Hello! I hope you're all still reading, apologies for the delay but school and things tend to get in the way...only a shortish chapter this time I'm afraid, but would love to know what you all think-next chapter's where it alll kicks off, happy reading! xxx
The kicks were harder and more frequent now. Little reminders that he was there, driving her mad, night after night... If only he were there.
He still haunted her dreams, an asterisk in her mind, his words throwing exclamation marks with every syllable. And every time she fought him. She fought for the life growing inside her. Her son. Son. A little boy...
She could picture him now. Perfect. Shiny blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes - the spitting image of his...Dad. Dad? Dad. No. That was wrong - too personal, too intimate. It took a certain type of man to be a dad. Not Pete and certainly not that bastard. Father? Pater? Perhaps they were acceptable, not that it was important. He didn't want to know and she was fine with that. Well, she wasn't, but these things happened and she just had to get on with it. That was what she was programmed to do after all - to build; to lock up and forget. To cope.
The reds and greys of the flat were slowly being overshadowed by a sea of blues. Toys and books and god-knows-whats, all on Mothercare's list of "You and Your Baby 1984". The cover showed a Mummy and a Daddy, with their new-born baby - such luxury she would never know, not with Molly, and not with Baby... Baby what? Hunt? Lord no, Christ no, Jesus fucking superstar and his great aunt Freda no. That thought wasn't even bearable. Drake didn't seem like a good option either, yet another twat to add to her long list of failures - hell! She might as well call him Baby Thatcherite Wanker. She juggled the thought of Price in her head - a shitty father also. The mother not much better. Her baby should have better than that; her baby deserved better than that. So it seemed that Baby No-Name would have to do, at least for now.
The pregnancy itself had been relatively smooth. Not much sickness, the odd craving here and there - nothing major. She had that to be thankful for.
That first kick was magical. A shiny penny in the cracked, trampled on pavement of her existence. In a supermarket of all places. A faint fluttering transformed into a sharp strike that made the world worth being a part of again. From that moment, from that split-second, the sleepless nights, tears and the pain were all worth it. She knew she'd do anything to see her son's smiling face for the first time.
She felt it one last time that night before whispering, "I can't wait to meet you," as the feathers of slumber tickled her to sleep.
Alex Drake's life seemed to be full of unexpected things. The death of her parents for a start - a rather unique case. So unique in fact that her unusual situation deemed it okay for mockery, an extension to the long list of scars that withered and whipped about her. Popping up for a chat now and again, a little metaphorical trigger shooting yet another pang of guilt, of shame. Affecting every judgement, every choice. All the time, there were whispers in her head.
It shaped you, yes, but the person you turned out to be wasn't that great either, was it? Your choice of husband proved that to the world who looked upon you with judgment and disdain. His departure too unexpected, to you at least - the world and his mistress seemed to spot it a mile off.
You knew as you walked Molly to the park that same day that they all expected it. That they all knew he would go, and your life - your career, was over. But you fought, you fought so hard; just like usual. And you fight that same struggle every single day- the fight of womanhood.
You career, your modern one at least, came to an unexpected end. You expected a pleasant day with candles and cake and all the other niceties you never experienced as a child. That too cut short by the slug of your misfortune. Never quite shutting the door behind you, its trail ever present on good ol' memory lane.
Your choice of lover proved a theory you'd been in denial of for so long. He too taking an ill-timed plot twist into unexpected vile. His sharp swerve in to menace nagging, clutching and curling round every fibre of your dreams.
Except tonight it seemed, the grey cloud of that man had floated off - sailed away, leaving an eerie gap of nothingness, better than reality at least.
Alex Drake's life was full of unexpected things. And what she most certainly did not expect...was him.
The knock. So distinctly him. Her arms wound round her midriff protectively. Was she mistaken? Could this hysteria have driven her this far? The Catherine wheel of a knock sounded again. Disrupting peace, or lack thereof, as per. At least something was constant.
A feeble deliberation followed. There was no argument really - the damage was done. She was too weak now; weak, hormonal and scared. So she gave into the chain of temptation and cautiously fulfilled the inevitable.
And there he was. A little thinner but not noticeably so. Same hair, same tie, suit, shirt - same fucking ridiculous cowboy boots. Constant as always. She reached out to touch him, to check she wasn't imagining... Gently at first, before a series of uranium bombs pounded into his chest - fuelled by the sheer force, the overwhelming power of her anger. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen, thirty-two, she didn't care how many, she just wanted to hurt and frighten and change him too, like the way he changed her. Physically, psychologically, whatever. She was beyond caring now. Waterfalls of her pain descended her cheeks, drawn now, like a skeleton. She thought she could handle it, confront him, let him know the turmoil he caused her...it was all too much. There would be no bruising, she knew that. He probably knew that too. Only the last of her energy she used productively...slamming the door in his face.
His weak, limp, weathered body slumped against their wooden barrier - exhausted, drained. A hot violent tsunami fell and attacked her cheeks, dripping to land in odd abstract shapes atop her bump. An occasional roar of distress escaped her lips.
You're in control now, Alex. You make the rules. You decide who's boss. That's what you've always wanted, right? It's what you wanted on October 10th 1981; January 21st 1997; July 21st 2008; November 2 1983. Your destiny in your hands. No more answering, no more questions. Just you.
But even after all this, all this triumph, this victory, Alex Drake made a decision of her own. Control isn't all that it seems.