Conflicted

By Bob Fitch

Gary doesnt understand why his parents separated, or what he can do to make things right for his family. But his dad has promised that theyll be spending special time together on his eleventh birthday, so maybe hell get to learn more. Even better, perhaps hell be able to forge the bond with his dad that he so craves. As their adventure unfolds we hear about Garys past, his flashbacks revealing why he is the person that he has become. We share the highs and the lows of his birthday weekend, and discover just what a profound impact the events have on their relationship. We learn what Gary must do to cope in his adolescent years, and how the forces of nature and nurture continue to shape his life. Along the way, we see just how complicated life can become for a child when parents leave their conflicts unresolved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462890781

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Copyright © 2011 by Bob Fitch.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011910157

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4628-9077-4

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4628-9076-7

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4628-9078-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Chapter 1     Many Happy April Fools’

Chapter 2     How Did I Get Here?

Chapter 3     Can We Just Get Going?

Chapter 4     Hello, Dad, Meet Mark

Chapter 5     Off on the Mystery Tour

Chapter 6     Divided We Stand, United We Fall

Chapter 7     Up and Down on the Motorway

Chapter 8     Close Friends

Chapter 9     Dad’s Worst Fears

Chapter 10   The Last Time We Moved

Chapter 11   Getting There

Chapter 12   Growing Up Away from Dad

Chapter 13   Mismatch

Chapter 14   There’s Always a Chance

Chapter 15   Another Mismatch

Chapter 16   A Long Way Home

Chapter 17   What I Really, Really Want

Chapter 18   Was This the Plan?

Chapter 19   From Bad to Worse

Chapter 20   Just the One Life for Now

Chapter 21   And Now for the News

Chapter 22   Time for a Change

Chapter 23   Reaching Out

Chapter 24   Learning to Cope

Chapter 25   On a Need-to-Know Basis

Chapter 26   Learning from the Master

Chapter 27   The Joys of Summer

Chapter 28   A Trip to Eton

Chapter 29   Aftermath

Chapter 30   A Hot Summer

Chapter 31   Moving On

Chapter 32   Putting Together the Pieces

Chapter 33   So Nearly Perfect

Chapter 34   A Long Way Home

Dedication

To my father, who made sure that any conflicts I encountered in my childhood were entirely of my own making.

More than he would ever acknowledge, this book is a product of his wisdom.

Please support efforts to end Alzheimer’s disease

CHAPTER 1

Many Happy April Fools’

Hell, what was that noise? What’s going on? Maybe I should be waking up now. But my body doesn’t seem to think so, and I really shouldn’t argue with my body this soon in the day. I’ll let it take charge for now. No need to try to move or open my eyes just yet.

Damn, more noise. I might have known, it sounds like Nick is up and mucking around. Is he outside my door? That could be trouble—it sounds like he might crash his way in at any moment. Now there’s a reason to force my body into action. Who knows, self-defence might be required. Let’s try shouting at him first.

Go away, Nick.

No answer. What is he doing? Maybe I should try moving; just in bed to start, before doing anything drastic, like standing up.

Ouch, what is that sticking into my ribs? Oh, just one of my Hot Wheels. I don’t recognise it—is this one of mine? Now I remember—I was given it yesterday. I must have sneaked it into my bed to play with. I guess the poke in my ribs was my punishment for breaking the rules. What the hell—it’s a cool car. I must remember to keep it away from Nick though. Otherwise it won’t be a cool car for very long.

Hold on, now my brain is beginning to slowly start up. This car, it was one of the presents I was given yesterday. Birthday presents. Wow, so this is not just another day. No, it has to be Saturday; April 1st; my eleventh birthday. Happy birthday to me!

Now I’m coming round, my brain is getting into gear, reminding me of what is going on. It could be quite a day. Dad told me to be ready by nine o’clock. He’s going to pick me up, and we’re going to spend my birthday together. I don’t know what he has planned, but he promised me it’ll be fun. Oh God, please let it be fun. Please let this really be happy birthday to me.

What time is it? My guess is it’s still pretty early. Where the hell did my alarm clock go? Well, it looks like I’m awake now, so I might as well haul my body out of bed. There we are—my body obeyed. And what a body it is. Well, maybe not; I guess it’s just an average eleven-year-old body really; but big and strong enough for now.

And what do you know, there’s my clock, lying next to the dresser; which is probably where it ended up when I hit it yesterday morning. Well, it was a school day.

Hell, it’s still only six fifty-two; I’ve got plenty of time. Take a quick look in the mirror. The usual staring back at me: Dad’s blond hair, Mum’s blue eyes. Not a bad combination really. I just hope I’ve got Dad’s strength too. No real sign of any muscles yet—maybe when I’m twelve.

Now, let’s get moving. I’ll go and check out what Nick is up to, maybe see if Mum is awake yet.

~~~~~

It certainly wouldn’t be my choice—for my birthday to be on April Fools’ Day. I’m never sure whether to expect a pleasant surprise or a nasty prank—or maybe one disguised as the other.

Of course Dad thinks this is all a great laugh. He loves telling the story of what happened on my actual birthday. Maybe you’ve heard of Richard Branson—I think he’s some kind of hotshot businessman who likes to fly hot air balloons. Well, apparently he built one balloon to look just like an alien spaceship and then—on the morning of April 1st, 1989—he landed it somewhere not too far from here, near London I think.

The balloon must have been pretty convincing. The people living nearby were so spooked by it that they called the police and got them to check out what was happening. Not that they were much help. Just as one of the police approached the balloon, the doors of the spaceship opened and an alienlike creature stepped out—apparently this Branson guy had dressed up as some kind of Martian or something. When the policeman saw the alien he disappeared in the opposite direction, faster than you could say We come in peace. Now that makes you wonder, doesn’t it—imagine what would happen if any real aliens landed.

Now, like Dad, I think this was a great April Fools’ prank, I really do. But is that all it was? I mean, it happened on the day that I was born, and I can’t help wonder whether it says something about my arrival on this earth. Maybe my birth seemed a bit like the creature emerging from the spaceship. Look, here comes this boy, he looks a bit odd, what should we do with him? Should we laugh or cry, try to get close or run a mile? At least Branson was able to get out of his costume and have a good laugh at other people’s expense. I’m not sure I can say the same. I still feel like a complete misfit, not really belonging anywhere, as though I’m dressed up as some kind of alien, people not really knowing what to do with me for the best.

Mum of course sees things differently to my dad. She tells me that I am reading far too much into stories like this and she wishes that I’d been born on a different day. Well, me too. Apparently I arrived just before noon. Would my life have worked out differently if I had been born fifteen minutes later? Maybe I’d no longer be the fool.

But I don’t think that is how it was meant to be. No, I don’t think the timing of my birthday was an accident. It was a sign of things to come.

~~~~~

It seems like I’ve been awake for hours. I should have stayed in bed, tried to get some more sleep, but I had to get up and do something, make sure I’m on time for my big day. Apparently Dad has something special planned, and I want to make the most of it. But Mum and Mark are busy, so what should I do right now? What is there to do this early on a Saturday morning, other than watch TV? Time is really dragging—it could be any weekend, there’s nothing special about this one yet.

I look at the kitchen clock again. Surely that can’t be right. It can’t be only eight forty-seven. Has the clock stopped? Wasn’t that what it said the last time I checked? Perhaps I’m wrong, I don’t remember exactly what time it was then, maybe it was eight thirty-seven? I just don’t seem able to concentrate very well. My mind is leaping all over the place, wondering what might happen today. All I’ve been told is to expect a fantastic surprise. That could be anything. And in my experience, surprises aren’t always good things.

Anyway, I’m not sure why I’m expecting something to happen yet—not this early. My dad might have said that he would be here at nine, but when is he ever on time? He probably hasn’t even left Slough yet. If he makes it here at all.

So I should try to calm down, get my act together, and relax for a while. I still don’t know whether I feel excited or anxious—some of both I suppose. I never really know what to expect from my dad. We don’t see each other that often—my guess would be about every two or three weeks, although Mum thinks it’s less than that. She might be right; then again, maybe she’s just trying to make Dad seem bad.

I know he’d like to spend more time with me, but it’s difficult for him. And for me too. Because we don’t see each other that often, Dad still doesn’t really know what to do with me or how to make the most of our time together. Perhaps he doesn’t know what to expect from me either, maybe I make things difficult for him. I try not to be demanding, I want to be good company. But it’s hard, maybe because it feels like we have to get to know each other again, each time we meet.

Today should be different; Dad has promised to make it very special. I can’t help getting excited and wondering what he has planned. And who knows, maybe my eleventh birthday will be a turning point in my life. Maybe Dad will really make things happen, and we’ll become good mates forever. We’ll spend lots of time together and always look after each other. That would be the best birthday present ever.

~~~~~

My birthday celebrations started pretty well last night, hanging out with Mum and Mark. We had some fun for once.

As Mum and Dad don’t like being together for more than a few milliseconds, I always have two birthday celebrations, with each of my parents taking turns to do something with me on the actual day. So I always feels like I have two birthdays, which is pretty cool, I guess.

Or at least, it should be. Yesterday Mum and Mark obviously wanted to make me feel kind of special—maybe they felt that they needed to compete with whatever Dad has set up. They even left Nick with the babysitter when we went out in the evening. Nothing against Nick, he’s a good kid really, but he’s still only four, so can’t really join in with the things I want to do. And when he is around, whatever we are doing, somehow he always seems to matter the most.

Without him in the way, we were able to go bowling and actually play properly. Perhaps bowling doesn’t sound too special to you, but I always get a kick out of those kinds of games—bowling, pool, darts, anything like that. My dad is just the same—always happy to find time for bar sports, as he calls them.

Games like these are a bit of a laugh, of course, but that’s not the only reason I like them. For me, something like bowling gives me a chance to stop churning things over in my head. If I’m not careful I can spend hours worrying about stupid things like how screwed up things are between my parents, what it all means for me. I know I shouldn’t bother. I can’t make sense of any of it. If anything, the more I think about this stuff, the more confused I get. So now, I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. This isn’t always easy; my brain usually does its own thing. But something like bowling helps to distract me; helps me escape for a while.

Mum enjoys bowling too. I think it was something that she and Dad liked doing together. Unfortunately Mark is not so keen. He won’t admit this, but he usually finds excuses, and if by some miracle he joins in with us, he always looks like he is counting away the time, desperate to finish. Which is perhaps not surprising, because he is totally crap, I mean ‘struggle to keep the ball in the right lane’ crap. I think it’s because he doesn’t have much coordination. He’s a bit gangly and clumsy. It always amazes me how often he breaks things. To make things worse, he takes himself far too seriously. This is one of the ways in which he is quite different to Mum and Dad, who both enjoy going out and having a laugh. Not together now, of course, but on their own they’re both definitely party types. It can be fun just hanging out with them. Mark is different.

Don’t get me wrong, I think Mark is pretty sound and I know that he means well. I just find it very difficult to relax when I’m with him. When we do something like go bowling it feels as though he has been forced out of his world and into mine, to try to do his stepdad thing, whatever he thinks that is. It can be a bit of a struggle, it seems to make us both feel unnatural. He can’t relax, so I get all tensed up.

But I have to say, last night was different. For whatever reason, Mark seemed much more relaxed than usual. Mum was driving, so perhaps he was just glad to not be in charge for once. Anyway, it was great to see him having fun. His bowling wasn’t much better—he still stunk—but at least he let me try to help him. I must have been a pretty good coach, because most of the time he managed to keep the ball in our lane. Occasionally he even hit a few pins. He was still well behind Mum and me, but he really did add to the fun. Mum played pretty well, but she lost her form in the last game, and I just managed to win at the death. Big deal, I guess.

As I won I also got to choose where we went to eat afterwards—it made the pizza taste so much better. And we managed to get through the whole evening without any stupid rows or me feeling hard done by, or worried that I had upset somebody. It was great just having a blast, actually feeling like we were a family. I wonder why we can’t do this kind of thing more often—I mean, just hang out together and have a laugh. Maybe it’s because Mark is different, the odd one out. He just needs to loosen up.

~~~~~

I hope Dad arrives soon; otherwise I’ll be a nervous wreck by the time he gets here. The thing is, whilst this double birthday arrangement should be one of my lucky breaks, it amazes me how most years one of my parents manages to screw things up. It’s about the only time that they seem to work together. So how are you getting on with Gary these days? Do you need to give him a treat on his birthday, or would you like to be the one to hack him off this year? It’s uncanny.

To be honest, most of the birthday screw-ups have probably been down to Dad. I guess Mum and Mark can work together as a team, help each other to come up with something I’ll enjoy. My dad is alone—he still hasn’t found anybody to replace Mum—and as he often says, it makes things much harder for him, makes his life more complicated.

Over the years I have learned not to expect too much—this way, on the rare occasions that he does deliver, the pleasure is that much greater. But whatever has happened in the past, it’s still difficult to stop myself from getting excited—after all he’s my dad, he’s special, so of course, I think he’ll come through for me on my birthday.

When I spoke to him on the phone last week he told me that I had to be ready by 9:00 a.m. sharp as we had a lot to fit into our day. So he must be planning something out of the ordinary—he finds it difficult to spend a whole day with me as there are too many other things that he has to do. Normally we get together just for an evening, sometimes hooking up with his mates. They’re always good for a laugh. But to spend all of Saturday with him should be great. He’s not yet sure what he’ll have to do on Sunday. He’s a carpenter, and the building sites seem to need him to work at all kinds of hours—and he always needs the money, of course. So he said we’ll have to see how things go, and make plans for Sunday as we go along; which is fine by me.

It’s still only eight fifty-six; he probably won’t be here for a while yet. It usually takes him about half an hour or so to get here from Slough, and that’s assuming that he doesn’t have any problems with his van. It’s a bit of a wreck—sometimes it’s stopped him from arriving at all. I know he needs it for work, but he really should get something newer—who knows, he might then be able to get to Reading more easily so that he can spend more time with me. But I guess he can’t afford anything new. Money always seems to be a problem for him.

I guess I should finish up my breakfast while I wait. Mum and Mark are upstairs—organising, whatever that means—so I’d better listen out, just in case Dad does turn up soon. As ever Nick is screaming his head off, so it is difficult to hear what is going on.

I haven’t really seen that much of Mum or Mark this morning. It’s almost as if they are leaving the whole day clear for me and Dad. They never seem to want to spend time with Dad. I suppose this is understandable, but it gets me down. I hate having these two separate lives, one here in Reading with Mum and Mark, and one in Slough with Dad. I get it: they don’t like each other, can’t find a way of getting on. But couldn’t they at least try?

I mean, look at what is happening today. Dad hasn’t even arrived—who knows, he may not—and the barriers are already being built up. Mum and Mark have disappeared upstairs, making it clear that they’re not interested in what I am up to. Well, thanks very much. Instead of picking up where we left off last night, having some fun together whilst I wait for Dad, perhaps even talking to Dad when he arrives so that they could all enjoy my birthday celebrations, I have to hang around like a spare part. It’s as if last night didn’t even happen, and now we’re back in our usual boring world. I know they have things to do, but judging by the noises coming from upstairs, it sounds like they can find time for Nick. Well, of course they can—he is far more important, after all.

~~~~~

Look at the clock. It’s already coming up to nine fifteen and still no sign of Dad. Does that mean the day is screwed up already? Perhaps I should call him on his mobile and find out where he is. But my guess is that he’d get angry if I did; he’d think I was pestering him. It may be better to wait it out and find something else to do. I’d even consider washing up the breakfast things, but I’m too annoyed with Mum and Dad to do anything that would help them right now. Better to find something just to keep me happy. Maybe I should go and play with my new Hot Wheels. Best do this while I can, before Nick gets his hands on them.

But hold on—I think I hear something. Is that the door of Dad’s van that I hear slamming shut? It probably isn’t, but I better go see, just to make sure. Well, what do you know? To my surprise the bell rings just as I get to the front door. This is amazing.

I open the door to find Dad standing on the front step, his arms flung out wide. Hi, Gaz, happy birthday, he almost yells. He seems to be in good spirits—he almost looks like he could start singing Happy birthday to you at any moment. Please God, no! But this is going to be a great day, I know it is. I’m looking at his face, and he is looking straight back at me, which is a good sign. I always know when he is in one of his bad moods, because his eyes dart around everywhere other than looking at me. I’m already beginning to feel a bit more relaxed, more confident that we’re going to be OK. He has a beaming smile, and I run towards him and jump up to give him a hug. He catches me and holds me close for a few seconds, which again tells me that he must be in a good mood. When he’s feeling down he avoids making contact with me whenever he can.

Wow, aren’t you getting big now, Dad says, pretending to drop me. I guess that is a predictable thing to say on a boy’s birthday, but it could also be that I have grown a bit since he last saw me—that must have been a few weeks ago now. He has phoned a couple of times, but he’s had to work especially hard to make sure that he could keep my birthday weekend free. And he did, because here he is.

Are you all ready for our day of fun? he asks.

Just then, to my surprise, Mum magically appears in the hallway—I didn’t even hear her come down the stairs, so don’t know how long she has been standing there. Maybe she is going to make an effort today after all.

Hello, Andy, she says. She is trying to smile, but as ever it seems to be a bit of an effort for her, and she is keeping her usual safe distance. I shouldn’t expect the party to get going just yet.

How was your drive? she asks.

OK, pretty smooth, not too much traffic at this time. Everything is going to plan so far. At least they’re trying to be polite to each other. Mind you, it seems they’ve already run out of things to say. Dad tries to get things going again.

Of course, that could change, and the roads going north might get busy later on, so I don’t want to hang around here too long if I can help it.

What was that—going north? Nothing had been said about going on any kind of road trip. In fact it is pretty unusual for Dad and me to go very far when we’re together. I have to know more. What do you mean, Dad, the traffic going north? What is happening today?

Dad’s face suggests that he accidentally said the wrong thing, although I’m not sure—his expression seems unnatural, kind of forced.

Oh damn, he says, of course, you don’t yet know about our trip today. Yes, you and I are going on quite a journey, having an adventure, but I don’t want to say too much more because this is supposed to be a surprise. Maybe I’ll give you more clues along the way.

Dad is trying to give Mum a knowing look, but she is working just as hard to avoid it. I’m looking first at Dad and then at Mum, waiting for somebody to say something more. Dad just grins, whilst Mum glares uncomfortably, until eventually she looks at me and adds, I know what has been planned, and you should have a wonderful weekend, I’m sure you will have a very happy birthday, Gary.

She doesn’t exactly sound thrilled—but then she is in the same room as Dad. Deep down I’m sure she means what she says, and I can feel my excitement building. I can’t say my anxiety has disappeared altogether—I can’t think of another time when there has been such a big build-up to something organised by Dad—but whatever has been planned, I’m determined to enjoy it.

CHAPTER 2

How Did I Get Here?

Mum and Dad seem to be keeping a lid on things for now. Obviously they’re making some kind of effort today. But this probably won’t last. I don’t really understand why it has to be this way, why they can’t get on. Whatever has happened in the past, I can’t help feeling that they fit together; that they’re supposed to be together.

I can’t really explain why I think this. Let’s face it, whenever they’re together, the slightest thing will set them off arguing. It’s almost as if they’re actually looking for something to bicker about. Definitely in Dad’s case; he’s told me many times that he loves winding Mum up and trying to upset her. I’m not really sure why he bothers, because it always seems to backfire. Mum’s usually got some clever answer that just makes him look stupid. Later he’ll act all chuffed and tell me that he succeeded in hacking Mum off, which might be true, but my guess is that he ended up feeling even worse. Is that really what he wants? It’s almost as though he wants to feel angry or unhappy.

Of course, Mum could lay off him. Doesn’t she think she has done enough to hurt Dad in the past? She always tells me not to react when people tease me or try to make me look stupid. So why can’t she follow her own advice? She knows what Dad is like and knows how to deal with him. She can handle him without sticking the boot in. If she didn’t react then there wouldn’t be a problem.

I don’t know, perhaps this is how married people—or people that used to be married—are supposed to behave with each other. Maybe living together gets really boring without lots of bickering. And once the bickering starts maybe it never stops. I guess I argue quite a bit with my friends, and they say that their parents often fight too, so maybe it’s normal, just a way of life. And I guess it could be worse. There’s a boy in my class at school, I don’t know him that well, but he says he’s seen his dad hit his mum. At least I’ve never seen anything that bad—with Mum and Dad it’s just words, lots of shouting, maybe occasional pushing or something.

Mind you, I could imagine it being worse than just shouting. Dad has a terrible temper, goes ballistic sometimes. I’ve seen him throw things, thump doors, kick furniture; he’s really strong and can do a lot of damage when he wants to. Mum says it is a good thing that he’s a carpenter, or else they would have spent a fortune fixing the doors that he broke down whilst they were together. Maybe that is why he is always so busy—he’s always creating work for himself.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty sure he’d never hurt me or Mum—not deliberately. But that doesn’t stop me being scared, because I never know what to expect. And I’m never sure what it is that will make him angry. It could be anything—and never seems to be the same thing twice. All I know is that I’m always extra careful not to do anything that might upset him. Not that I always succeed—he often ends up yelling at me just the same. I hate it when that happens; I feel terrible when I make him angry or sad.

Things are different at home, with Mum and Mark. I have seen them argue—of course I have, plenty of times. But they only argue occasionally, and they never seem to get quite so loud; neither of them gets so angry or out of control. But sometimes I think the yelling matches might be a better way for married people to deal with things, as then everything is out in the open. If Mum and Mark are cross with each other they’ll just stop talking for a while. That can make things really miserable in the house for me and Nick. Which is why I think some full-on rows might work better.

And you know what, the strange thing is, even though Mum and Mark argue less, generally get on better, somehow they don’t seem to fit together as well as Mum and Dad. Not to me, anyway. I know that Mark is a decent guy and that he has tried to be good to me since he got together with Mum. But he still doesn’t really quite seem to belong with Mum, they both seem like they are trying to force things to be right.

Which I guess compares to Mum and Dad being more comfortable with things going so wrong. Somehow letting things be wrong seems to come much more naturally than getting things right. Maybe that is how life is. Anyway—and no offence meant to Mark—I wish Mum and Dad had stayed together, that we were still a family, still happily arguing away.

But of course, that is not how things have worked out. I think it was just after my third birthday that they separated, when Mum moved out of the flat that we had all been living in. I don’t think they had been married long when I arrived, so I guess I was a pretty big part of their life together. But obviously not big enough to make them want to stay together. Sometimes I even wonder whether it was because of me that they couldn’t stay together.

The problem is I just don’t know. I really do wish I could remember what our life was like as a family, how things were between us. But I don’t—I don’t really remember anything in particular about those first few years. Why would I? How far back in your childhood can you remember? I don’t just mean having a fuzzy picture of fun things you did with your parents or at the park. Or even a feeling that something might have frightened you. No, I mean real memories that you can rely on, so that you’re sure who did what, and why things happened the way they did. Go on—think back. How old were you when you can remember something in that way, so that you could clearly explain to others how something turned out and why? My guess is that you’ll be older than three—and if not, are you sure it is your memory, rather than some version created by others? This is how it is with me. Sometimes I have flashbacks, glimmers from the past, but then I wonder if they are just the creations of my own imagination, maybe based on what others have said more than on what really happened.

And I’m not always sure what to make of what I have been told by others. Whilst Dad talks quite openly about Mum and their marriage, and how it has affected his life, Mum has never said much at all. She claims that it was her decision to leave him, that she was really sad to make the choice, but that their marriage had become so bad that she thought leaving Dad was best for her and best for me. She says there was never any question that I would continue to live with her; she insisted and Dad agreed. And she says that she will never let that change. Other than that she has always preferred to leave this part of her life behind her, and anyway, she says she does not want to colour my view of Dad, to get in the way of my relationship with him—she prefers that I form my own views.

Sometimes I think this is fair enough. I can see her point. Why should she talk about somebody, something, which made her unhappy? But then other times this makes me mad at her. If their marriage was bad, if Dad made her unhappy, then don’t I have the right to know? Would it help me to sort out my life if she would just tell me straight what happened and why it made her so miserable?

One thing I can say for sure about my mum is that she never gives up easily on something she wants (like a dog with a bone, my dad would say). Take her friends for example. Sure, she moans about them and sometimes gives them a hard time. But that hasn’t stopped her from staying friends with them and doing things with them, helping them out when they need it. But she gave up on her marriage, my dad, after just a few years. It doesn’t fit, doesn’t gel with what I know about Mum. Which makes me think something terrible must have happened, to make it all fall apart, and make Mum refuse to talk about it. Either that or I wouldn’t like what she said, maybe because I did something wrong and was the cause of their troubles. Maybe she is just trying to protect me. This could be it. But whichever way I look at this, I feel angry, with Mum, with my situation, just with the