Love is a Laserquest - Alex Turner/Arctic Monkeys Fan Fiction

1998

When Mum first left, Dad made a lot of phone calls that ended in shouting. I know some of them were phone calls to my aunt, who lived in Reading but was acting as a mediator when Mum wouldn't answer. Other conversations were with Mum directly– I knew, because I heard him saying her name harshly, at least once in every sentence.

"Well, you didn't really leave us with much choice, Maureen!"

"Maureen, you have a child you've abandoned– she needs her mum!"

"We're in Sheffield now, Maureen. If you need to contact us, this is our address."

She never called us when she first left. She was very happy to be abandoning all responsibility and all connection to us. I know she didn't ask her sister about our well-being. I know she was relieved to be free of us from the ease with which she shrugged off Dad's clutching hands on the day she left– from the way she so easily looked me in the eye, with her suitcases in her hands, and showed no feeling at all. I know it was Dad reaching out to her, desperate, unable to let go.

But after we settled into Sheffield, he stopped calling. She made a call on my first birthday away, and then on Christmas, and I guess her reaching out– even if only to speak to just me, twice a year– was enough for Dad. Though recently, it hasn't been enough for me.

I've been spending a lot of time with Alex at his, with his mum and dad. And I love Mrs. Turner, but the closer Alex and I become, the more she asks about my time in London, about Dad, about Mum. The more I catch her looking at me like she feels bad for me. And the more I feel bad for myself.

It's been years without Mum, and the chasm she left behind sometimes feels like it could swallow me whole. Like when Mrs. Turner pulls Alex to her in passing, planting a kiss on the top of his head and straightening the tie of his school uniform. Or when she brings us a snack after school without us even asking, and I catch her looking at Alex so fondly– like the sun rises and sets on him. Or when I try to do something distinctly girly, and I can't cope– like trying to figure out how to plait my hair.

Usually I'm very good at stamping the feelings down. Alex doesn't know anything about Mum or why she left, or how I feel about it, and I know Dad feels bad enough– worries about me enough– without my making it worse. But today, watching Mrs. Turner smooth back Alex's fluffy hair as she tells us she's popping out to the shops, makes something inside of me crumble– makes something inside of me yearn for the love of my own mother, a love I don't know if I ever had if she was so willing to leave us.

When Mrs. Turner is gone, I feel the tears rise up my esophagus like a tidal wave, and I swallow hard to keep them at bay.

I don't want to cry in front of Alex. I don't want to cry at all.

"I think I need to get home," I manage to get out, without any reasoning or explanation to him, and I rise from the couch where we're watching a documentary on deep sea creatures.

"What?" he asks. "We can do somethin' else. You don't have to go."

I don't say anything to him, just pull on my coat and hurry out the front door. He catches up to me in the front drive in moments. He didn't stop to grab his own jacket or shoes, he's in only a t-shirt and socks, and it makes me stop.

"Lils," he says, using the nickname he's only just started calling me. "What's this? Why'd you want to leave?"

I'm rooted to the spot, right in the middle of the drive, in front of the Turners' house. I know Alex is my best friend, but we've never talked about anything as serious as my mum. To be honest, I try not to even think about how Mum's leaving makes me feel, or the seriousness of it.