Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (31 page)

She
moves onto the carpet and over to the rug where she stops and sways.
Bobby believes she means to relay a message and his heart drops; her
haunting movements remind him of how she acted when she told him the
police found his brother's body.

Watching
her, he bows his head and hovers beside the open door.

Did
she overhear my conversation with Gage? With him now gone, does she
think I'm talking to myself?

Her
bony shoulders sink. Bobby can see the bruised areas on her pale skin
in the slim dress that makes her look like she is in a state of
mourning. White lace decorates the collar. The black, full length
dress hangs around her ankles, flaring into a pleated pattern.
Although her arms are in baggy sleeves, the material is see-through,
so they do not hide the full extent of the damage caused by his
father.

“
Mum?”

The
mess of dark strands across her forehead and shoulders is brittle and
slick with sweat. He can see her scalp in places where hair has
fallen out—a horrible contrast to the vibrancy and shine it
once possessed.

When
she tilts her head, it allows Bobby to view the bruising along her
throat in cauliflower shapes. The dark grey, yellow and mauve
blotches also travel over her jawline. Slashed across her cheek are
scratches and bite marks that Bobby cleaned last night, but they
weren't as visible as they are now. It is one thing to see the marks
all bloodied and raw in the dead of night, but now they shine and
plague him with guilt.

Her
mouth hangs slack, surrounded by scabby lips. When Bobby calls her
again, they twitch at the corners with recognition. However, her eyes
don't falter as they stare towards the window sill with an air of
emptiness.

The
magpies are messing around in the gutter. They jump against the
bricks and dip their black and white tails into view before they dart
back up, but she doesn't notice them. In fact, he doubts she even
sees the window sill.

“
Mum?”
Bobby questions again. As he takes a step toward her, dread creeps in
deeper as she clutches a hand to her arm in a weak defensive
position.

“
Come
on, let's get you to bed, yeah? Everything will be all right, you'll
see.”

Touching
a hand to her upper arm, he feels little more than bone. He directs
her over to his bed, which Gage no longer occupies, then pulls the
covers back.

“
You
can stay in here, okay? Have a little sleep and everything will be
okay—it always is after a good sleep.” He doubts his
quivering words are any comfort, but he says them anyway. They sound
more for his benefit than his mother's.

With
her body tensing, Bobby helps her into bed and tries not to touch her
bruises. It takes effort with her body stiffening, but once she is
lying over the fitted sheet, she looks so small. Yet, when he glances
again at the markings along her face and through her clothes, she
appears to be a punch bag.

He
slips her feet from the slippers before pushing them beneath the
warmth he doubts she can feel. As he pulls the cover up to her neck,
her eyes flicker and droop.

On
days like this, she is unresponsive and every ounce of that bends his
heart like a flower stem in a downpour. Each breath is tight across
his chest as the seconds tick by with him waiting and hoping her
revival will come.

“
Maybe
at the weekend we can go into the woods and sit among the bluebells.
We can take a picnic like we used to, do you remember? Does that
sound nice?”

Her
lips marry as she closes her eyes tighter without sound. He knows on
the surface she may not be all together here, but deep down she
remembers.

Of
course she does, isn't that why she takes pride in the flowers in the
garden?

He
hopes the place he recalls so well is still there, despite it being
years since they visited. Somehow there is a way to get through, so
he hopes, once she is better, she can tell him how the magic works.
If the painting is anything to go by, then he senses he may need to
know.

Are
the answers inside?

Looking
down at her modest form beneath his covers, it's too easy to see that
with each beating she takes another slither of her dignity slips
away. This time is no different, and he prays she finds her way
through this.

If
he was to know the path they are now on, he would pack her bag and
force her into the women's refuge. Or perhaps lead her into the
woodland area to hide, or at least see the blue sea one more time.
Instead, he bends to his knees to kiss her forehead as she writhes
beneath his fingertips.

Even
when you learn to expect the worst, you can grow accustomed to the
lies you force upon yourself. Isn't it a fine idea to believe that
life, no matter how difficult, can and must get better?

•

Bobby
turns around to check on his mother every two minutes. He is alert in
the chair until her chest rises and falls in a noticeable harmony.
Each time, he waits for it to happen, but when it goes on far too
long, he believes it will never happen again. When it does, the
relief is profound.

It
is only a matter of time before his father comes home.

It
isn't like he will do the decent thing and pack a bag and leave for
good.

Whether
it is tonight, tomorrow, or in days, there is little doubt he will be
drunk when he walks through that door.

With
another woman's lipstick smudged across his lips and perfume clinging
to his clothes no doubt.

Bobby
clenches his nails into the arms of the chair and into the plastic he
finds there.

There
is only one thought worse: his father coming home enraged, perhaps
through nothing more than a memory of Benji. Bobby doesn't dare
contemplate that because it will break him.

We
all lost him that day, so why should we suffer because of his rage?

Shaking
his head, Bobby tries to find his composure. With only the screen
alight, he glances out the open window. He hasn't bothered to draw
the curtains yet, but he rarely does on a clear night. Nobody will
look through except if they are crossing the field. Sure, there are
the gangs that take their cans of beer and joints over to sit on the
swings, but not tonight.

With
the clouds departing, the sky is clear. As the stars twinkle with the
orange fading into the familiar violet hue, he wonders if tomorrow
will be hot. With only a t-shirt on, it is stuffy in here already.

Often
while losing time in the park, or in Danny's garden, he stares into
the great unknown and wonders. He is helpless not to feel as though
he is engaging in a sight that no one else has seen. Such beauty and
profound significance consumes the vastness, yet no matter how
endless, the sight is personal every night. Yet, the loneliness mixed
with an almost delusional love is overwhelming.

Maybe
one day, once he is away from here and finds something profitable to
do with his life, he will buy a telescope. Then he will view the true
glory of the constellations burning away up there.
Canis Major
is one of his favourites from the books he has possession of from
time to time from the local library.
The Greater Dog
has many
visual beauties, especially the binary star system,
Sirius.
Or
Orion
with its large rectangular shape made of
Rigel
,
Betelgeuse
,
Bellatrix
and
Saiph,
and the three
most admired stars of the belt,
Alnitak
,
Alnilam
and
Mintaka
.

After
waiting each Christmas hoping to receive a telescope, he is under no
illusion he will go downstairs to find one under the tree. They
haven't celebrated Christmas since Benji's death. He finds a gift his
mother has hidden, but doesn't recall buying every year. The gifts
are usually books he is too young for, or clothes that do not fit.

Benji
promised to buy him a telescope and teach him how to use it, but that
didn't come to pass.

And
it was all my fault.

There
was nothing better than spending nights looking up at the sky. He can
recall the ghost of his mother's words whispering in his ears, “No
matter where you are, or what you're doing you can look up into the
stars and smile, knowing I am doing the same thing.” She told
him that as they sat in the back garden late one night in the
holidays, but he doubts she would be able to acknowledge them
tonight.

Benji
joined them that night after coming back from hanging around a mate's
houses. He piped up and told them about the
Alpha Centuri
System
and
Proxima Centuri
, the third star in the
system. The star is a red dwarf that's smaller and cooler than our
sun. It orbits the other two stars—an act that takes over one
hundred thousand years to accomplish. He told Bobby there is no
telling whether
Proxima
is gravitationally bound to the
system, or is just passing by. But if it is a true member, then
Alpha
Centuri
is the closest star system to the Earth with
Proxima
being over four light years away. Bobby can still hear the factual
tone he used; he'd rehearsed the information for his benefit. The
memory is bitter sweet.

He
cannot control the way his glimmering companions capture his full
attention. They force him to smile no matter what issues surround
him, or eat him from the inside out. It will not be long until more
make an appearance, and he cannot wait because he needs to smile,
even if it's only for a fleeting second.

At
the keyboard, his attention reverts to the poem he is working. He
searches for the words that refuse to claw their way from his sinking
mind.

While
flicking from notebook and back to the web page he has open, his mind
goes into a blocked state. He tries to find information on the
women's refuge with only the basic information he has. More
information might help to convince his mother, but he can find
nothing. There is a place in Birmingham which would be easy to get
to, but maybe too easy.

Will
dad find out and go after her? Would he even bother?

He
knows if she packed and rang the place on the leaflet, it will be
difficult to find her if he tried. And that is good.

Is
it good enough though? Can she ever recover and escape what he has
done?

Perhaps
not, but it is a modest hope he clings to.

He
jots down the Birmingham refuge number on a piece of paper and rips
the sheet from the pad. He shoves it right to the back of the desk
and clicks off the page and back to the chat he has open with Reggie.

After
waking from the dream with his brother, something occurred to him
about Reggie, or at least what she said in their last chat.

The
red coats.

Bobby
Ames: Sorry about that, I'm done now.

Static
Whisper: Were you finishing another amazing poem?

Bobby
Ames: I'm trying, but not feeling it. I've got things on my mind.

Static
Whisper: Anything I can help you with? I owe you after all you've
done!

Sighing,
Bobby wipes at his face. He doesn't feel the praise applicable.
Despite the strange placebo effect his poems have on people,
embarrassment is not the culprit for his vague responses.

If
only my words could help me.

Bobby
Ames: Actually you can help. Have you been seeing those red coats
again?

Static
Whisper: Yes, they are still following me. Instead of the usual
three, more are popping up all the time. It's like they know they're
not getting to me so are trying harder, but it's not working.