Trying Not To Love You

Part Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Seven

The drive to London was pleasurable, Sonny was a good driver and it meant that Martha could slump in the passenger seat and relax, it was so long since anyone had done something from her, that she was both surprised and relieved to pass responsibility onwards.

                “Are you nervous?” He glanced at her then grimaced as she nodded.

                “You were right; I should have told Dad a long time ago...he’s going to hate me.”

Sonny sighed, his hand moving to her thigh, “he’ll be upset, but he’ll get there. It may take a little time, but how can he resist Ethan?”

She sighed, “doesn’t mean he’ll understand, I did what I thought was right. But now it doesn't feel as black and white. ”

Squeezing her thigh gently, he nodded, “he’ll know that. Honestly.”

He hated her sadness, but there was no way of making this better, not really, because he had no idea exactly how Carl Sullivan was going to take this news.

He wondered if she’d fallen asleep as she was quiet for a little while with her eyes closed. She deserved it; they’d barely closed their eyes all night. With a smile he relived that time together with relish, he loved her so much he was borderline becoming obsessed and the last twenty four hours were the greatest of his life. He tried not to think of the forthcoming week, of Oldbury’s date with destiny. He wanted it over, because then he and Martha could really rethink things, plan for the future. He laughed; having a future was something he’d never considered. Martha opened SO many doors for him.

                “Do you think he’ll cope? Ethan?”

Sonny glanced at her and smiled, “what discovering a grandfather who will spoil him rotten? Like that sounds hard!”

Martha could sense his sadness at that; he didn’t have anyone waiting in the wings. “You never had that?”

Sonny sighed, “what a grandparent? I barely had a parent.”

                “Tell me about it?”

He was silent for a while, a few miles passed before he offered, “I brought myself up, my mother was a basket case, literally. I suppose it wasn’t her fault she had mental health problems, but it wasn’t mine either. I rewrote the term ‘latch-key kid’, we rarely had food in the house, and she’d switch between being in the depths of despair, then she’d recover and she’d be out partying twenty four-seven, and then there’d be other reasons for me starving.”

He sighed, then turned to her, “she put men first when she wasn’t in a vegetative state, and for those hours or days I was an inconvenience. Then I realised that she hadn’t moved for a few days, but it was another couple of days before I knocked my neighbour’s door...then she was buried, and I went into care...from the frying pan into the fire.” He glanced at her, “but then at least in the home I got fed. Which was a step up from my darling mother.”

It was Martha’s turn to feel so desperately sad. She reached out and placed a hand on his thigh, “no one deserves that, you were just a little boy.”

He laughed, “didn’t really have a childhood Martha, not everyone does.”

She hated that, “but there must have been some good times?”

He shook his head, “I’m not inundated with happy memories, other than Michelle at the care home, but that was now about feeling a man than a boy...and you’ve already expressed your disgust at that!”