Chapter 2 – Breach of Faith

5 YEARS LATER

"Yes . . . Um? . . . Yes, dear? . . . What? The seventh? But Liz's birthday is next week. You can't just— . . . What's that you say? . . . Really now, Harold? . . . You're prioritizing work over family! . . . That's insane! No, Harold, you listen to me! I am not allowing you to skip—Hello? Hello?!"

With a nettled groan, mum clicked the phone shut and slammed it on the counter, and sighed loudly, exasperatedly.

"What's the matter, mum?" Patti asked, munching on her beef stew. "Daddy's not coming back?"

Mum took a deep breath and said, "No, sweetie. He's just . . . really busy, is all."

"With work?" I said incredulously. "He's been in Philadelphia for two weeks now!"

"Now, now, Liz—"

"Don't you 'now, now' me, mum! You can't just leave him on his own out there for two weeks—"

"Liz, you're making your dad sound like a lost puppy."

"—And how would you know if he's not seeing other women behind your back—"

Next thing I know, my cheek was red and stinging and Patti screeched in fright. "THAT'S ENOUGH, LIZ!" Mum fumed, her entire face red. "YOU ARE NOT TO SAY ANOTHER NASTY WORD ABOUT YOUR FATHER, YOU STINKING, LITTLE—"

"Mum, don't say bad words!" Patti cried, close to tears.

Mum stood frozen in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, and heaved a long sigh. "You're right. I'm so sorry . . ."

"Damn right you are," I mumbled under my breath, stirring my cold stew but not eating it. I wasn't hungry anymore.

"Did you say something, Liz?" mum said.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"I said, no, mum. I think I would be well aware of the things I say out loud, wouldn't you think so?"

"Okay, okay, Liz, I understand your point. ("No, you don't!" I wanted to shout back at her). You don't have to get so touchy about it. Since when did you even become this overly sensitive? You're not even sixteen yet!"

"Just you wait until I turn sixteen," I muttered inaudibly once more. I didn't know if mum heard me this time, but she didn't say anything, and took a seat in front of me. She mustered a faint smile and leaned close.

"Listen, Liz, I know you're upset that dad won't be available on your birthday," she said apprehensively, as if one word might detonate the bomb inside of me (there is a 99.9% chance).

"Your cleavage is showing," I pointed out blatantly, and mum quickly fixed her V-neck blouse. She didn't make much of a difference to it.

"But what I'm trying to say is just give him another chance. It's all I'm asking for. He's worked himself to the bone to provide this family with the money we need to sustain you two: for food, for your school."

"Money?" I repeated with a snort. "Is that all you care about, mum? Rolling around in riches while dad works himself to the bone?" I finished with a roll of my tongue, as if spitting out some disgusting stew.

"No, that's not what I meant at all—"

"Then what do you mean, mum? Come, tell me. I'm dying to know."

Mum stood up so abruptly, the table shook.

"Liz, I'm warning you! Any more cheek from you, I'll—"

"You'll what, mum? Throw me out of the house even though dad's worked himself to the bone?"

Mum was very red with anger.

"Don't hide it from me, mum!" I screamed in her face, nearly flipping my bowl.

I received another 'well earned' slap, and unable to take the tension anymore, Patti broke down in uncontrollable sobs.

"Oh, look what you've done!" mum scowled at me and picked up the wailing Patti. "Hush, now, Patti. I didn't mean any of them—"

"Of course you don't." I pushed my still full plate away and rose from the chair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be in my room."

"And I'll be down the street if you need anything."

"And why, mother dearest, would you be down the street?" I asked—slandered really—even though I already knew the answer.

"I'll be down by the shop for the groceries," mum corrected herself hastily. "Now if you'll excuse me." She shoved us aside, strode out the front door and slammed the door without a word, but before she left, I heard her murmur irritably to herself, "Chumpy Elizabeth. I just don't know how to get through to her . . ."

No, she wasn't going to the shops to buy groceries.

I was seething and boiling with anger. Chumpy, my ass! I'll show her a thing or two! I'll drive a screwdriver through her skull 'til her brain—if she has one—comes oozing out in grey matter! I'll pierce her heart with the kitchen knife! I'll shove her out of a fifty feet window! I'll shove her down a street full of speeding cars and trucks! I'll—

Patti tugging at my shirt halted my raging, rampant, dangerous train of murderous thoughts, silently wiping away tears from her puffy eyes. She was already in her pink, fluffy bunny pajamas with matching slippers.

"I-I want to go to bed," she sniveled. "Read me a story."

So I did. I sat on the edge of her bed, squeaking and creaking as I did so, and opened a book that was near the leg.

"No, not that one," she said, clutching Mr. Jaffy/Jeffry/Girrafey, who now had a crooked neck and could use a good washing. "This!"

I looked at the cover of the hardback and frowned. "Patti, we've read 'Jerry the Giraffe' a million times before."

"So? I like that book! Read it, or I'll tear down all your BSB posters in your sleep!"

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I will!"

I gave in. "Fine, fine." I sullenly opened the book and began to read in a monotone voice. "Jerry the Giraffe lived in the savannah. He lived a content life; had all the grass he wanted to eat, had a nice, shady tree to sleep under. He was very happy.

Patti was inching closer in excitement.

"One day, he noticed something was missing. He went searching and searching for it, but he couldn't find it. Until he realized, he didn't even know what he was looking for."

The more I think about this children's story, the more I think it makes absolutely no sense.

"Keep reading, I want to know the ending!" Patti encouraged.

"I've read you the ending a million times already!" I half-shouted, not wanting to scare my little sister into tears again.

"But—" her eyes turned glassy and she pouted her bottom lip.

"Dammit, fine! Jerry sat alone under his tree, playing with a blade of grass, when it hit him. He had no family nor friends."

Well, isn't that just pitiful? What kind of children's book is this? Who published this? Who wrote this nonsense?

I snapped the book shut and tutted Patti before she could speak.

"But you're at the best part!"

"No, that book is stupid. Now tuck yourself in. I want to sleep, too."

Patti was quiet.

"Liz, can I ask you something?" she asked.

"What?" I nearly spat.

"Why do you keep fighting with mum? And why is dad always gone? I miss him."

I bit my lip to stop myself from sighing aloud. "I don't know. But I do know, Patti, that . . . we may not be a real family any longer."

"A real family?! What do you mean?"

"It means . . . Promise me you won't tell anyone, Patti?"

She held out her pinky. "I promise."

I linked my own little finger with hers, my heart pounding in my ears. "Mum . . . is seeing someone else, Patti. She betrayed dad."

"Huh?"

"I, uh, it's—how do I say this? Mum and dad are going to be divorced soon. It means that they'll leave each other and separated ways. She doesn't love dad anymore."

Patti looked aghast and I suddenly wished I hadn't let anything slip. She's far too young for this.

"I mean, like . . . Ugh, I shouldn't have said anything. This is too damn hard to explain. You'll understand when you're older. Good night." I stomped out the door.

"Wait, Liz! Will mum and dad be alright?"

"I DON'T KNOW, PATTI! MAYBE NOT EVER!" I exploded.

"LIZ! HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOW THIS?"

"EVER SINCE I FOUND MUM'S HIDDEN STASH OF MONEY UNDER THE MATTRESS AND LOADS OF OTHER THINGS! NOW SHUT UP!"

"LIZ! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

But I had slammed my door shut and double bolted it, and that night, like any other night, I cried myself to sleep and struggled to stop the haunting thoughts of our soon-to-be (or already) broken family.