The John Hughes Club

Chapter Nine

"New start...remember?" Before our goodbye, dad's reminding me of my promise to try harder with mum.

"I know." I softly tell him. That trying harder actually began yesterday, when I called mum to tell her all about the great time I'd had with Ash, Maisy and Senna. I'll continue with that trying harder, just as soon as I've said goodbye to dad.

The excitement I felt on Friday about seeing him, is now nothing but a ghost in my memories on this early Sunday evening. I don't think I'll ever get used to this. I'll never find it easy getting out of dad's car and then having to watch him drive away from me. He's my dad, I love him. He happens to be an ace dad, too.

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Dad says, looking away with his fatherly sombreness. Just like me, he's finding this goodbye a really hard one to make. "You sure you got everything?" Speaking more at the air in front of him, he's avoiding all of my emotional eye contact.

"Yup." Shakily exits from my mouth.

"Right...okay then." Dad's so subdued, I'm not used to seeing him subdued. He's the positive one in our family. The one who tries to make things better, even when they're not.

As I'm looking at him, feeling grateful for the fact that I'm his daughter, I'm now only wanting to remember the warm familiarity of his dark curly hair that he keeps really short to prevent those curls of his springing out like spiralling weeds from his scalp. I only want to remember the love and protectiveness that always shines so bluely bright within his large eyes...I don't want to remember the sadness that he's bravely now trying to hide from me.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I'm beginning to regret the decision to come home earlier than arranged. The plan was to get back a few hours earlier, so I could finish up some homework and maybe watch a film with mum before bed. I can't remember the last time I did that with her, but I've promised to try harder —this is me trying harder. Only, that trying harder is taking me away from my dad. I could've had a few more hours with him, but my loyalty to that promise has taken away those precious last few hours. God, I'm so torn. "I love you, Dad. We can FaceTime and text until I come again, can't we?"

Hugging me so very tightly, dad's nodding. "We can. Now go! Get that homework done and be nice to your mum." Sniffing hard, dad's trying to be the strong one. "Love you lots...now go!" Pulling free of our emotional embrace, he produces a shaky smile to his mouth, one that's supposed to make me feel better about leaving him.

It doesn't, but for him I'll pretend that it does. "Drive carefully...love you!" Opening the passenger door, I quickly get out of the car, closing it behind me before hurriedly grabbing my rucksack from off the rear seat before I start to cry. I can't cry! If I cry, that'll upset dad, which'll only make me cry even more.

As dad gives me one final wave, I inhale a breath that's stuttering with its fragility. If dad can be strong, so can I. Breathing in hard through my nose and slowly exhaling through my mouth, I'm controlling the anxiety within me. I'm controlling the ache to my daughterly heart. Once I feel that my tears have been suppressed, I'm ready to go inside the house that I'm trying so damn hard to think of as being my home. Taking the key from out of a side pocket on my bag, I'm soon unlocking the door and preparing myself for the whole trying harder thing. The house seems quiet, with only the light of an early May evening keeping the whole of the downstairs airy and fresh looking. As houses go, it's giving me a nice welcome back. Peering into the tidiness of the living room and the kitchen, there's no sign of mum, so I start heading upstairs. It's then, that I hear mum's shower in her en-suite being on, while her stereo's got Simply Red playing in her room. Going into my bedroom first, I dump my rucksack down onto my bed, giving it a quick glance around as I do. I really must put my Mindy mark on this room! I'm telling myself with a wry smile. This space of mine is in dire need of some Diaz'ing, it really is! Wanting to let mum know that I'm home, I happily stride across to her room. Her door is ajar, which isn't unusual, but the glow from lit scented candles are. Mum's not that into candles, so to see one flickering on each of her bedside tables, has me venturing deeper into her room with my teenage curiosity. Almost tiptoeing in with my heavy boots on, I notice a much larger pair of boots by the other side of the bed. Tan boots. Turned on their sides. Dropped down on the bedroom floor like they were taken off in a hurry. As my eyes are roaming away from those tan boots, they're soon drawn to clothing that have been thrown onto mum's white wicker chair in the corner of her room. Men's clothes. Hanging off the back and sides of that chair. Strewn, like they too, were taken off in a hurry. My heart's beginning to beat with panicked beats. Turning slowly, I'm now trying to listen hard to what's going on behind that bathroom door. That too, hasn't been fully closed. So with even quieter footsteps, I'm edging closer towards it. Holding my breath, I'm listening. With Mick Hucknall in my left ear, I'm only wanting to know what's happening in my right ear. The water from the shower can be clearly heard, but as my ear is hovering beside the gap of the door, I'm soon able to hear something else—heavy breaths and gasping moans. No! This can't be happening! I can't be hearing this! I can't be! The realisation that my mum is in there having sex, starts rushing through me like ice. Then a wave of chilling nausea starts engulfing me. Sickened, my booted feet just don't know what to do. They should move, but can't. I should stop listening, but can't. The coldness of my knowledge and the disgust of what I'm hearing, has me immobile and confused. Whoever is in there with my mum isn't my dad, as he's only just dropped me off. As my mother's pleasured moans start to get louder, so does the anger inside of me. When I hear a succession of masculine grunts, the anger and the disgust inside of me, detonates. That's my mum in there, but it doesn't sound like my mother at all. Her moans, are moans of enjoyment. Her loud gasps, are gasps of having carefree sex. With tears of my temper sliding down my cheeks, I angrily push the bathroom door. As it loudly slams, I hear them both whispering; hear my mum sounding panicked. There! That will interrupt their sex! Interrupt their pleasure! Satisfied that I've now made my displeased presence very much known, me and my tears both flee from the room.