A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed or favourited so far :) So here's the next chapter, I'd love to know what you think of this one!
CHAPTER SEVEN
April 1962.
All I can hear is the shrill noise of the phone as it rings and rings, over and over. But I ain't going to pick it up, don't want to find out why someone is ringing me at this time of the night.
It stops and I let out a sigh of relief, only to be jolted back to the edge as it starts up again. Hear Curly's tired footsteps stumble out his room, down the hall, followed by a half of a conversation.
"Hello…Yeah." He yawns as he listens. "Yeah, that's right… Ma? Yeah, I'll get her." Hear the phone clatter against the table as he dashes this way, shakes me urgently by the shoulder as he stands alongside me hopping from foot to foot and wide awake now. "Ma, come on. It's for you. Something about Tim."
Glory, but I wonder what in hell that boy is into now. Got to be the cops. Still, at least Harry's not here and I got some time to deal with whatever this turns out to be in my own head before he needs to find out about it. Grab up the phone and force out a shaky hello, try to pretend I can't see Curly, picking at the grubby plaster cast on his left arm as he loiters in the doorway to their bedroom, desperate to hear what they are telling me. I guess I should be thankful Angela ain't up too. Turn my attention to the person on the other end the line, surprised that it turns out to be a woman's voice, not Cooper or one of his colleagues down the station.
Don't really remember the conversation ending or me hanging up the phone. Although I guess it does and I do.
Next thing I know I'm sitting on the couch and I suppose Curly's brought me in here 'cause it ain't like I hardly come in this room these days—not if I have the choice. He's sat next to me, his dark eyes watching me, his good arm around me as the tears slide down my face.
"Ma? What's wrong, where's Tim?"
"Hospital," I sniff.
His eyes grow wide, as he tentatively questions me again. "And is he okay?"
Try to smile at him. "Yeah, honey. He's had an accident is all. I... I need you to stay here, take care of Angela. Have to go up there when Harry gets home. You think you can do that for me?"
He nods. "Course I can, Ma. I'm twelve, I ain't a baby no more."
"I know, sweetie." And I hug him, try not to think about what might have happened to my other boy as I sit and wait, pray this ain't one of them Friday nights where Harry decides to drink himself near unconscious before he finally wanders home.
xxxxxx
The nurses' words on the phone, all her warnings in the hall when we're done speaking with the doctor before she takes me further into ward—none of it does anything to prepare me for when I finally get to see Tim. How bad the left side of his face is cut up and all the jagged rows of black stitches holding it together.
Feel the bile rising in my throat as I stare down at him.
I have to turn away.
I can't look at him.
Wish I had a glass of water, another of my pills.
Don't want to be here.
Have to focus on something, anything, else as I try not to think about how much blood there must have been; the pain, whether he was frightened, alone, when it happened. What could have happened if someone hadn't found him, brought him here. Settle on the garish curtains hanging around the bed, colours too bright for a place as dismal as this, and count the rows of squares running through the pattern.
Only it don't help.
I really don't want to be here, but I can't walk out now, don't want everyone to think I don't care. Thank God that at least they've pumped him so full of painkillers that he's not awake to see me 'cause he ain't ever fooled by me no more, knows what I'm thinking better than I do. Instead I step around to the other side the bed and sink into the chair there.
From here if I don't look too close or lean too far forward I can almost pretend nothing is wrong. This side of his face is unharmed, still looks like my perfect, handsome boy. And glory but he seems so young as he lies there, sleeping. Carefully, slowly, I reach out and take his hand, still terrified he might wake up and that he won't let me, won't need me. And it's then the guilt truly hits me. He might act tough, seem older than his years and take care of his brother and sister, even take care of me most the time too, but underneath it all he's still a child.
My child.
My boy who ain't ever gonna be the same after this, that conversation with the doctor when we'd arrived going round and round, over and over, in my head.
"He's a lucky boy, Mrs Shepard."
"Mrs Locke," interrupts Harry, from the chair where he's slumped, and I wish he would just shut up, 'cause it don't really matter. Not right now when all I can focus on is what the doctor is trying to tell me, how much I need to see my boy, to make sure they're not lying to me and I haven't lost him too. Like I lost his father.
"As I said, Mrs Locke, he's been lucky."
"Wh-what happened?"
"Seems someone attacked him, with a broken bottle. Cut him fairly badly on the left side of his face. Good news is, it narrowly missed his eye, so at least his sight isn't likely to be affected."
"But?"
"Well, there's a lot of stitches, and obviously was and still is incredibly painful for him. He'll be left with some scarring. But it should heal, become less noticeable in time."
What a joke.
Can't see that there's anything lucky about him being left like this.
xxxxxx
Glance in to Angela's room as we walk back down the hall, allow myself to smile a little at the sight of her and her brother squashed up together in the narrow bed. Curly clearly taking that promise of looking after her seriously. But that good feeling don't last long, not when I think how much he looks like Tim, it always surprises me that the pair of them become even more alike when they're sleeping, Curly seeming more serious, Tim not able to hide behind that front of not caring.
Pills.
I need to get my pills.
I don't care whether it's the right time, or that I took them before I left, just need to shut it all out for a little longer.
Heading in the kitchen, I'm disappointed Harry is there, wish he'd gone straight to bed, 'cause from the expression on his face I know this isn't likely to end well. Not after his moody disinterest in the hospital and his angry silence in the car all the way back home.
"So how fucking much is all this shit gonna cost me this time?"
"Harry, I'm sorry. But it wasn't his fault."
"Yeah, right. If you managed to keep a control of that damn boy then he wouldn't be running around the town and getting in a position for some asshole to do that to him. Hell, he probably deserved it anyways. Always got some different easy little broad following him around, just like his father; probably some hacked off boyfriend had enough of him, either that or I wouldn't be surprised if he damn well started the fight in the first place, seems to think he's some fucking tough hood."
"No!" I shriek, start counting in my head a I grab a glass, turn on the tap. "He's a good boy." Feel my world starting to slide completely out of control as he rants on and on. Manage to tune most of it out—concentrate instead on counting the cups by the sink, the cans up on the shelf, over and over—until he grabs me by the arm.
"Listen to me, Jean. You think we can afford for him to spend another few days in the hospital? We ain't even done paying for that other idiot falling and breaking his arm. So tomorrow, you get your ass up that hospital and you bring him home."
"But they said—"
"Don't care. He can damn well lie around here in bed as easy as there."
"But the doctor—"
"You got the money to pay for another couple days in hospital? All those meds they'll give him?"
Look down at the floor, 'cause he knows there's nothing I can say to that, shake my head and struggle with the lid of my pills.
"Right. So that's settled. You go there and you bring him back here tomorrow. Christ, it ain't like you got anything better to do, sitting around here on your ass all day. You can damn well take care of him."
"But what if they won't let me?"
His grip on me tightens. "You arguing with me, Jean?" He shakes me a little, but right now I don't even care if he hits me. "Are you?"
"I won't bring him home if they say he needs to stay."
"Yeah? Reckon you need to think about that, Sweetheart."
"Just go away, Harry! Get your hands off of me!"
"With pleasure, darling." He raises his other hand, back hands me across the face and as I stumble I lose my grip on the pill jar and watch while they tumble down, spilling across the floor.
"Oh, God." I'm on my hands and knees, tears streaming down my face as I try to scoop them back up, before I realise he's laughing at me.
"Damn it, Jean. You really are pathetic."
I'm not sure whether it's his laughter, or the thought of how close I've come to losing my boy, the lack of sleep. About the one thing I am sure of is that I know I don't care anymore what he thinks of me. Don't have the energy to try to convince even myself that this marriage was anything but a lousy idea no more.
Should have just stayed Mrs Shepard, at least my mistakes were my own.
Feel almost like I'm outside of myself, that I'm standing here watching and it ain't actually me moving as I grab my half-filled glass of water off of the table and throw it in the general direction of his head as I scream back at him. "Yeah? Well you're... you're a monster, you fucking bastard."
Harry takes a step back towards me and I think this is it. That he's really gonna lose it now, that he's gonna come for me like he does the boys.
Only he don't.
He just glares at me, a look of utter disgust on his face as I stay kneeling on the floor before he walks out the room, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him.
And I sit there, watch the water dripping down the wall and pooling over the shards of broken glass, look down at the pills scattered around me and wonder why my life is such a mess.
My whole life nothing I've ever done or said has mattered and it don't look like that's changing any time soon. Do what I've always done, pretend like I don't care, that it don't bother me.
Scoop a couple of the stray pills into my hand and swallow them down dry, try to forget all the bad stuff, just for tonight.
