Smashed Pianos ~ Liam Gallagher

2007

A/N: I feel a little teary writing this - which sounds melodramatic - because I'm afraid this book is closing here. It's come to a natural end, but I'm eager to start work on either a new Liam book or a sequel to this one (although sequels and me to do not get on well).

Either way, I hope you've enjoyed this whole 'journey' as much as I have and yeah, so here's the part:

NOVEMBER 2007

Alarms. Why do they have to be so... so- alarming?

"Wake up," I grumble, accidentally hitting his face with the back of my hand as I reach over to switch off my phone. "Wake up!" I moan more urgently this time, finally opening my eyes to reveal our haphazard, half-painted bedroom. I clamp them shut again. Liam promised he would finish painting the walls yesterday whilst I was out with Isabella doing the Christmas shopping, but obviously I came back to find the walls still stripped and bare and Liam covered in Play-Doh. 

"It's the weekend Ard..." He turns flat on his face and slowly falls asleep again but I knock his shoulder instead.

"It's Monday morning Liam."

He groans in response, so instead of trying any harder, I heave myself out of bed and pull on my woolen dressing gown whilst simultaneously slipping on my little blue loafers. "Liam please-"

"I'm up, I'm up." He mumbles from behind me, dragging himself from the bed and into some clothes.

Half past six. Jesus Christ.

"If you get breakfast, I'll wake the kids." I bargain, yawning whilst staring at my reflection in the mirror and shuddering at my messy hair and pale skin.

Liam nods, "I'll make packed lunches if you dress them."

"Deal."

I stumle out from our new bedroom, dodging the various cardboard boxes littering the floorboards, and switch the corridor light on to reveal carnage. More labelled boxes. More unpacking. I'm too exhausted to even look at it.

I walk straight on to our eldest son's room which is the biggest (we figured since he was older it was only fair) and tap lightly on the door the same as every school day, and then inch into the abyss. "Austin? Wake up," I say gently before rubbing his tiny shoulder. His eyes are hidden by a mousy mop of curls but I can tell he's ignoring me. "Austin?" Why don't any of the men in my life actually listen to me?

Right. Curtains.

I used to hate being woken up this way as a kid, but oh well. Desperate times and all that.

Austin grumbles and sits up, rubbing his brown eyes and giving me a very sleepy hug. "Daddy's making breakfast downstairs, if you run you can go and help." Austin idolises his dad, really looks up to him. It's sweet.

With this Austin is out of bed and changing into his uniform.

And now for his younger brother.

This will be a challenge and a half.

Olfur is cocooned in his duvet like a tiny mouse, his soft toy dinosaur at his feet rising and falling with his shallow breathing. Olfur (a reference to my late Grandfather) has lighter hair than his brother and lighter eyes too, looking more like me than Liam. A tiny red birthmark cuts just above his jaw; a centimetre long wiry line which you can barely notice, but I find comfort in knowing that it will always be a part of my son.