The house was old but beautifully renovated. A 1930’s semi-detached town house, it formed the other half of the only pair like it in the entire street. The inside was decorated in period fittings and colours with modern fittings and appliances. Emma stood under the shower in ecstasy as the boiler pumped genuine hot water over her head without a single trace of brown flecking from dirty pipes. It was heaven.
“So why do I feel so bloody miserable?” Emma asked herself, drawing a sad face on the glass of the shower cubicle with her index finger, stopping the water with her other hand.
“Why do you then?” Rohan’s voice made her jump and Emma squeaked in shock.
“What are you doing, you weirdo? Get out!” She banged on the glass with her hand and saw him casually turn, hands in jeans pockets. He strolled through the open doorway into her bedroom and sat on the bed. Emma fumed, opening the cubicle door and almost breaking her neck on the tiles in her efforts to commandeer her towel. Safely ensconced in the sumptuous towelling, Emma faced him, her hair leaking water down her face and back in uncomfortable rivers smelling of shower gel. She slipped again on her way from the ensuite to the bedroom and saw him look away and bite his lip in amusement.
“You can’t do stuff like this, Ro! Otherwise we’re gone, ok? What if Nicky walked in and saw you ogling me like that? He knows you’re his uncle. It’s too weird.”
Rohan’s jaw set hard and his eyes narrowed, glistening with a myriad of internal emotions. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.” His voice held an edge of stubbornness and the likeness to Emma’s son was overpowering.
She knelt on the floor, keeping the towel closed over her breasts and rifled through her suitcase, pulling out underwear and a pair of cleanish jeans. “My body’s very different to how it was at sixteen!” she snapped. “It’s gone so far south, half my stretch marks could end up in London if I turned quick enough.”
Rohan didn’t respond to her forced humour. He sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, his face a mask of misery. His tanned fingers picked at a loose thread in the bedspread and his eyes were glazed as he sifted through old memories.
“Ro?” He jumped as Emma spoke to him, turning his attention on her again and pulling himself away from his past. His blue eyes looked dulled as he waited for the inevitable telling off. “Sweetheart, you’ve got Felicity now. Anton’s gone and I’m just your stepsister...like you said last night.” Emma watched him swallow and pressed the knife home. “She seems nice, your girlfriend. You should focus on that relationship. I’ll sign any paperwork you want to release you. Just say when you’re ready.”
Emma retreated to the bathroom with her clothes. She pressed her forehead against the steamed up mirror, feeling the tears of agony stream silently down her face. Her heart felt huge in her chest as she gulped for air, resorting to opening the small window and standing underneath the freezing blast of air gasping for oxygen. She took a long time getting dressed, applying make-up which she then cried off and reapplied. “You look like a frog!” she told herself in the mirror, patting her cheeks with cold water for the fifth time. Emma piled her hair on top of her head, allowing the riot of wet curls to detract from her blotchy face.
“Come on, Mummy!” Nicky burst in the door, finding her patting her face with the last dregs of compact powder. “I’ll be late for my new school.”
Emma turned and fixed a smile on her face, admiring her son in his old school uniform. The trousers weren’t too bad and he had a hole in his sock. The polo shirt was passable and his coat at least was a newer second-hand. “Ok, I’m ready,” she steeled herself. “I kinda thought you’d start tomorrow and spend today with me.”
“Na. You’ve got Uncle Ro,” Nicky said, fixing his blue eyes on her face. “He says this new school does woodwork. I’d like to make a proper slingshot with wooden parts. Me an’ Ro’s gonna do a plan one night. He’s got a shed wiv proper tools in it what nobody nicks.” He beamed and shrugged. “Mum, do you love Uncle Ro? I think he loves you.”
Emma’s face paled at the child’s perception and she shook her head in denial.
“Yeah he does,” Nicky reiterated firmly. “And I don’t mind. But Mohammed will be pissed off. When he married yer, ‘e was gettin’ me a PlayStation to make up for it.”
After a lengthy conversation about not swearing at his new school and actually, not swearing anyway, Emma clumped down the stairs with her son. At the turn they stopped and Nicky looked annoyed about something she said. “That’s a low blow, Mum. I never thought about that. You’ve ruined it now.”
Emma rolled her eyes. Rohan looked up from his position on the two seater sofa in the huge downstairs hall. “What’s up?” He placed an envelope carefully on his knee, removed his reading glasses and popped them in his top pocket, while Nicky thudded down the staircase in his socks, shaking the whole house.
“Mummy said, right...” clump, clump, clump, “that ya can’t get married till yer sixteen!” Nicky’s indignation continued down the last turn to the three steps to ground level. “But Mohammed’s only six! So that’s another ten years wivout a PlayStation. By the time I get one, I’ll be an old man!”
Emma bit her lip as Nicky stood in front of Rohan with his hands on his hips, indignation pouring out of every nerve and sinew. Rohan smiled and held his gaze. “Mohammed’s not marrying your mum anyway,” he stated calmly. “I’m not gonna let him. You shouldn’t let your most precious things go, not for anything. You’ll always regret it.”
The two males locked identical blue eyes and Emma held her breath, standing frozen half way down the stairs. She watched Nicky’s body language from the side as he visibly relaxed and put his hands out in front of him. “Ok,” he capitulated easily. “So are we goin’ then, or what?”