When Nothing is Ever Simple

CHAPTER SIX

I am lying in bed at five thirty am on Sunday morning with the twins dozing next to me, leafing through a teen magazine. I'm struggling to read an article on eating disorders, the narrow chink of light filtering through the gap in the curtain not proving to be of much help. I decide it's not worth the effort and throw the magazine across the room. I hold my breath as it misses Sammie's precarious structure of Lego by inches then edge my way towards the door and slip out.

I can hear Mr. Tumbler on Cbeebies in the sitting room but otherwise the flat is silent. Maya often gets up very early at the weekend to snuggle up with all her old teddies and her purple duvet to watch TV.

I find a letter on the breakfast bar addressed to Jasmine's Godmother - Sarah-Mae - asking if she would 'be so kind as to look after her Goddaughter for a short while.' I snort. A short while? Then what? I tear the letter in two then screw each half into a ball and throw them at the wall. The first rebounds and lands harmlessly in the kitchen sink but the second hurtles into the saucepans hanging above the oven, sending them clattering to the kitchen floor with an almighty crash, bound to rouse Mum and send Lola into hysterics.

On cue, Lola begins to cry noisily from the bedroom and I can hear Mum shuffling across her room in her slippers. Great. I'm tempted to slope off to the sitting room, sit with Maya and Mr. Tumble and pretend I had nothing to do with it when Mum comes in. Her hair is hanging in clumps and there are bags beneath her eyes.

"Sorry." I attempt an apology.

"Grow up Jade." She turns to leave but I start talking.

"Actually Mum, you grow up. You're just hiding the truth with this whole facade of 'making things better for us.' You're selfish, and self-centered - all you want is to drink yourself to death. Well that's fine by me, it's your decision, but I'm not going to let you abandon your own family." I find myself saying. Mum opens her mouth as if to respond with another rant then closes it again and looks thoughtful.

"You've changed. You're more confident in yourself, and... I love you. But I've got to do this. For me. And maybe for you as well. I've laid in bed night after night, wondering if what I'm doing is the ‘right thing'.  But life can't go on like this. I can't see another way out. Maybe splitting you up will be a hard thing to get used to but it will give you a fresh start. I know it's hard for you to understand but it's too late for me, no matter how many times I try,  I can't give up my addiction. So I have to give in to it. But it isn't too late for you." Before I have a chance to reply, she's gone and I hear the sound of the bedroom door close and the lock click a moment or two later.

Ten minutes later, I am sitting on the roof of our block of flats, just thinking, thinking and gazing down at the cars and buses and lorries going past on the main road below. People getting on with their daily lives, not taking much notice of anything apart from whatever is in their own little bubble. When we first moved here I used to sit for hours at a time and just let my thoughts run free.  I used to think about forbidden things, stuff long since buried in the past. Stuff which I had been instructed never to mention again. Stuff which ‘no one else needed to know.’  Stuff which I have been tempted to blurt out to my mother, to my friendly year seven English teacher, to Gina, to Amber or Jasmine, to Sam.

But don't tell. No one needs to know.