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“Start from the beginning,” Alex suggests, pushing himself off the doorway and walking into the living room. He collapses into the armchair opposite, crossing his ankles as he rests his feet on the coffee table. There's a twitch in the corner of his cheek, as if he's clenching his jaw too hard, and I know he's desperate to make this all go away. He was like this when I was a frightened kid, standing up for me when challenged. Though part of me still longs to be hiding behind my brother while Doctor Who is on the T.V., I know I can't let him do this any more. It's time to stand on my own two feet.
Finally, Mum looks up. “I met your dad in a pub I was working in. It was just after Operation Desert Storm. He was heading to Iraq, and I was lonely and sad.” Her eyes flicker over to Alex. “We hit it off right away.”
In my mind I'm picturing my mum twenty three years ago, flirting across the bar with a short-haired soldier. The image is so vivid I can hear her tinkling laugh as he knocks back a pint.
“What happened next?”
“I thought it was a fling. We only spent a few weeks together before he shipped out. But somehow he found my address and started writing to me, and I wrote back.” She pulls at the sleeves of her cardigan. “I found out I was pregnant with you that Christmas. You were a little surprise for all of us. One minute I was pouring brandy over the pudding, the next I had my head down the toilet.”
“Uncle Les reckoned you'd drunk too much Babycham,” Alex remarks. “He let us watch James Bond while Mum crawled into bed.”
“Did you tell him about me?” I ask.
“I sent him a letter. I wasn't sure how he'd react but he was delighted. He wrote back with a whole list of plans. He wanted us to get married and adopt Alex and Andie. It all sounded too good to be true.”
Alex laughs, short and harsh. “You can say that again.”
Mum shoots him a nasty look. “He sent me some money and told me to spend it on baby things. It was enough to kit out a little nursery for you.”
Her words are making me emotional, and there's a lump in my throat the size of a rock. I imagine her with a baby bump, buying a cot and pram, her face glowing from hormones. It could all have been so different, I could have had a mum and a dad who loved me. We could have been a normal family, so what the hell went wrong?
She's staring into the distance, locked inside her memories. Her voice takes on a wistful edge. “You were born six months later. Uncle Les managed to let Digger know, and he was allowed home to see you. I've never seen somebody so in love. You took to him right away, and as soon as he picked you up you'd stop crying, your face quiet and serious. I was a bit jealous, I think, but when he got down on one knee and proposed, I was so excited.”
“He flew back to Iraq, but by that time it was clear that things were calming down. A few weeks before he was due to come back he was travelling in a convoy, heading towards Kuwait. They drove over a land mine.”
I can't breathe, I can barely think.
“They managed to pull him from the wreckage, said it was a miracle he survived. Nearly everybody else was killed, including his best friend.”
“He was injured?” I ask. I barely recognise my own voice.
“They rushed him to an army hospital. His ribs were broken as well as both his legs, and there was a piece of shrapnel embedded in the side of his face. He had five operations before they were able to stabilise him, and it wasn't until two months after that he was well enough to be flown home.”
“I remember you going to see him,” Alex says. “You took Amy with you.”
“He was in a bad way. It wasn't just the physical injuries, though they were bad enough. He was closed off emotionally. He barely looked at you, and didn't talk for the three hours we were there. That was the first time he really scared me.”
“Why?”
She winces. “Because when you started crying he shouted at you to shut up.”
The way she says it sends a shiver down my spine. “What happened next?”
“Eventually he was discharged, and with his legs it was clear his career in the army was over. He had no job, no home, and no family to speak of. So...”
“He moved in with us.”
She nods. “But he was different, you know. Intolerant. He'd shout at Alex for kicking a ball too loudly against the garden wall, and tell Andie she was stupid when she asked for help with her homework. I suppose now they’d diagnose him with PTSD, but he refused to get any help. And I thought...” She falters. “I thought I could heal him.”
It's the story of her life. She thinks a man will change just for her. Sometimes they do, but the transformation is only ever superficial. She's perpetually disappointed in love.
“It got to the point where Alex and Andie were scared to come home from school. I lost my job because I didn't like leaving you all alone with him, and that made things worse because we had no money at all. Then one night I went to Andie's parents evening. It was only for half an hour, and I put you to bed before I left, so I didn't think there'd be any trouble. But you'd started teething, and you got all grizzly, enough to wind him up.”
It feels like my skin is burning all over. I don't want to hear the next part of her story, yet I'm helpless to stop it.
“I could hear you screaming from halfway up the road. Andie and I started to run, and we met Alex on our way to the house. He was crying and his cheek was puffy and red as if he'd been slapped, but he wouldn't tell me what happened. Just begged me to come and save you.”
“What did happen?” I turn to Alex. He's turned pale, his eyes flashing with tears. I picture him as a frightened seven-year-old, terrorised by his mum's fiancé. Trying and failing to protect his baby sister.
