December 13th
In the coffee shop downstairs
Dear Aus,
This is my last letter. I promise. Deep down, I hoped you may reply and show some semblance of forgiveness, but I know that was wrong. I appreciate it will never happen, and so I must let go, not just for you, but for me, too, and the little boy who’s oh-so close to life. I don’t think I can let you go until I explain things to you. You deserve the truth, and although I can’t share everything with you, I can share enough.
I thought I’d die with this secret. It’s haunted me for so long I can barely accept it’s real. It feels more like a dream, or an old movie I watched as a child with my mother. I’m not sure how much I even remember, or how much sense any of it will make. Every time it enters my mind, I push it down. I let it devour me, eat me, and haunt me, but so long as it’s down there, I’m fine.
Only, I’m not fine. I’ve never been fine, and I can’t push it down any longer, but I don’t know who else to turn to. You’re all I’ve ever had. I have to tell someone, because tomorrow I may wake up as a mother, and it terrifies me. I’m terrified of the monster I am, and I think I finally accept this, but cannot handle it.
I don’t want to be a vacant, absent mess like my own mum. I want to be a good mother. I don’t want him to know how sad and empty his mummy is. Maybe if I tell you, I’ll be able to finally move on, and maybe you’ll understand enough to move on yourself. I know you’ll hate me. You deserve to hate me. You need to hate me, but above all, you need to forget me.
I’m sorry, sweetie. I really, truly am.
When I used to go to school as a little girl, I noticed all the happy mothers that dropped off their kids and picked them up a few hours later. My friends would run to their mums and hug them, and they’d walk off and hold hands and talk. I couldn’t understand why my own mother wasn’t like them, or why she was so sad.
I could never please her. She’d smile for a second - like when we used to watch old black and white movies together, snuggled under a blanket - but it would slip away from her like soap through fingers. I hated her for it because I didn’t understand why she wasn’t happy. Mothers and daughters are supposed to be happy, yet all I did was make my mummy cry. I figured it was my fault, that I was a bad girl and too naughty. I wanted to be good, but I couldn’t figure out how.
When I was seven, I realised it wasn’t me who made my mother cry. For the first time, I saw my father hit her, and it aged me in a moment. One minute I was seven, the next, an old woman. I didn’t understand it at the time, or what he was doing, or why he was doing it. But I knew it was bad. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was the reason my mummy cried and always looked so sad.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched me stand in the doorway, me screaming and crying out for her, but she couldn’t move, or hold me or comfort me, because he had his big, disgusting hand wrapped around her neck. He pinned her to the wall, screaming in her face as she looked past him the entire time, looking straight into me eyes as if to say, “it’s okay. I love you.”
She tucked me in that night and said everything was fine. That he didn’t mean it. That he loved her, and he loved me, too. “His way of showing how much he cares”, she said.
I knew it wasn’t okay, but I loved him because he was my father. He never touched me. He never raised his voice at me, but I could always tell when he’d hit her. Something changed. I saw my mother in a new light, and I saw her pain, understood her sadness. He never hit her in the face. Never left a mark so others could see. But I saw. I saw her arms and chest and legs. I saw her eyes, and the secrets they held.
I suddenly had a secret to keep, and I’ve spent the rest of my life gathering them…keeping them…suffocating under the weight of them.
“Your daddy loves you,” she’d say. “He loves me, too. Don’t tell anyone. Other grown-ups won’t understand.”
I began to hate him, yet at the same time, I loved him because he was my daddy. He played with me. He loved me. Where mum was sad and vacant, he brimmed with energy and pride for his little girl. On the outside he must have seemed like the perfect father, always playing with me at the park and making me laugh, hugging me.
When he did hug me, I flinched. Every time he came near me, I held a breath. I battled this inner war, unable to decide between love and hate. He never hit me and was a good father to me, but I feared him, and hated how he made my mother sad. I couldn’t understand why he did it, and I suppose I still can’t.
Things changed when I turned ten. For a few months, everything seemed to be okay. Mum began to smile, and I could tell he didn’t hit her anymore. I thought that maybe everything might be okay. She regained a glint in her eye, the same sparkle as when we watched those old movies. So did he. He didn’t seem so angry, but when he looked at me it wasn’t the same.
My nightmares today always begin the same, the creaking door slowly opening.
“Hey, sleepy girl,” he’d say. “You go back to sleep. Daddy loves you.”
The first time he did it I cried into my pillow. The other times, I closed my eyes until it was over. I closed my eyes and emptied my mind, numbing the world and pushing every thought deep, deep down. Every time a thought popped up, I pushed it. Every time I felt pain, I pushed it. All of a sudden, I had a secret of my own, not one of my mother’s. In some ways, I felt special.
I can’t recall the detail, and I hope I never will. I know I should have told you at some point, because I do love you and trust you, but the truth is, I refused to believe it was real. Deep down, I knew I was keeping a secret, hiding and running away, but it was easier than facing the truth. Because the truth means reliving the detail, and I cannot live with the detail, Aus. I can’t do it.
I’m so embarrassed and ashamed, although I’m not sure why. After all, it wasn’t me doing it. I always thought I must be to blame, because how broken must a child be for a father to do that to his daughter? He was supposed to love me, but he must have hated me to do what he did. Not once…so many times, a mere blur.
I didn’t know if it would ever stop. He said it was his way of proving his love to me, and that it made him feel so happy he didn’t get angry at Mummy anymore. He didn’t hit her after that, and it was because he loved me so much. I felt special because I was protecting my mum and making my dad happy all at the same time.
But I also felt broken, worthless and empty, and the only way I felt better was by pushing everything down…down…as far down as I could push.
Shortly before my eleventh birthday, my mother caught him. If seeing him hit her for the first time stole my innocence, and the first time he touched me stole my childhood, it was the moment she caught us when I lost everything.
It was dark like all the other nights, just him and me alone in my small bed. All of a sudden, white light filled the room, my stinging eyes struggling to see my mother’s outline in the doorway. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t cry. She seemed so calm, but in an instant she moved across the room and reached for an old wooden bookend sitting on my nightstand.
Shaped like an elephant, I loved it. My grandmother gave it to me when I was five or six years-old, and she said it would protect me from monsters at night. That night it did protect me from the worst monster of all, because before my father had chance to escape from my bed she struck him.
She only hit him once, and she didn’t seem angry whilst she did it. So calm. So sure of herself. She didn’t say a word, and before I knew what happened, she scooped me out of bed and held me close. I didn’t realise blood covered half my pyjamas or my entire right arm. I didn’t know he was dead. She just held me then cleaned me up in the bathroom, and told me everything would be okay.
That no matter what happened, she loved me, and everything would be okay.
But nothing was ever okay again. She died that night, just like I did. The secret was too big, and neither of us have ever been able to escape it.
I don’t remember much afterwards. I suppose I was in shock, and we’ve ne
ver spoken about it since. She told me the next morning, “Beatrice, I love you so much. I know you have more secrets than any girl should ever have to keep, but I must ask you to keep one more. Your father won’t hurt either of us again, and Uncle John is going to help us get away from here so we can start a new life. A good life. One where we can be happy and safe.
“But he can only help us if neither of us tell anyone about what happened last night. Ever. Can you do that for me, sweetie? Can you keep one final secret?”
Nodding and hugging her, I kept our biggest secret of all. Uncle John was in the police, so he was able to help us cover everything up. I was too young to know the details, and I never asked about them since. He told me what to say and what not to say, but to be honest, none if it mattered.
I’d already blocked the night out, and so many others before it. I kept thinking about my mother’s words, when she said we could start a new life. A good one. One where we could be happy.
When we moved to Halifax that’s what I decided to do. I’d be happy. I’d smile. I’d be chatty and popular and everything I could never previously be, because I had this dark shadow consuming me. Where I was once too shy and broken to talk and smile, I’d laugh and work hard and make friends with everyone. I’d be happy on the outside even if I remained dead within.
But you, Aus, you did make me happy. You helped me find love when I didn’t think it possible. I have too many secrets, and many of them are far too dark to share; I collect secrets like other girls collect shoes. You genuinely made me happy, but I’d replace my old fears and nightmares with new ones.
I can’t tell you everything, Aus. I know you deserve more, but trust me, you don’t want the truth. You don’t want to know everything I know. I’ve always been broken, but you honestly helped me. You’ve given me hope that one day I’ll be able to escape and replace my nightmares with happiness and dreams and fantasies.
With this little boy on the verge of life, I now know I can’t run away from these nightmares. I cannot continue to push these secrets down. It’s no longer about me protecting myself; I need to protect him. I can’t be this version of B anymore, and I can’t remain here. Just like when we moved to Halifax, I have a chance to start a new life. A good life. A happy life.
I’m not sure what that consists of, to be honest, but I have a genuine reason to figure it out. I’m just sorry I had to hurt you along the way, and I’m sorry you have to live the rest of your life with this secret. I will always love you, Ausdylan Elvis Ashford, but the time has come to let go.
The girl you used to love,
Bx
DECEMBER 29th - THE PUB:
Over the years, I’ve sat on every bench, chair, and stool in this pub. Alongside B, or opposite Joey, or sharing a table with my parents, I’ve talked about music and life and silly ideas that may never happen. It’s where Joey tends to muster dreams, dreams that don’t start life as my own, but soon become part of my fantasies.
In a few days a new year will begin, and with it, a new version of me that I must discover.
A new job, somewhere. Words to write, after far too long. Music to play; more gigs on their way. Countries to see, people to meet, and a true sense of freedom to set me free. I don’t know what tomorrow holds, or the day after, but I must escape yesterday.
The past haunts, but I’m not unique in this regard. Every person I meet has a past, some of it filled with good, other aspects bad. I have much to be thankful for, but a great deal to regret. I may never forget, and may live a lifetime before I heal, but I must move forward, because what’s the alternative?
The type of Christmas music I hate plays over the speakers; in a few days it will disappear for another ten months. It’s not quite Christmas anymore, but it still feels hopeful and merry. The old men around the bar smile as they drink, and Harriet wears a chunk of holly in her hair; as she has done for a week.
I love Christmas and the perk it brings to each step. It reminds me of special times and wonderful memories of food, of family dancing and singing. This year, it crawled past in secret, fearful of whisking my daydreams away.
I sat in the dark for hours after reading her final letter. Turning the pages over, they remained on the countertop the entire time. I feared them, shed tears over them, because no matter what happens and has happened, I love her and care for her, but sense I can never allow myself to be in love with her again.
Joey didn’t return home, and I didn’t see him until we had our gig the next day. We played and got through it, but it wasn’t the same. Each time we sit with one another and drink and talk, it isn’t the same. When our families got together on Christmas Eve, like we always do, it wasn’t the same.
It didn’t involve B for the first time in years, but only Joey and I truly know why.
The pain since is different to the emotions of recent months. I hurt for her, but not because of her. I keep thinking about Joey as a young boy, the person he was before his mother left, just afterwards, and the guy he’s become since. I wonder about the man he may have become if she’d stuck around.
I keep thinking about how unfair this all is, and how we don’t get to choose who we enter this world to, and who guides us along the way. B didn’t deserve a father like him, and Joey shouldn’t have had to deal with a mother that left. What about me? What makes me so special to have parents that love one another and stay together?
I try to focus on the future and the potential of tomorrow each time my mind slips back into the chasm, but how can we expect to craft our own path when some of us were never given a hope to begin with? To forgive is to forget, but what if we’re unable to? You can push it and bury it, but I’m not sure we can forget everything. Maybe we’re not supposed to.
I lift my pint to my lips and savour another sip, each mouthful of hops and barley a welcome visitor in my tummy. I hate music like this, but it reminds me of happier times, easier times, and times when I used to watch my mother dance around the tree as she placed ornaments amongst its branches.
Memories of my father pouring cocktails on weekday nights, dressed in sweater vests and the shirts he reserves for meaningful occasions. When Joey would stay up with me and my parents for hours, chatting about music and our future world domination.
These ideals are once again in reach, the two of us capable of anything we wish.
“Sorry I’m late, brother,” he says, dashing towards the table and hanging his thick tweed jacket over the chair. “You ready for another drink?”
“Yeah, same again, please.”
He hops over to the bar and leans across it, talking to Harriet as she prepares two fresh glasses.
For years, I likened Joey and B to one another, two confident individuals with the conviction to achieve their dreams. Where I stuttered and hesitated, they stuck out their chests and refused to stand still. They were strong and needed nobody, whereas I was weak and needed anybody - my parents, her, Joey, him…
I never imagined they were similar in such a manner, though. Haunted by their past, they sabotaged the present. They clung to their future, but couldn’t fathom what it looked like. Without appreciating what you desire, how can you possibly reach for it?
“Here you go,” he says, placing two overflowing pints on the table and sitting opposite me. “I think I’m just about ready for New Year’s Eve. What about you? Ready to put an end to this year with our greatest gig yet?”
“I’m ready to end this year no matter what the gig looks like,” I say, half laughing to myself.
He smiles and lifts his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”
I focus on his blue eyes, bluer than a few days ago, with less red in their corners and dark skin beneath. After speaking about the letter, we agreed not to talk about it again, although I sense this didn’t stop him thinking about it…dwelling…searching.
“You seeing your parents later?” he asks.
“Yeah. Heading over after these drinks.”
“That’s good. I’m glad you’r
e spending more time with them.”
“You bored of me?”
“No more than usual.” He flashes that dreadful smirk. “It’s good, though. Not just for you, but for them, too.”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine how worried they’ve been.”
“You needed time, brother. They understand.”
“I know, but I still feel bad.”
“Don’t. In a few days it’s a new year, and they can have their old Aus back.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Who knows what next year holds?” I say, smiling and enjoying another mouthful of beer.
“Well, well, well, does this mean you’ve decided what you’re doing in January?”
“Not exactly, but I don’t think it involves living with either you or them.”
He laughs, planting his large mitt on the table. “I should be offended, but I think I’ll be proud instead. You going to move to Leeds with me?”
“I don’t know yet. Who knows…maybe I’ll travel for a while.”
“Oh really…where to?”
“Who knows?”
“Can I come?”
“No.”
Laughing, he reaches for my wrist and squeezes it. “Good. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than travelling to foreign lands with a miserable git like you.” He winks, straightening up and brushing down his grey waistcoat.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t made my mind up yet, but whatever I do, I think it needs to be new. A new job. A new place. A new outlook on life…or maybe an old outlook.” I brush my fingers through my hair, it longer now than ever before. “And a new haircut. Definitely a new haircut.”
“Now, that is a good idea,” he says, raising his glass once more.
“What about you? What’s next for Joseph Johnson?”
“Same as ever. Why would someone as amazing as me change?” Laughing and shuffling in his seat, he takes a deep breath. “But who knows, maybe next year will hold a few new things for me, too.” He takes another breath.
“What is it?”
“I kind of have something to tell you.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“It’s no big deal, but at the same time…it is.”
“Pray tell.”
“Well, I have a date tonight.”
“Another one? Not with the same girl?”
He nods, inhaling a large mouthful of beer. “It is. In fact, it’s been going on for a while.”
“Yeah? Who is she?”
His eyes flutter to the bar and he grits his teeth.
“No way,” I say. “Harriet? You’re kidding me.”
Continuing to grit his teeth, he sways his head.
“Since when? How? How have you—“
“I was going to tell you, but it happened when everything went down. I bumped into her one afternoon in Leeds, and we just went for a walk. It was nice, so we met for drinks. Things seemed different around her. I don’t know what it was, but I guess with you and B moving on and starting a…well, you know…I suppose I let my guard down around her for once.
“There wasn’t much to say, which is why I didn’t tell you at first. Then B dropped her bomb, and…” He trails off, stretching his fingers on the table. “I freaked. I figured if B could do what she did, there was no way I could trust anyone.
“This is Harriet, after all. If I was ever to let anyone in, it would be her, and I don’t think I could handle it if she let me down like that. So, I didn’t speak to her. I avoided her and treated her like I always have, but when those letters began to arrive…I don’t know…
“I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t. I know I have to make it up to her, that’s for sure. She doesn’t trust me yet, but I don’t think I don’t trust her, either. I suppose I don’t trust myself.” He takes a deep breath and rubs his hands down his face. “I don’t know, brother. The more I thought about B, and my mother, and you, the more I thought about Harriet.”
He sighs. “I’m tired of keeping hold of all that baggage. B did, and look where it took her. It turned her into someone she isn’t, and I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want to keep pushing people away. And it’s shit, because she doesn’t deserve that past, just like I don’t deserve mine. But it is what it is, and I guess I now realise I’ve never let go of it all.
“I pushed it down and pretended it didn’t exist, you know? I’ve just hurt people and thought about myself, as if the world owes me something.” He looks at me, tears glistening through his stare. “The world doesn’t owe me. I can’t use my past to make excuses for the present. I don’t want to do it anymore, and I’m not sure if Harriet’s the right girl, or if this is the right time, and I feel bad because this is a terrible moment to unload all this on to you, but—“
“Joe, are you kidding me? I’m happy for you. I’m proud of you. These last few months have been hard for you, too, and I’m—”
“I know, but—“
“No buts. This is good, Joey. Seriously, I’m happy for you. She’s a great girl. I think the two of you will be great for each other.”
“Yeah?”
I laugh, raising my own glass now. “Yes. One hundred percent.”
“I thought you’d be pissed at me.”
“Why would I?”
“I don’t know…I was overthinking everything, I guess.”
“You’re an idiot, Joe. Anyway, tell me more.”
“Like what?”
“How did you get her back? Are you a couple now? Are you together?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?” he says, puffing his cheeks. “I’m just trying to take it a day at a time and not fuck it up. And I want to tell you now that she knows some of the stuff that’s gone on recently, but I haven’t told her everything. I’m sorry, and I know I promised I wouldn’t—“
“It’s okay.”
“She wouldn’t give me the time of day, so I had to be honest with her and let her in. I had to unload some of it because it was driving me insane, but I do feel bad—“
“Joey, it’s fine. I understand.”
“You sure?”
“I do. I promise.”
His shoulders relax and he empties his lungs with a long breath. “Okay, good. I know I shouldn’t worry about telling you all this, but I’m an—“
“Idiot?”
“Yeah.” He laughs and finishes his drink. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing, brother. She keeps asking me questions, and telling me stories about her childhood, and what she wants to do with her life, and get this…we haven’t even had sex yet.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t gone this long without it since I was sixteen.”
Laughing, I finish my own drink. “Sounds like an adulthood relationship to me. Congratulations.”
“Enough of the r word, thank you.” He takes his old tatty pipe out of his pocket and sticks it between his lips. “I don’t know what to think about it all. It feels nice, kind of, but there’s so much silence. We’ll be talking and then the conversation ends, and all she does is look at me and smile. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Smile back,” I say. “Enjoy being with her.”
“I do enjoy being with her, but…I don’t know…”
“It sounds like you like her, Joe.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
I picture his fidgeting form as they watch a movie together, fully clothed, and with nothing but conversation awaiting him. “You’ll get used to it. Soon, you’ll love those silent moments. You’ll appreciate them above everything else.”
“Really?”
I nod. “Are you seeing her tonight?”
“Yeah, she finishes…” He looks at his watch. “Any minute now. We’re going to see some god-awful romantic comedy, which, after reading the reviews, sounds utterly terrible.” He shakes his head. “She doesn’t even like movies like that. I think it’s a test…or her way of torturing me.”
Planting my hand on his shoulder for once, I smile. “You’ll do fine. And please don’t worry about me. I’m happy for you - for the both of you. You’re the best guy I know, Joe, and Harriet’s a great girl. I always hoped you’d figure it out together, and after these last few months…well, the perfect time to, if you ask me.”
“Cheers. I want you to know this changes nothing. I’m here for you, no matter what. You hear me?”
“I know. We’ll be fine, don’t worry.” I line our empty glasses next to each other. “Right now, it seems someone else awaits you,” I continue, motioning behind him as Harriet approaches.
“Hi, Aus,” she says, standing next to Joey’s shoulder.
“Hey, Harriet. I hear you finally gave this one a chance.”
Smiling, she bites her lip and places both hands around the back of his neck. “He’s on probation.”
“I’m on probation? Are you kidding me? I’m not some inmate on trial, you know.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask.
She shrugs, scrunching up her nose as she does.
“Oh, come on, I’m doing okay.”
“Yeah. He’s doing okay.” She plants a kiss on his neck. “It feels like I’m teaching a toddler how to sit still at times, but he’s doing okay.”
Rolling his eyes, he places both his palms over her hands. “Brother, I hate to do this to you, but I have to go watch some terrible film.”
“It’s fine. Go. Have fun.”
“I won’t,” he replies. Harriet pinches his ear. He flinches and smiles. “Fine, I’ll try and have fun. I’m getting pretty good at faking it,” he continues, moving closer to me.
“This is why you’re on probation. Anyway, I’ll wait for you outside, okay?”
“Sure. Sure. I’ll be out in a minute. I just have to give him something first.”
“No rush,” she says, stepping away from the table. “Have a good night, Aus. I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve.”
“You too, Harriet,” I say, watching as she walks away.
Joey places his tweed jacket on his knee and searches its pockets. “There was something else, and I hate to do this to you, but…” He places it on the table, another envelope, smaller than the others, but with her usual handwriting on its front.
“I was going to throw it away last night, but…it isn’t my place to. If you want me to get rid of it, I will. I haven’t read it or anything, so whatever you want me to do—“
“It’s okay, Joe. I’ll read it,” I say, taking a deep breath.
“You sure?”
I stare at it, unsure if I am. Unsure if I ever will be. “Yeah. In a few days, it’s a new year, a new start. Whatever’s in this letter doesn’t change that. Besides, I think the two of us could do with a little closure.”
He nods, biting his lip and closing his eyes. “You going to reply to it?”
“I don’t know.”
He nods again and stands up. “I haven’t read it. I’ve thought about it, and I don’t want to. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is.”
“I’m here for you, brother. Whatever you need, I’m here, but I can’t read any more of them.”
“It’s okay. I think this one should remain between B and me,” I whisper as he stands up.
Nodding, he turns and walks away, out of the pub’s large doors and into the winter’s evening where Harriet awaits. A new chapter for him, as well as for me.
I pick the envelope up and twist it in my fingers, my chest beating and fingertips shaking.
Taking a deep breath, I tear it open and remove the glossy card inside. No paper. No note. A single photograph of a tiny baby boy wrapped in a blue blanket. Wearing a white hat with blue spots dotted all over it, his hands rest on his chest slightly below his chin; his eyes are closed, he looks fast asleep.
Everything but his head, hands, and upper chest is hidden below the blanket. I looked at this boy mere months ago, as he lay inside his mother and grew each day. My son, but not. He never will be, but gazing at the photograph, I need him.
I dreamt about this boy, and imagined holding him moments after he entered the world. I read the baby books and listened to my father’s stories, preparing myself to fall in love the minute I laid eyes on him. He isn’t mine, so I shouldn’t love him, but I do.
He shares B’s nose, and the way his upper lip rounds at the top reminds me of her. Having spent so many hours losing myself in her face, it’s impossible not to see her in him. What others features does he share with her?
Does he have her eyes, or some other guy’s?
Tears drip down each of my cheeks. They’re not for her, they’re for him. I love him, and wish to hold him, to kiss his lips and tiny toes. I want to be there for him, because I spent so many nights dreaming about him. Even after she broke me, I continued to fall asleep with him on my mind; I’d wake up to the thought of him and who he’ll grow up to be.
Skin blotchy and red, he’s new and fresh; a few hours old, maybe, or possibly less. I hope B’s mother was there, and I hope this perfect boy helps bridge the gap between them that her father created.
His fingertips round at the edges; he clings to his white vest. He lies so still and peaceful, unaware of where he is, what to expect, and everything else the world has in store for him - the good, and the bad.
My eyes sting, but for the first time in a long time, it isn’t painful. They’re happy tears, tears of relief. He’s here, and he’s safe, and despite everything she’s done, I wish I could hold her and say, “Well done. You did it. You protected him. Everything will be fine.”
Twisting the card in my hand, I drop it as soon as I see.
Dylan E Ashworth
Born 27th December at 6:03am