Happy Families

"Are they done yet?" a whining voice said behind me.

"No, Jane, they're not! Stop asking, they'll be done soon!" I said, standing back from the oven and turning to look at my pouting little sister.

"I'm hungry, Maggie, and you promised they'd be 'done soon' fifteen minutes ago," she said incredulously.

I sighed as she folded her arms. She looked so spoilt and irritating that I put my hand on her forehead and forced her away.

"Come back in five minutes, Jane," I said, tossing the oven gloves I'd been wearing onto the table.

"That hurt! MUM! Maggie shoved me!" she called, running out of the kitchen. I groaned; mum always took Jane's side because she was younger.

I was just preparing myself to deny everything when Jane came back in, quite meekly, and sidled up to me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my annoyance with her momentarily slipping away. She put her skinny arms around my waist, hugged me and whispered, "They're shouting again."

I was silent. Of course they were fighting. That was all they ever did.

"Where?" I asked quietly, the only other sound that of the humming of the oven.

"The sitting room," Jane said, her eyes downcast.

"Stay here," I said, noticing a button on the cooker flashing. I grabbed the mitts I'd discarded and put them on, as I took the slightly burnt cookies out and placed them on the counter.

"They're hot, but they'll cool soon," I said, ruffling Jane's curls. She nodded and sat down on the nearest stool.

I left the room and walked down the hallway, smelling the heavenly scent of the biscuits that had sufficiently filled the whole house. As I neared the sitting room, I began to hear what hadn't reached the kitchen. It did not play nicely on my ears.

My parents' voices were loud, and as I realised while edging ever closer, aggressive.

"Don't give me that crap, John! I know when you're lying, don't take me for a fool!" my mum shouted from behind the partially closed door.

I put my eye to the gap between wall and door to see what was happening. I didn't really want to see my parents that way, but I felt compelled to.

My dad was standing with his back to where I was spying, leaning on the fireplace. Mum was sitting down, glaring at him while one of her nasty smelling cigarettes hung from trembling fingers.

"I can't say a word to you without you assuming it's a lie anyway... so what would you have me say? HUH?"

I winced as he raised his voice; I didn't like him this way. I didn't like any of this at all.

"Can you blame my doubt in you? Really? How about you tell me the truth for once! Let's have a nice, detailed conversation about all the times you lie to me, as though it were the easiest thing in the world to do! Like when you 'stay late at the office' for instance! For God's sake John, that's such a cliché!! Even you could've come up with something better than that!"

"Oh shut up you stupid cow, you don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!"

"I'll speak how I want to! This is my house!"

My mum suddenly stood up, grabbed her glass of brandy and hurled it at my dad, who ducked just in time. It shattered where his head had been and the marble was strewn with shards of glass and liquid that dripped on the carpet. I spilt juice there once, and mum was so angry she sent me to my room without dinner. She said it was Persian, whatever that means. Looking at her now, she didn't look like herself at all.

I suddenly tore my eyes away as dad, livid, strode across the room towards mum. I heard two very memorable sounds all at once: the harrowing clap of a large hand making contact with soft flesh, and the gasp of a little girl witnessing her father hit her mother.

I grabbed Jane's hand and raced to the uppermost step of the staircase as my dad roared, "You crazy bitch!"

My heart was beating fast as I tried to shield Jane from the noise of an argument that could potentially destroy all that we believed to be true. I was the eldest; it was my job to protect my sister from things she didn't understand yet.

"Don't worry Janey, everything will be okay soon," I said, not quite sounding convincing enough.

"That's what you said about the cookies," Jane said quietly, staring at the door the voices were bellowing from. "You didn't know when they'd be done then, and you won't know when mummy and daddy will stop yelling now."

I looked at her, surprised.

"I'm eight, Maggie, that doesn't make me stupid."

She suddenly seemed a lot older than she was. The moment was only fleeting though, as she began chewing on the end of her thumb. Despite the horrible situation, I smiled. Though that, like Jane's maturity, was premature.

Our parents burst through the sitting room door, mum to the rear. She pulled on dad's shirt, making him stop.

She menacingly said, "It's that Tracy isn't it?"

Dad didn't say anything, but shrugged mum's hand off his left shoulder.

She made a scathing, disgusted sound and said, "Your secretary? That tramp?!"

"Don't talk about her like that!" dad snapped, grabbing mum's wrists as she tried to hit him. If the situation weren't so awful, I might've laughed; the position they were standing in looked so comical. There was nothing funny about what mum said next though.

"Do you love her?" she asked, through gritted teeth.

It was as though everything froze in that one crystallising moment; all my memories of my twelve years of being alive could be discarded, broken, if the wrong word was said.

I tried to remember when everything had gone wrong, but I couldn't. I only thought of the arguments that all seemed the same and so rolled into one. Of my mum sitting in the kitchen with a cigarette by herself, waiting for dad to get back from the office. The strained conversations at dinner and the gaping coldness that stretched further between them every day. I knew things were bad, but I truly believed they'd get better. Things hadn't always been this way. I vaguely recalled a day at the beach after my tenth birthday when everything was sunny and wonderful. That day seemed so far away now.

I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned my head to see Jane leaning forward, her eyes wide and fearful as she stared down at our parents. Her knuckles were white as they clutched the banister. I took her hand immediately and squeezed it for support. My mum looked very much like Jane did; expectant and scared.

Finally, mum got her answer... and everything was broken. Dad nodded slowly and said, "Yes. I do."

Mum screeched and tried to attack him before falling to her knees, muttering about betrayal and humiliation through strangled sobs.

I wanted to go to her, but something stopped me. Perhaps it was for Jane's sake. And if her pitiful form wasn't bad enough, dad suddenly made it infinitely worse.

"I can't do this anymore Claire. I want a divorce," he said quietly.

I let out a cry of protest and both my parents looked up to where Jane and I sat. Their faces said it all. They had completely forgotten we were in the house.

There was nothing to say. Dad stared at us guiltily, mum allowed tears to roll down her cheeks, and Jane and I sat on the stairs, our hearts breaking as a world of lies that had masqueraded as our lives opened up. I had no idea what do to. We all stared at one another for what seemed like an age.

"Maggie," Jane whispered, not knowing exactly what was happening.

"It's okay Janey. It'll all be alright soon," I said, fighting back tears. "I promise."

END

Hope you enjoyed

-H69