6 December 2014

When he woke up the bed felt weirdly empty, given its limited width, and as he gathered his thoughts he realised that Siobhan was already up. Craig reached out for his phone and checked the time. It was 9.33. It wasn't unusual for Craig to sleep in on Saturdays, especially after a night out. He hadn't really had a drink the night before, only a couple of pints with his family after they closed the bar, so it wasn't strange that he'd wake up around this time.

He stretched his arms and thought about the previous day. He'd stayed for a while at the McQueen's playing with Matthew before heading home. He smiled at the thought of the little man in his arms and realised that he'd felt the happiest he'd ever been the moment his son had walked over to him. Craig wondered what the toddler was up to at this exact moment, whether he'd managed to get his bound-to-be extremely hung-over dad out of bed.

John Paul. He'd seen him in the pub, dancing around with Nancy, drinking shots in the bar. It worried him a little how drunk his former boyfriend had been. He hadn't really seen him anything close to this since those first weeks in Dublin, after Tina's death. Mind, that time John's drinking had been much worse, but with time he'd settled down and usually only had a couple of drinks when they'd gone out. Anyway, Craig realised it wasn't his problem anymore, and perhaps last night had been a one-off. He couldn't help worrying, though.

As he got out of bed he started wondering what Siobhan was up to. She'd usually sleep longer than him. He grabbed his jeans and t-shirt and got dressed. He checked the living-room and the kitchen. No-one there. He then went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen up.

A few minutes later he headed downstairs. He opened the door to the bar and just as he entered, he heard a giggling Siobhan. A moment later she appeared through the trap door behind the bar, followed by Darren.

Craig was right. It was a very hung-over John Paul that had to drag himself out of bed to take care of his son earlier that morning. It was a repeat show from the previous weekend. And the weekend before that. And the weekend before that. And so on. Since the beginning of the summer, when he actually managed to get out of the house for the first time since the rape. It was Hannah who'd managed to get him to join her for a walk.

Nancy had been trying for ages to get him to get help, but without any success. She'd ended up calling their old friend, who'd had her share of problems and knew the benefits of councelling. Hannah had been devastated by the news and taken the train back to her old town the following weekend. She'd been back a few times since then and, together with Nancy, she'd arranged for him to talk with people that knew how to deal with victims of rape. With their help, John Paul had started to get out more often, but work and a lack of self-worth had kept him from going back for too long.

He was getting fed up with this. He really needed a change from this vicious cycle. As he allowed his son to lead the way he decided that this was it. The next Saturday would be different. Tomorrow would be different.

"Come on, Matthew, let's brush our teeth and clean up." He bent down and picked up his son. "Sorry about the smell!" He whispered as he became aware of the little one wrinkling his nose.

As per usual his mum was already downstairs when he arrived in the living room. Once again he wondered whether she was psychic since she always seemed to be just about to finish making breakfast as he came downstairs on Saturdays. And it didn't matter whether it was 10.30, 9.30 or 8.30 like now.

"Morning, mum!" He kissed her cheek as he walked past her towards the sink.

"Morning, handsome!" She greeted him before putting the bacon on his plate. "And you too, my son." She joked. She took the plate and put it on the kitchen table. "Tuck in! Give me him, I'll give him some breakfast."

John Paul handed her Matthew and took a seat. "Mum, can you ha…"

"Here you are, my darling," she replied as she handed him the ketchup.

A couple of hours later John Paul was feeling much better. Matthew was playing happily with his toys, and he himself was lying on the sofa, reading the latest Bridget Jones book for his following Friday class where the topic would be "chick lit". Admittedly he was more sleeping than reading, but he didn't realise until his phone rang.

He saw the number and answered reluctantly.

"John Paul? I need to talk!"

Those few words and he was taken back seven and a half years.