When my Mum saw me, she asked what had happened.
“They – he – all – left!” I said in-between sobs.
Mum’s face turned a puce colour (purplish-brown).
I managed to cry myself to sleep, and in the morning, Mum hadn’t gone to work.
“Are you okay love?” Mum asked.
“Erm… Yeah, I think so. What time is it?” I asked, feeling disorientated, and thinking that yesterday was all just a bad dream.
“Two in the afternoon, pet.” Mum replied.
I groaned, got up, forgetting to act, and tramped up the stairs to get washed and dressed.
‘How is she able to use those limbs; it’s been just short of two weeks since she broke them.’ Mum thought.
I came down the stairs and said “oh, by the way Mum, Dr. McIvor did some physiotherapy on me, and now I’ll all healed so I won’t need these anymore.” I pulled the pots off, and threw them in the bin.
I decided that even though I didn’t feel normal, like part of me had died, I would try to act normal for my Mum because my problems should be my problems and my problems alone; Mum shouldn’t have to suffer with me. I hoped he heard that. I hoped he heard every single bad thing that I thought about him. The little rotter. I had come to grips with the fact that yesterday wasn’t just a bad dream after all.
“I feel okay to go to school tomorrow.” I said.
“There’s no school tomorrow, love.” Mum said, looking amused.
“Oh, I’m gonna go upstairs and see if I have any email from Dad or Hayley.” I said, and trudged back up the stairs, and switched my computer on.
I had one email from Dad and it read:
Been up to anything fun recently? How’s that boyfriend of yours? Yes, I do find out these things. Your Mum’s not very good at keeping secrets. Ha, ha, ha!
Tap back soon,
Love Dad xxx
That brought on a new wave of tears, and I didn’t write a reply back to him. I flopped down on my bed, and cried myself to sleep.
I woke up about an hour later, and Mum was at my desk, writing a reply to my Dad.
She had put:
This is Kat. Not good at keeping secrets aren’t I? You see, this is why we broke up, because you accuse everybody apart from yourself because apparently your are Little Mr. Perfect.
Anyway, she’s not going to answer your email because her boyfriend just dumped her, and so that’s probably answered both of your questions, about fun and boyfriend.
Let’s say no more on the subject.
I made Mum jump because I had been reading, silently, over her shoulder, and I was right behind her when she turned around, a trick that I’d learnt from him.
We had a laugh, but mine was only a half-hearted laugh, but a laugh, nevertheless.
“Tomorrow it’s Saturday, love.” Mum realised.
“Oh, I guess I’m a deep sleeper.” I said, realising I must have slept three and a half days.
“Yes love.” She smiled. “I’m going to Amanda Jones’s tomorrow to help her with some housework. Do you want to come and hang out with Zachary, like you used to do with his older sister Ellen when you were younger?”
“Might as well. Why can’t Amanda do her own housework?” I asked.
“She had a stroke about a year ago, which paralysed her legs, so she’s in a wheelchair now; poor soul.” Mum said.
I made tea then, and I went to bed early, claiming to be tired, though I wasn’t tired in the slightest. I’d always been a bad liar, and with the reading minds thing, I knew that I hadn’t fooled her in the slightest.
I put on my iPod, turned it up to full volume, so I couldn’t be tempted into thinking about him (though it didn’t help when ‘Girlfriend’ came on by Avril Lavigne). I fell asleep about two hours later, and woke up at 8:00am.
Mum came dancing into my room at 8:30am with a feather duster and tickled my nose with it.
I giggled, half-heartedly, and shooed her out of the room so that I could get washed and dressed.
I put on a pair of black skinny jeans, a pink and grey striped hoody, and my red and white converse trainers.