Mark DeLancey

Chapter 4

I was sixteen when my mother died. I always thought she would overdose but as it was she drowned. It was still the drugs that caused her to fall into the pool but I was a little shocked when instead of finding her on the floor in her room like I always thought I would; I was woken early one Sunday morning by a harsh knock at my front door and a stout policeman telling me he had a warrant to search the house. I was still waking up and in a certain state of undress, so it took a bit for it to sink in. Eventually I found some clothes and by then a second policeman had told me my mother was dead.

I sat cross-legged on the front lawn watching the police coming in and out of the house while the sun rose gently in the sky, spreading pink and orange hues across the clouds. An hour and a half later the police were gone, and the house was in complete disarray. I walked to my mother's room. I had no idea how she left it last, as there were now drawers and cupboards open, her clothes and belongings spread all over.

Later that day, Mark's mother came over and was shocked to see the mess the police had left. She wondered what I would do now. Would I go to my father's? I didn't want to go there. I had barely seen my dad or my siblings in the last 8 years. I could have counted those times on one hand. No. I wanted to stay here. Neither one of us knew if that was possible.

I liked Mark's mother. Her name was Rachel, and she had always been kind to me. She always said hello, no matter what rumours were flying about me or my mother. She was busy, so I didn't see her much, but even a little friendliness was a sharp contrast to the rest of the town's treatment of us.

I don't remember a lot about that time. I organised mum's funeral and saw my dad, brother and sister for the first time in a long time. The funeral was very small, of course. Long story short, Dad said I could stay in the house if I wanted. He owned it and expected nothing from me to stay there while I was at school. Since I was 16, I could live on my own and I get an allowance from the government while I was still studying so I would be okay for another year or so. After that, he said we'd have another talk.

When everything was over and a couple more weeks had passed one of the strongest recollections I have is standing at the front door one day, from there you can pretty much see the whole house, and I decided I didn't want to live in a shithole anymore. I cleaned that place from ceiling to floor and chucked a lot of stuff out. The room I was most dreading though was my mother's. I shut her bedroom door and didn't open it again for some time.

I spent the days after that at home more. I had never spent so much time at home since I was tiny, and even then I'm not sure I did. I taught myself how to cook and budget and all those things adults are supposed to know how to do. And I loved it all. My space, my freedom, not having to worry about someone else. Even the rumours and bullying calmed down around town. People mostly left me to myself. I never knew life could be so peaceful.

Four short months into this newfound peace and the sound of a motorbike passing my house caused me to lift my head from the book I was reading. I went to the window and saw Mark in his driveway removing his helmet. He looked across to my house then unloading his bike he walked towards his front door and disappeared from view.

Mark DeLancey. I sat on my couch and recalled the last time I had seen him.

I knew very little about Mark DeLancey apart from the few experiences we had shared over the years. No one at school was interested, so never talked about him. He was too old and therefore out of mind. He was 26, after all.

I was sixteen now and someone like Mark DeLancey interested me. His tall, solid build and broad shoulders in his bike leathers were seared into my memory. His dark hair left long, his light blue eyes, his strong jaw and straight nose, all of these impressions surfaced, and I wondered at the suddenness and urgency of my feeling. Was it his physical appearance or the fact that he had been kind to me in every small occasion I had been with him?

Either way, Mark DeLancey loomed large in my mind and I spent many hours over the next days and weeks in quiet fantasies of my own desire and making, never once entertaining even the idea of any of it becoming a reality.