This is getting harder and harder to write. I suppose I am desperately trying to give Goyjo's mother a little depth and it is taking a lot longer than I thought. I wanted to provide a gradient of craziness for her to slip into. I know this is supposed to be a Goyjo fic, and although he hasn't had much screen time yet just wait, I have lots planned.

Revised Version.

Thank you for all the kind reviews. Sorry for the wait, I have another chest infection plus tonsillitis and I feel lousy. Yeah I know, excuses, excuses. Just enjoy the fic.

Chapter 4

Sumire held the child at arms length, her hands hooked underneath his shoulders, her fingers curled icily round the back of his head. Goyjo simply stared across the distance between then, his limbs jiggling wildly in delight, his round, baby face crinkled into a smile as he gurgled and cooed, enjoying the extra attention.

Her night dress fluttered around her knees in the light wind; the frayed, greying corners slowly edging up her thighs. The mid morning air was crisp and pleasant and promised sunshine by midday. Sumire could already feel the first rays of sunlight beating onto her shoulder blades as cloud parted and blue sky broke its way through. Her feet were bare, but the earth beneath her was soft, warm and well weathered, she wriggled her toes in the dirt before tentatively stepping forward onto the topmost step.

The way down to the road consisted of 55 steps of cut granite stone, large and ceremonious they curled up towards Sumires home, before turning off and leading to nothing but untameable weeds and dried out wasteland. They had been here long before her house had been built, decades, most likely, centuries of wear had beaten down their smooth surface. Grandeur diminished, they were rough and jagged, patches of grass sprouting from unlikely cracks and crumbling rock rounding the dulled edges.

A safety hazard for as long as she could remember, she remembered when she had fallen down the stairs herself. Over loaded with a weeks worth of laundry, she had slipped on the back of her dress just under halfway down. Head over heals she had toppled, clothes and sheets leaving a starched, white trail over the steps, to where she lay, face first in the dust by the side of the road. Relatively unharmed, but crying out in shock, she remembered the way Ren had come dashing out of the house, half dressed, leaping two steps at a time, his body still dripping wet from the shower. He had scooped her up in his arms so gently, his expression dark with concern, drips of water running down his nose and onto her own. Without a word he had carried her back to the house, placed her on the couch and proceeded to wait on her hand and foot for the whole day; his long, gentle fingers fumbling as he made a poor yet well meant mess of bandaging her ankle.

Why couldn't have things stayed so perfect, why couldn't she hold onto that picture of her husband, the caring, handsome man she thought she had married. Why couldn't see remember his smile, that sheepish, devil may care grin. His long dark brown tumbling over her body; his prickly five o clock shadow kisses scratching her face after he returned home from work.

Her wedding day only existed in the photograph beside her bed, at only 16 the teenage marriage now seemed cliché. But it had been so right, they had both been so sure, so convinced of their love, there had never been a shadow of a doubt that they were meant to be together. How naive they both looked, her in her second hand gown; she had fitted it herself and it hung off her teenage frame awkwardly, her stomach protruding in a state of glowing pregnancy. Her veil hung lop-sided, but beneath it a unfamiliar, fresh faced youngster grinned wildly. On her right stood Ren, even at 16 he stood at a gangly 6'2, his greying suit not nearly concealing his socks and the sleeves exposing his wrists. His arms slyly wrapped round his blushing bride, resting on her ass sheepishly.

They had nothing, Sumire had not heard from her parents since she was 'knocked up' (their words, not her own) and went on to marry Ren. A young man whom they were convinced was not up to Sumires standard, they showed this disapproval by disowning their daughter and lost more in this stubbornness than they had bargained for. They both died in the 5 years that followed; a fact that caused their daughter minimum amount of grief. Ren had no family himself, orphaned young and desperate to escape the orphanage which he so intensely despised, he ran away at the earliest opportunity. They both ended up penniless, but so very much in love and that had counted for so much.

Pictures of that happiness seemed so far away, so weak and diluted, she had began to wonder if the man she knew had only existed in dreams.

Now all she could focus on was hurt in their marriage, the lies, the arguments and the infidelity. She could see the furious, drunken face that came through the door at 4 in the morning, dripping wet and stinking of beer and sex. Lipstick on his collar, his wallet empty. She cold so easily picture the cold, stony expression Ren had worn as he read the morning paper the morning after a fight, the black eye he had picked up after the saucepan, meant for the space above his head, had hit him square in the face. Then the bitterness, that lasted for weeks, months, the anger that radiated as they sat down for the evening meal, as Ren sipped his coffee silently and the prepared food remained untouched. So many problems, so much left unresolved. Regret washed over her.

Clearer than anything, the image of her husband, writhing on the couch, his face sticky with sweat and fever, his teeth clenched in delirium. When it had come down to it, she had not been able to swoop down upon Ren and save him. His last words rang in her ears; words that should have been devoted to love, to their marriage, to herself; they should have been a comfort to her, he should have told her how much he had really cared, how much he would miss them both. Words straight out of a romance novel, the bittersweet end of a tragedy. Instead, she had received news of Sha Rens second life, his women. The whores who he had spent his nights with, the affairs and deceit of over 10 years of marriage. Hatred stirred up in her heart, she had always been faithful to Ren. Always. Infidelity had never even played upon her mind. Yet the moments that had rightfully been hers had been taken from her and her son, Ren's last goodbyes, stolen indefinitely by that human bitch and of course, the miserable little half breed she now held in her arms.

Goyjo's weight was beginning to pull on her arms, a grinding pain had lodged itself in the creases of her elbows. How easy it would be to just to let go, release the strain and just let the child fall to his death. It would be over quickly, his infantile mind would be dead before pain had a chance to register. His tiny bones would shatter on sharp stone slabs, his head, covered with such soft, red hair, would crack open and spilt on jagged edges. And that would be that.

The road before her remained as deserted as it always had been. No one would witness the act, Jien was out with his friends and the nearby houses had no view of her home, the embankment was surrounded by thick foliage. But even so, who would care? Names and faces ran through her head, but she couldn't think of one person who would mind if some orphan half breed got what was coming to him. The town had shown their disapproval immediately and she couldn't ignore the piecing looks, whispers and shame resting on her heart. It wasn't fair, it wasn't her fault, but she was the last person involved in the whole messy predicament who was still alive and so caring for the child rested on her. If it were not for Rens dying words, Goyjo would have been out of the house in a second, rotting in some far away orphanage. But how could she ignore her dead husbands most intensive want for his son, she could not refuse his final request. She could not bring herself to do it, the whole affair filled her with guilt. So now it came down to murder, and the possibility became to seem more attractive by the second.

It was if she could feel the bad luck radiating from his body, shooting up her arms and resting in her chest, tainting her, making her feel dirty. Her fingers tensed, sick excitement pounding through her aching arms. One action, one fatal 'accident' would end it all, all her worries and stress could be distilled with the death of the child. She slowly let his blanket slip out of her grip….

"Mom?"

Startled, she snatched Goyjo instinctively back from the drop.

"Mom? What are you doing" Jien came running up embankment, his face spotted with dirt and curled in a bemused expression.

"Just enjoying the sunshine while it lasts." She blurted out, trying desperately to appear casual, but in her chest her heart was racing. She felt her face go red and fumbled in her pocket for her cigarettes, but found nothing but loose change in her dressing gown pocket. What had she been thinking of? Was she really that cruel, that she would come so close to murdering an infant in cold blood? Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely.

Smiling at her son, she coolly rocked Goyjo in her arms and started back into the house. How lucky it had been for Jien to appear just at that moment, he had saved her from doing something truly unforgivable. No wonder Ren's affections had begun the wane years ago, no wonder he had left her for weeks on end, no wonder he had other women. The only question left was how could he have borne such a icy, evil bitch for so long. She felt a cold lump in her throat.

She needed a cigarette, she needed a glass of wine. She needed something.

"Its gonna be pretty cool having a little brother." Jien exclaimed, running up to his mothers side.

"Half-brother Jien," She corrected, "He isn't your real brother."

"Yeah, but still." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck nervously as he noticed his mothers change in tone and realising he had nothing else to say.

Jien hung back, before slipping away into down the steps and back into the street. Sumire, however, didn't seem to notice, she continued, stony faced, into the house.

Goyjo was already drifting off into sleep, peacefully unaware that he had been in any danger at all.