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AMANDA'S DOOR WAS FIXED.
A slab of thick, decaying wood that had once fallen into her room and broken her privacy at the hands of her violent brothers now stood newly attached to the threshold, blocking her room from the vast open plan of the hallway that lay just outside her door. It was an odd thing; a part of her had become accustomed to having the lack of privacy, laying in bed at night with her eyes on the hallway just in case, waking up to the littlest of stirs or the tiniest creaks in the wood.
It served as a confusing symbol of her feelings. Her father had fixed it, willingly and kindly, and she had stood by his side with a screwdriver in hand, passing him the brass little parts that he needed. That was what made her content, knowing that this new barrier had been forged by a small moment of bonding with her father who claimed he was trying to redeem himself. But as well as this, the door somehow made her feel even more lonely.
Perhaps it was the enclosure she felt like she was clamped in, surrounded by four walls and now a door, well and truly boxed in. The change of heart her father had had was unexpected, but a little ember in her heart remained flickering with wistful hope that maybe he was telling the truth. She woke the next morning, ready to cook breakfast, to find her father on his first bottle of water that day; he didn't know how to cook that well, so Amanda stuck him on toast duty.
They weren't talking. Not really. It was more tasks carried out by the both of them in buzzing silence, the lingering question in the air of what now? He had apologised, he had said he wanted to be better, but the feeling of his foot lodging in her stomach, his hand striking her across her face, they would not go away. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.
Yet he still went to work, left her after breakfast and returned in the evening to his dinner ready on the table for him. As usual. They still ate in silence. Nobody knew how to break it. Butch didn't know how to redeem himself and Amanda didn't know if she should let him. Her heart felt heavy with the knowledge she had so easily believed in his proclamation, her mind waged war on the tug at her heartstrings - she shouldn't have been so easily swayed. She shouldn't have forgiven him.
But he was her father.
Henry's father, too. But he hadn't been around in a while. Breakfast, and then dinner. And then nothing. Either he skulked to his room or he went out with his friends to terrorise people in the village, as usual. Somehow he felt more elusive than usual. If that was even possible. There was only one night when Amanda knew something had happened outside the confines of her own home.
It had been late, and her room had gleamed with beams of headlights shining from outside of her bedroom. Sitting up, her eyes had peered blearily out of the glass pane that she had once shut on Henry's fingers the very same day he had broken her door down. It was though Henry and their father had suddenly switched personalities, apart from Henry had never attempted to make amends between any of them.
