Forgotten Bonds.
Chapter 1 – The funeral.
I can't say I wasn't saddened by the day. One's mother dying wasn't exactly a memory a daughter wanted to keep dear to her heart. Though it killed me somewhat to feel relieved that she had died. Jacob, my husband, squeezed my hand in a comforting gesture as he noted my pained expression. If only he knew the true reason for that, maybe he wouldn't be so sweet with me.
"I'm sorry for your loss" Yet another shadowed figure said, as they passed me by, with saddened smiles, shaking my hand and nodding in grief. 'I'm sorry for your loss'. What was with that any how? It wasn't as though I'd lost a set of keys or spare change, I hadn't lost my mother, she just died. I couldn't wait for this day to be over. Truthfully I couldn't stand funerals.
"Are you ok?" My good friend of 20 years, Alice asked as she found me lingering outside on the backyard porch. It was winter, and freezing cold outside with the iced over snow covering the ground. I figured no one would come outside for any reason other than to go ice-skating or voluntarily make sure they got pneumonia for Christmas, so I felt safe. But Alice always knew how to find me.
"Yes...I'm fine" I said, forcing a smile from my frozen, chapped lips.
"Bella" She said, with a prompting tone, raising her eye-brow at me as if to remind me she could see right through my bullshit.
"Honestly Alice. You of all people should know I'm ok. It doesn't bother me...even though I know it should" I bemused, puffing on my cancer-stick, and breathing in the wondrous fumes that filled my body with a quick-stress-fix-it juice.
"Yes...I know. You just seem distant that's all. As though your mind is somewhere distressing. Anything happen at home that I should know about? Things are ok with Jacob and the kids right?" She pressed, her face so full off concern as though I were one of those domestic-abused-housewives in a country/western song.
"No, not at all. Everything is fine at home" Huge emphasis on the fine. Jacob was a loving husband. Caring, faithful, helpful around the house, great with the kids, and loved the bones off me. True he was no James Bond or Dallas Winston. His kisses didn't make my blood boil, and his over the dinner table anecdotes and funny jokes didn't make me want to laugh out loud in hysterics but he was a good husband. And that was the problem!
"Then what is it Bella? You can't hide from me you know. You forget I know you better than you know yourself. Please tell me what it is" She pushed. I pondered over whether I should let her in to my little land of secrets, but opted for the escape plan instead.
"I guess it's just the wrong time of the month. Stress of the funeral, and the fact the boys are so grown up now they need even more attention and running around after" I said, praying she would accept that and leave me in peace to revel in my thoughts. Her face was questioning for a brief moment, before her lips creased into and accepting smile, and her hand moved to pat me on the back.
"They say after birth it gets easier with the kids...they were wrong!" She laughed, shaking her head at the memory of her own two boys. I forced a little laugh along with her, and promised I'd come inside soon, turning back to face the world in front of me. So distant and unreachable. 'The grass is always greener on the other side' I said to myself, sighing in frustration, and taking one last puff of my cancer stick, before flicking it into the ice.
"It was a beautiful service" Jacob said to me as we entered our home, and placed our coats neatly in the closet.
"Yes it was" I agreed, going over in my head the huge to-do-list I had waiting for me to straight jump into.
"I told Victoria the boys could stay with her tonight. Thought we'd just spend some time alone. Me and you time" He said, smiling pleadingly at me. I pushed the corners of my mouth up, and cocked my head to the side. He knew instantly what I was about to do. Disappointing him was my trademark, my speciality.
"I have so much to do before the boys come home tomorrow. There's all the stuff to get ready before they go back to school, plus they haven't even started their holiday homework yet. I've got a ton of paperwork to shift through, and the kitchen is in a complete war-zone state. I'm sorry Jacob" I said, truthfully sorry that I couldn't be that 'Stepford wife' for him. The one that could do everything, have the house spotless and sparkling, have all the jobs for the kids done and dusted, and then have all the time in the world left to pleasure her husband. It just wasn't possible. I wasn't superwomen, and even if I did have time to spare at the end of the day, the chores I'd just encountered rendered me exhausted and energy-lacking. I felt bad of course, I know how much he longed for us to make love again. It had been a dry spell of 5 months. But it didn't mean I loved him any less. I just...didn't have the time any more.
"That's ok" He said putting on a brave front. "We will have plenty of time together on our holiday next month" He perked up then, as he sat in his rocking chair, and kicked off his shoes, and cosily placed his grandpa slippers on his freakishly large feet.
"Yes" I said, forgetting completely we'd booked that holiday to Italy. I left him to delve into his newspaper, always the sports section, and made a start on the kitchen. Something the reverend had said at the Church was still plaguing me. "Renee was a kind, loving mother, whose only true want in life was to see her children grow up into the wonderful people that they are". Right I muttered under my breath, as I scrubbed furiously at the mouldy pots. Of course she'd want the reverend to say that. Renee didn't want to look bad in front of the 'social elite' as they called themselves, although really they just shopped at gap and pretended it was all 'designer wear from Paris'. Renee had been anything but a good mother. You only had to look at my sister, Rosalie, to see that. Rosalie, being much older than me by 5 years, had been so troubled by our childhoods with our mother, that she'd never quite found peace with herself. Even now, aged 33, she still wandered the streets like a lost soul, moving from one job to the next, and never quite holding down a 'normal' relationship for more than a month or two. It always worried me, because she had been my rock when we'd been growing up. A substitute mother, when she really should have been allowed to be a child. Renee's constant abandonment, and rash decisions in life left us in quite an abnormal state of living, and even though Rosalie had tried shielding me from the pain she carried day in day out, I still felt affected.
23 years ago
It all started when I was 5 years old. Mom decided she couldn't stand to look at our father's face any longer, and upped and left for Canada for what she called 'rest bit' in Canada for a little while. Our father, Charlie, promised us she'd only be gone a short while, and we were not to worry, it'd be like she'd never left.
"She's never coming back is she?" I asked Rosalie, tugging at her pretty butterfly dress. It was her 10th birthday, a big deal for her because she'd finally turned double-numbers. But she stared at her ruined face in the mirror, tears hovering at the cove's off her eyes, with dark circles starting to form around them, as after 5 months of no letters, no phone calls, or visits, she still hadn't returned. She hadn't even bothered to wish Rosalie a happy birthday in any way shape or form. Rosalie wiped her face and turned to me with a loving smile that held so much anguish behind it it made me cry now to think about.
"Yes...she is" She said with as much enthusiasm in her voice as she could muster. "She's coming home right now. She's just so far away Bells, it takes a very long time to get here, but she's trying" And like the soft, gullible little girl I was, I believed her. Of course she returned, 3 months later with an Italian male painter stuck to her hip like she'd all of a sudden turned into a Siamese twin.
"This" She slurred, with a clear mix of brandy and rum on her breath "is Caius. Caius s-meet my girls". I looked up at Caius, confused and disoriented. Who was this man that stood tall above me. He had long blonde hair, and a sharp, rusty tan, and his eyes spoke of many myths and stories, but yet I couldn't help but feel like punching him in the balls. Rosalie managed to grab my little tiny fist before I could knock the man, who'd taken our mother away, out of his socks. She smiled encouragingly at me and then turned to glare a scornful look towards this stranger. He held out his hand for her to shake, grinning like some wild, over-the-top idiot on speed. She took it, unwillingly, and then flashed him a cunning, sly smile, tightening her fist around his hand too much, and causing him discomfort.
"Wow...you have one hell of a handshake there" He said laughing it off, and looking around awkwardly.
"So what did I miss?" Our mother asked in her baby-ish tone, clapping her hands together, and looking down on us as if we were both 5 year olds, with the brain capacity of a mouse!
"My birthday" Rosalie said, with hatred and resentment behind her brave eyes. I reached my little hand out and slid it into her bigger hand in comfort. She looked down at me, and smiled kindly, and I beamed back at her with all the love and sunshine I could muster.
"Oh..." Our mother said, shock in her voice and face as she stood up, and tried to remember what day it was. "Oh no! I'm so sorry Rosalie" She said finally, leaning back down to meet Rosalie's gaze, and pulling the best 'puppy-dog' face she could. Rosalie swung her body from side to side, pursing her lips as she considered this plea from our mother. And then after what seemed like hours of silence Rosalie jumped up, and wrapped her arms around mother's neck, kissing her cheek, and showing her complete forgiveness. I jumped up and down clapping in excitement, so glad we had her back finally, and then I dove at her feet, hugging them close to my chest. Mom let out the giddiest laugh, as she fought to stay breathing at our complete suffocation of her. We were all happy again, she was back for good and would never leave us again. At least that's what we thought.
Present day
"MOMMY!" My two boys exclaimed as they came scrambling through the door and ran into my waiting arms. I smiled lovingly as they wrapped their teeny-tiny arms around me, and clung to me just like we'd done with my mother that day she'd returned. I thought to myself in those few seconds of joy, that I could never leave my boys under any circumstances, and still fought to understand why our mother had done that to us. My eldest boy, James, was 6 years old, and bursting full of energy that even his after school football classes, and weekend treasure hunting trips didn't stop the buzzing. He was a proper man's, man, loved everything boisterous, and mischievous, and absolutely hated girls, excluding me and Victoria of course, since he couldn't lift out skirts up in public on purpose without being sent to bed with no supper. He'd ordered his room to be painted royal blue, with coverings of poster's and pictures of famous footballers, and rugby players, even his bedsheets had to be manly! I let Jacob sort all that out. My knowledge with boys was lacking somewhat, since I had always been very girlie and feminine. But James put up with my flimsy-girlie ways, and still would hug me, and kiss my cheek like the sweet little son he was. I wondered how much longer that would last, before I wasn't allowed to even go 5 feet near him, let alone cuddle him. My youngest boy, Paul, was very much the opposite. At 4 years old, going on 24, he was extremely studious, and sensible that sometimes I could of sworn he was much smarter than me. At the dinner table, or during our little chats he would constantly correct me on my speech, or way of manner, and I had to laugh.
"If your not careful you'll end up being a child, and him the parent" Jacob had whispered to me one night, after Paul had screamed in frustration because I couldn't understand Shakespeare's writings, and it infuriated him to try and explain. But like any other 4 year old, he needed his mother, and would constantly run into my arms if he'd fallen down or hurt himself, crying and pleading for my care. The Thomas the tank engine plaster's, and kiss it all better worked a treat with him, and it was nice sometimes to see the little boy inside of him. I really loved them both, so much, that it pained me to think of what might happen in the next few months. After all...nothing good was coming, nothing good at all!