‘But there’s seven minutes left in this episode! I have to find out if R4 makes it out of the crusher! Press play again, Arthur, please. Please just press play, now!’
‘You can find out another time,’ Connie said.
Wilf gaped at her. ‘What other time? This is the only time we’ve even been to this house. What if we don’t get invited again? Then I’ll never get to know what happens. Arthur, you have to press play, quickly!’
‘Once you’ve put your coat and shoes on we can ask Isaac when would be a good time to finish it off.’
‘Now is a good time!’ Wilf started blinking furiously and wringing his hands. ‘You were a whole hour late because you’re talking to Isaac in the kitchen so why can’t I be late forseven minutes?’
‘I shouldn’t have been late, that’s why I said sorry. Isaac and I were having a work meeting, which is important.’
‘It’s not important to me;Droid Defendersis important to me. Not worrying about what happens to R4 and the others is important. Why doesn’t what’s important to me count?’
Wilf was growing increasingly agitated, rocking in the chair as his hands twisted around each other like anxious snakes.
‘This is why we need to go now, because you’re getting overtired.’ Connie’s voice was tight with the strain of trying to keep calm.
‘I’m tired because you made me miss my bedtime! Press play, Arthur; you have to press play!’
And with that, he toppled into a full-on meltdown.
I’d seen plenty of them before in my caring roles, but this was brutal. Aware that his mum knew best, Arthur slipped out of the room while I stood back and allowed Connie space to crouch beside Wilf, who was now screaming, thrashing and drumming his feet against the floor. When Isaac appeared in the doorway a moment later, Wilf was still lost in his dysregulation.
Isaac opened a drawer in a flimsy cabinet, took out a blanket and gently draped it over Wilf’s body. ‘Hey, buddy. It’s okay. We’re here. Take as long as you need.’
‘You keep a weighted blanket in your games room?’ Connie asked, her voice shaking with unshed tears.
‘Elliot’s,’ Isaac replied softly, taking hold of her hand as he sat on the floor next to her.
Was it my imagination or had Wilf’s kicking started to grow less forceful?
‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have let the meeting go on so long,’ Isaac said. ‘I’m so sorry Wilf, I know this has messed up your evening.’
‘You’re sorry?’ Connie whispered, choking on a cross between a laugh and a sob. ‘This is entirely my fault for rambling on at you about my problems and not watching the time. You probably couldn’t have interrupted to tell me how late it was even if you’d known. And you weren’t to know that Wilf needs to be home by a certain time.’
‘By five minutes past eight, so he can get in the bath for quarter past, pyjamas on and teeth clean ready for story-time at eight-forty-five, lights out at nine?’ Isaac quirked up one side of his mouth. ‘Of course I knew.’
As Wilf’s turmoil began to ease, I quietly left, Connie still gazing at my brother, her mouth open in surprise. I was turning out my bedroom light, much later, when I heard the front door open and the crunch of footsteps on the gravel driveway. Glancing out the window, I saw Isaac’s silhouette lowering a sleeping Wilf into Connie’s little car, the light from the open door revealing how he gently adjusted the blanket and clicked the seatbelt in place.
Connie stood in the shadow beside him, the strain of the past couple of hours clear in the bow of her back. I couldn’t hear what Isaac said, but after a brief moment she slowly leant her head against his shoulders, and he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her, their two bodies blending into a single shape.
I realised, then, what I suppose any sensible person would have known all along. Fancy meals, the right clothes, a tastefully decorated house, even clever conversation – these were not the things that the woman my brother loved needed from him. She’d have appreciated them, sure, but what she needed was a strong and steady heart. A shoulder to rest her weary head on. Not a man with everything sorted, but one prepared to sit with her on a grubby carpet and say, ‘It’s okay. I’m here. Take as long as you need.’
22
Over the next few days, it felt as if my life in Houghton was beginning to take shape. I carried on organising the new programme and attending the current activities at work, went to training with Elliot on Wednesday (he’d been completely understanding about me missing the Monday sessions due to Monday Mumdays – ‘How could anyone miss that?’), video-chatted Seb on his cruise when we happened to be both available, messaged him a few times on all the days when we weren’t, and kept myself to myself.
I scrutinised my bank account, carefully planned my meals and other measly expenditure, and I hoped and prayed that I’d keep on somehow holding myself together until I was able to leave. To my bemusement, I couldn’t help noticing that rather than merely fumbling through each day, I seemed to be surprisingly okay. Of course, that only made me start wondering if I was a terrible person for being able to coexist with Elliot Ollerton without it tearing me to pieces. So then I’d feel decidedly not okay, and all was well again.
Arthur gathered us together on Thursday to discuss the next task on the Boys to Men project, and we reached the clear conclusion that it was going to be impossible to find a chunk of time when we could decorate all together. As the conversation veered closer towards me ending up doing it all, I reminded them that I was the coach and that they were supposed to be the ones transforming, so after more wrangling we decided that if Arthur and I bought the materials on Saturday, Elliot and Isaac would get the room painted on Monday.
Had I deliberately engineered things so that I wasn’t spending more time with Elliot?
Absolutely.
Running about a recreation ground, firmly focussed on eleven amazing kids, was one thing. Spending hours in the confines of the living room, with no distractions other than a tin of paint, felt far too cosy. The perfect scenario for the ghosts of the past to come and linger between us.
All the same, was I a tiny, teensy bit disappointed at my own common sense, knowing that a day painting with Elliot would be infinitely preferable to visiting a DIY shop with Arthur?
