Diary of A Divorced Son Part Three

December 16, 2020

Diary of A Divorced Son Part Three

For part one, click here

For part two, click here

8^th September

I didn’t go to school today. I told Mum I’d been throwing up all night. It was true, but it wasn’t because I was ill.

Mum went off to work at ten. I ran down the stairs after she’d gone and bolted the door. I made sure all the windows were locked, too.

I waited and waited. I knew he would after me. But he didn’t. I must have drifted off in the end. Daytime T.V. does that to you. Mum came home at four. She didn’t say anything to me, just made a cup of tea and sat in the chair with her nose in the air.

Eventually, she asked me where they were. I hadn’t a clue what she was going on about.

Ecstasy tablets, she said. I couldn’t believe she’d said it. I didn’t know whether to throw up, laugh or run out the room. I didn’t do anything. That’s the best way with Mum. She told me about Danny then. He had been arrested at Gringo’s.

Mum went for me. She called me loads of names and grabbed me by the collar of my pajamas. I told her I’d never have anything to do with drugs. She didn’t believe me. She said I was no son of hers. I told her she was no mother of mine. She slapped me round the face. She’s never done anything like that before. I hate her.

9^th September

I got up to go to school today. I thought it would be better than being round Mum. She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me.

I shook some cereal into a bowl and grabbed the milk from the fridge. It was a full bottle. I always open a new one anyway. Cereal isn’t the same without the cream on. Mum pushed past me. I turned to her, ready to give her a mouthful. I forgot about the milk.

It smashed onto the floor. Glass and milk went everywhere. I cried. I actually cried and I couldn’t stop. Mum grabbed my bare feet, checking one, then the other for shards of glass. Nothing, though I still couldn’t stop crying.

She looked into my face and she knew. She knew everything. We stood there, wading in glass and milk, our arms round each other. Mum kept kissing my head and stroking my hair. She said over and over again that everything would be all right. I won’t tell anyone, but it felt nice. I just wish Dad had been there, too.

The End

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