything how I knew it. Now, there’s only me to cook and clean for. I keep getting his favourites in, I even bought ciggies today because I knew he’d want them. But he’s not here to smoke them.”

“Oh, Bren,” Angel cooed, “you can’t go on just the same as you did. You’ve got some freedom now. You can be you again. You’re not stuck there like you were.”

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?” The anger was back “I was never stuck. I was with my boy, being a mother.” She knew that would cut Angel deeply, but she didn’t care. She ploughed on, driving that stake of anger through the phone “Not that you’d ever know what that was like.”

She heard the intake of breath of the other end of the line. She knew exactly how much she had just hurt her sister, knew that she had been deliberately cruel but couldn’t find it in herself to care. Even Angel was being disrespectful about George. Her son. Her dead son. No-one got to do that. Never. He was her perfect angel and she would not stand for it.

“Well, what do you have to say now? Any more pearls of wisdom? Anything else helpful you want to say?” She snarled at her sister.

“Just one thing.” Angel told her, in a quiet voice.

“And what’s that?”

“That it is entirely your fault he died the way he did.” Then Angel hung up on her.

Brenda stared at her phone in mute shock.

That was evil.

It was cruel.

It was a lie. A filthy, dirty lie.

How was it her fault? How could it have been?

How fucking dare she.

Brenda rang Angelica back.

No answer.

She rang again.

Ignored.

Again and again she rang.

Finally the call was answered.

Before she could speak, David, Angelica’s husband spoke “Don’t say a word. I will speak and when I am done you can talk. If you try to talk over me or through me, I will hang up and your number will be blocked. Do you understand?”

Controlling bastard, why did he have Angelica’s phone?

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good. You were deliberately cruel to your sister. She was cruel in return. Neither of you come out of that conversation covered in glory. Time will pass, you will most likely forgive, if not forget what was said.”

Not a chance, thought Brenda.

“I, on the other hand, don’t care if you forgive me, so here’s some truths you should have heard a long, long time ago. Your son was a leech. He was a wastrel and he sucked the life out of you. Now, before you start to scream and yell, actually use the brain Angel swears you have. Yes, it was terrible his father died while he was so young, but you made the worst possible choice for George after that. You invested everything in him, you made him this perfect child so much that you let him do whatever he wanted. He never had to learn how to do anything. For Christ’s sake, you were still tying his shoelaces when he was ten. You never made him learn to cook or clean or do the washing. You spent all of your money on him, never anything for yourself. Were you surprised that when he finished school with terrible results that he couldn’t get a job? He was a lazy little shit because you never taught him that there were consequences to his actions. Even then, you kept him fed, clothed, supplied with expensive toys and games. You gave him money when he asked for it but never asked what he wanted it for. What a surprise that he spent it on drugs and alcohol. What else was there for him? Everything else you bought for him anyway. You never let him grow up. He was a spoiled, entitled little shit and quite frankly if that crash hadn’t put someone else’s son in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, I’d have said there were no downsides to it happening.”

Brenda was silent, tears running down her cheeks. Rage, grief, confusion, all mixed together in a lump she couldn’t swallow.

“So, now that we’ve got that very clear. You should know that your friends hated George for how he treated you. They loved you and hated to see how you never had anything for yourself because that walking waste of flesh took everything for himself. He didn’t care about you, he cared only about himself. Your friends, your sister, all of us grieved for you when he died. We were distraught because we knew how much you had invested in him, how much of who you were was tied up in George. But you are no longer shackled to that dead weight. You can start to live again. You can have activities and friends and things that occupy you that you don’t need to schedule around making sure George has dinner. You are free to be a whole person again. That’s what they want for you, but they won’t say it this bluntly. Honestly, if you’d never have said that to Angel, I probably would have tried to gently prod you like they have too. But you crossed the line and you did it maliciously. Just so you understand the difference here, I know that me saying this will hurt you but I’m not saying it to hurt you.”

Brenda covered her mouth to hide the sobs from David.

“I’m done. Say what you’re going to say.”

“Fuck you!” Brenda screamed “Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you!”

“That’s what I thought. I understand. But actually try to think about who George really was before you waste the rest of your life on him.”

Brenda screamed wordlessly, a noise that was nothing but confused emotion.

David hung up.

Brenda tossed her phone to the floor and sobbed into her hands.

“Uncle David’s a right wanker.”

She snapped her head up and looked around for George. That had been his voice, the cheeky bite to the words, the tone of not caring what anyone thought. But George wasn’t there.

George was dead.

Brenda felt emotionally exhausted, and hungry. She realised that she hadn’t had anything to eat all day and she’d only had a couple of drinks before falling asleep earlier. No wonder she was so tired.

Walking into the kitchen, two things caught her attention. The first was the faint smell of cigarette smoke. The second was that one of the packets of cigarettes was on the table, open, with one missing.

Brenda picked up the open pack and stared at it. Had she smoked it? Had she, in her grief, come out here and smoked a cigarette to get a smell she associated with George back in the house? She couldn’t see a lit cigarette end anywhere, the ashtray was clean and still on the windowsill. Worried, she checked the back door to see if instead maybe someone had broken in and smoked a cigarette while she slept.

The door was locked and undamaged.

Confused, Brenda put the pack back into her coat pocket and decided to ignore them for now. She had plenty of practice at ignoring things she didn’t like, this was just another for the pile.

Opening the fridge, she thought about what to make for dinner. It was too late to get started on a shepherd’s pie, she needed something simple. There was nothing on the shelves that caught her fancy. Perhaps she still had a frozen pizza or a ready meal she could throw in, just to have something to eat.

She checked the freezer, finding that she did have some pizzas, but they were all the spicy ones that George had loved so much. She hadn’t enjoyed them, her stomach didn’t cope with spicy food so well, but she had always made sure they were in there in case he needed a snack. The ready meals were currys with a spice rating of three chillis, the really hot ones that George had eaten almost constantly. She decided to have one of the pizzas, they weren’t quite as spicy as the currys.

Ten minutes later, the pizza was ready and Brenda sat at the table, still with two places set on it.

“Smells good.” George’s voice again.

Brenda opened her eyes. It was pitch black outside. She had fallen asleep again and it had turned to full night while she had done so. Looking down she saw two of the slices of pizza had had a single bite taken out of them. It must have been so spicy that she couldn’t face eating a whole slice. She had probably tried the second one to see if the distribution of spice was less on it.

She was starving and thoroughly exhausted. Checking her watch, she saw that it was gone midnight. Unbelievable, how could she have slept for so long sitting at the table?

Sh stood up on unsteady legs and decided to just go to bed. Sleep through the hunger and start again tomorrow. She coul go to the supermarket and buy some food that she liked, get herself something that she really fancied.

It was then that she realised she didn’t know what she really wanted She hadn’t bought food for only herself in so long, hadn’t made a dinner that she really loved in years. What exactly was it that she really fancied? She couldn’t think. Every time a small idea crossed her mind it was followed by the sneaky, insidious thought that George wouldn’t like that.

Making her way up the stairs, she began to cry, softly. Was David really right? Were Angel and Marie correct? Had she committed so much of herself to George that without him, there wasn’t much left that was her?

Struggling up the stairs, she realised that they were right. That she had been blind to George’s faults, her own faults as well. She had friends and family that had stood by her, even when George had done such wicked things. Stealing her mother’s jewellery to sell, irreplaceable items that went for a fraction of their worth, just because he could. She had defended him against the accusations at first, then forgiven him and kept it secret when he told her years later.

She would do better. Tomorrow she would start by apologising to Angel and Marie. David too, maybe especially David. No, Angel deserved the biggest apology, she had been so cruel to her.

Then she could do what she had never done, not in decades. She could ask for help. There was no-one to judge her for it, to call her weak because she was alone and needed someone.

Brenda climbed into bed, fully clothed except for her shoes which she kicked off.

Tomorrow would be the day that she started to put George behind her. She was starting to see just how much she had given up for him.

Isn’t that what mother’s do, though? The sneaky, desperate voice at the back of her mind tried to keep her down again. They give up things for their children. They take on responsibility and cares so that the child doesn’t have to.

“But not so much that there’s nothing left for themselves!” She whispered to herself. “How could I have made George a whole person if I didn’t let myself be one too?”

“Who says you aren’t a real person, Mum?”

Brenda opened her eyes, George was there, translucent in the moonlight. His half smile still on his face. She wanted to hold him, to squeeze her baby boy. All those thoughts of just a moment ago, apart from those of the second voice, just flew away. 

The duvet was too heavy, she couldn’t move.

“George, you came back.”

“Of course I did. Where else was I going to go?”

“Come here, my baby boy. Give me a hug.”

George smiled again, but this one was a full smile and it looked strange, not one she had seen on him before.

“A hug? I want a bit more than that, Mum. Just a little bit though.”

Brenda was confused “What do you want then, baby? What can Mummy do for you?”

He shrugged “It’s not much, Mum. It’s just, that I’m cold and you’re warm. I’m thin and you’re solid. I just want a bit of your warmth and your thereness. Not much, no so you’d miss it. Just a bit.”

Mother’s give of themselves to their children. The voice said. The voice was right.

“Of course you can. Take what you need.”

George reached out and took her hands in his. He was so cold, he felt so strange, like a freezing steam.

“Thanks, Mum. You know I appreciate this.”

Brenda smiled at him.

“I appreciate it every time. I know I’ve done it a few times today, but I really needed a fag and then you brought some home and I just couldn’t help myself. Sorry about that.” He sounded so matter of fact. He didn’t actually sound sorry though.

Brenda tried to speak, but found she didn’t have the energy to form words.

“And yeah, maybe I should have left you alone to eat the pizza, but you know they’re my favourite and I know you don’t like them. I couldn’t stand to see them go to waste.”

She wanted to pull her hands back, feeling the cold seep deep into her bones, her brain was fogging up. It was hard to think. George felt solid now, his grip was unbreakable.

“See, the thing is, Mum, its really not fair I’m dead and you aren’t, is it?”

Parents shouldn’t outlive their children.

His face was scary now, something dark within him was visible in his eyes, Brenda felt terror beating futilely at her. Screaming for her to get away, but this was her baby boy. He’d never hurt her.

“So, I’ve decided, I don’t want to be dead any more and I think I can not be, if you’ll help. Will you help me, Mum?” He let go of her right hand and reached up to make her head nod like a puppeteer. “I thought you would.”

Parents will do anything for their kids.

“See, the way I’ve been thinking is, the more of you I’ve taken over the last few weeks, the more here I’ve been. So I reckon that if I take it all, right now, then I’ll get to stay. And if it doesn’t work, well, then you’ll be here to help me work out how to do it, won’t you, Mum?”

no I wont

Of course I will, my baby boy.

i want to live

You take what you need, my precious one.

dont kill me, please dont kill me

A real parent would die for their child.

George sucked in a breath of air “Oh, that felt good. Come on, Mum, nearly there.”

He gripped her tighter.

”Just a little bit more.”

© Robert Spalding 2020