The Years of Loving You. Ella Harper

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СКАЧАТЬ yet undiscovered pool of sick somewhere, he was looking at a good three hours or more. He turned to the sofa.

      There she was. Sprawled across it, her legs flopped out at an undignified angle, her skirt bearing a wet stain that to Ed was unmistakable. There was a smear of lipstick smudged from the corner of her mouth to her chin, giving her the air of a macabre, violated doll. Ed leant over and pulled a blanket over her legs. He’d deal with the urine situation later. He grabbed a tissue and wetted it with his mouth, the way a parent does for a child, carefully dabbing at the lipstick until her face looked normal again. Then he sat back on his heels and gazed at her. And here it was. The very reason Ed didn’t ever bring friends – or, God forbid, girlfriends – home. The explanation for Ed’s only-child status. The shameful grounds on which to lie to the person he cared about the most in the world.

      His mother. The devout, committed alcoholic. She had been married to a serial cheat, a husband who had upped and left years ago, abandoning both of them without a second glance. She had fallen apart and turned to the bottle. Ed had followed her around, picking up the pieces and clearing up her mess. Keeping his guilty secret under wraps from everyone, especially anyone who meant something to him.

      He remembered some school friends turning up unannounced years ago, when his father had first left. His mother had been in the throes of a horrendous drinking binge and when she saw Ed’s school friends, she had danced around the garden laughing hysterically, trying to get them to join in. All with her skirt tucked in her knickers. Which was better than her stripping all of her clothes off and falling over on the patio with her legs splayed everywhere. Which she did later, in front of Ed’s friends. He had never been so mortified in his life, and he swore he would never allow anyone he remotely cared for to meet his mother ever again.

      Florrie stirred and opened her eyes with some difficulty. Mascara and tears had seemingly welded them together and she almost had to put a hand to her face to unstick them. Ed found it both tragic and painful to watch.

      ‘Darling,’ she slurred. ‘Where have you been? I went out to look for you. Got a bit lost. Have you been climbing trees again?’

      Ed closed his eyes. ‘Mother, I’m eighteen years old.’

      ‘Of course you are!’ Florrie cackled. ‘I’m forgetful; what can I say?’ She gave him a coquettish smile. ‘Is your girlfriend with you? The lovely Molly? You’re always talking about her.’

      Ed opened his mouth to correct her then thought better of it. ‘No, no, she’s not,’ he said finally. It never ceased to disturb him how his mother seemed to flit in and out of past and present, from vagueness to startling accuracy.

      ‘Where is Michael?’ he asked her, enunciating clearly.

      ‘Michael?’

      ‘Michael. The man who moved in here. Your boyfriend.’

      ‘He’s gone.’ Florrie started to cry. It was a pitiful, child-like sound.

      Ed put his hand on hers. ‘What happened?’

      ‘We had a fight. I had a drink.’ Florrie swallowed. ‘I said some things. Not very nice things. But it was all his fault.’

      Ed nodded. He was well-acquainted with the downsides of an alcoholic with a mean streak. She had once told him she wished she’d never had him, that he had ruined her life and that he could drop dead as far as she was concerned. Not a great thing to hear at the tender age of fourteen.

      ‘He packed his stuff and he’s gone,’ Florrie said, her voice reaching a whiny pitch.

      ‘Maybe he’ll come back.’ Ed tiredly pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘You were in such a good place, Mum. Such a good place. How did this happen?’

      ‘I miss you,’ she said, pulling her lips into a pout. ‘I miss you so much, Edison. You won’t leave me again, will you?’ she pleaded, clawing at his hand. ‘You’re all I’ve got.’

      ‘I’m doing a degree, Mum. I’m trying to make a better life for us.’

      ‘But I need you here.’

      Ed closed his eyes briefly. Here it came. The emotional blackmail. He could barely stand it. He had lived with it for so long now, he knew he should be used to it, but he hated it.

      ‘Time for a sleep,’ Ed told her gently. She resisted for a second, but exhaustion and alcohol soon overcame her and she relaxed against the sofa. Ed tucked the blanket more securely round her, feeling a multitude of emotions rushing into his throat – love, sympathy, resentment, responsibility. Overwhelmed, he settled down on the opposite sofa and rubbed his eyes blearily, wondering what on earth he was going to do now.

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