Rain lashed against the windows of the History classroom, darkening the skies and everybody's mood. It didn't affect Connor, though, who was already feeling intensely worried about leaving his mum at home alone; he wasn't really sure what had gone on between her and his grandma but Connor knew it was these situations when she was most liable to turn back to the bottle. All throughout the lesson he was biting his nails anxiously, wondering if he was going to returm home to alcoholic Christine or normal Christine.

"What's the matter?" Imogen whispered, after Ms McFall set the class some work. Connor was silent, so she nudged his arm gently. "Con?"

"What? Oh, nothing... it's just been a weird day, that's all."

"Do you want to talk about it? I'm here for you, you know. I don't want you doing anything stupid because you're feeling down."

Connor smiled. "You're too lovely, do you know that? I'm alright, I suppose. I just have this horrible feeling that my Mum is going to start drinking again."

"Why? I thought she was doing well." Imogen picked up her pen so that if McFall looked over it would look like they were working.

"Yeah, she was... she is. My grandma visited today, and I haven't seen her for about ten years. When I went home to get my coursework they were arguing over something, and when I left, Mum looked properly upset. It was strange."

"You should cut her some slack, Con. She's been sober for a while now, she'll be stronger!"

"Mmm, I think you're right." He tried to reassure himself as best he could that after everything that's happened in the past couple of months, one argument with her mother wouldn't turn Christine back to drink. "What are you doing tonight, then?"

The couple drifted off into conversation for, all worries disappearing as they lost themselves in normality for a while.

...

Initially, Christine had only intended to have a few drinks to numb the pain of today's revelations. The power of addiction is overwhelming, as she knew, and a few drinks turned into several glasses of vodka and half a bottle of wine. At first, she was frightened; the alcohol would be a shock to her system after such a long time without it, but eventually the fear was drowned by the drink. As her head became increasingly fuzzy, Christine became more and more emotional. The emotions currently plaguing her were an eclectic mixture - disgust in herself, grief at the loss of her father, an awful feeling of abandonment by her own mother and a bizarre feeling of contentment, as if by drinking again she was back to being herself again.

The door opened but the bleary alcoholic didn't realise. Connor entered the living room, his worst fears confirmed when he saw the bottle of red wine on the table.

"What are you doing, Mum?" he asked. Inevitably, this was going to lead to an argument but he refused to let her see that this was breaking his heart - why should she think he cares about her when the feeling clearly isn't mutual?

Christine didn't reply. Instead, she refilled her glass. "My mum was right."

"What?"

"She was right."

"I don't know what you mean."

"She was right in what she did." Christine slurred. "You don't know why me and my mother stopped talking, do you?"

Connor desperately wanted to tell her how he had lost all respect for her and shout at her, but eager to hear the story, he calmly shook his head.

"Do you remember your sixth birthday?"

"Not really."

"I fell down the stairs, you called her and she got me to hospital. You were just a scared little boy, and while I was unconscious she contacted social services... tried to get you taken off me."

It's always going to be a shock to find out you were almost taken away from your mother but Connor had more important things to focus on. "So you're drinking again because of something that happened almost 11 years ago?"

Disregarding his question, Christine's voice cracked sorrowfully. "I should have let her take you." It was almost as if she was thinking aloud. "She was right... right about everything. She said I would mess you up and I did-"

Connor cut her off, the anger he had tried to suppress now starting to reach boiling point after her last comment. "I am not messed up, Mum!"

"You start fires to deal with things, Connor, how is that normal in any way, shape or form?"

"And just as I believed that you were actually going be there for me. Do you know what?" Tears prickled his eyes; he struggled enough with coming to terms with his coping mechanism, the last thing he needed was for his own mother to tear strips off him like this. "Drink yourself to death for all I care."

As he turned around to walk out, Christine grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare speak to me like that. I am your mother!"

"Some mother!" He shrugged himself free from her grasp, and decided to curb the anger. Maybe he would be able to get through to her if he was just straight up with how he felt. "Mum, can you not see what this is doing to me? It's killing me!"

For a second, Christine's eyes flickered towards the ground, a sign of possible guilt, but she soon reverted back to her usual severe alcoholic self. "Don't be so dramatic. I've had a few drinks. You should count yourself lucky that I haven't started sooner, with everything you've put me through lately."

Her words were harsh and Connor was finding it increasingly difficult to attribute them to the alcohol. The phrase 'Drunk words are sober thoughts' sprang to mind; he needed to get out of this house. Before he did, though, he needed an answer to one more question.

"Why didn't you let her take me, Mum?"

"Why do you think?" It was odd how quickly her tone could change from hatred to caring. "You're my son... and I love you."

"No, you don't." He sighed, desperate to make his escape from this house. "Mum, I can't deal with this, not again. I'm sorry for everything you went through before I was born, all the stuff with my Dad and I'm sorry if anything I've ever done has made you drink but I just can't sit back and watch you do this again. I have to go."

Connor was out of the door so quick that his mother didn't have a chance to reply. He knew exactly who he needed to see, only one person could make him feel like there was a point to any of this. He needed to see Imogen, now; he didn't want to fall off the wagon with his own addiction. He was stronger than that.