The following morning I remember that nothing much changed. We all got up as usual, got ready and went to school. Dad went to work and told us he would go to the hospital during the day to check in on mum.
The day passed slowly, but uneventfully. When I got back from school Greg and Paul were sitting in the kitchen. Dad had arranged for Mrs Ball to come in everyday to help us. I liked Mrs Ball, she was a cheerful soul. She was plump with a round, rosy face. Normally she came to the house three days a week to help mum with the cleaning but she had apparently readily agreed to come in daily when she heard what had happened.
Mrs Ball had make some cookies which smelt wonderful. She was pouring out three large glasses of milk and there was a bowl in the centre of the table with freshly washed apples.
Everyone sat silently. I took a seat opposite Greg and Paul and thanked Mrs Ball when she handed me my glass of milk. I looked over at Greg, at 15, he was the eldest and had always been the one who made decisions.
I remember asking him what we were going to do. He looked at me with frustration gleaming from his eyes and basically told me that we had to see mum, to understand what was going on. That or sit dad down and question him. We all agreed after some discussion that is it was probably easier to sit with dad that to try and get to see mum. Also mum had hardly been responsive yesterday.
So we agreed, as soon as dad came back we would make him tell us exactly what had driven our mum to do such a thing. After all we were her children. Surely we had a right to know why our family was being torn apart.
To be continued
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Short StoryIsn't it funny just how much your mother can influence your life. You don't even realise it. You're born into a family and take everything that happens within it as normal. I mean, until you are older and start comparing ......
