Caught in the Middle
For heavens sake, what now?! How much more of this am I supposed to take?! Ive had enough! The shout, a womans voice, crashed through the thin door and echoed up the entire stairwell, full of that peculiar English thunder you hear in dreams, where even anger tastes like cold tea and the walls are as soft as sponge cake.
Up the worn staircase, halfway between faded wallpaper and the soft purple light from a broken window, climbed Alice and Matthew. Their shoes made no noise on the steps. Thats the way it is in these dreams: you float instead of walk, pausing frozen as if the world has pressed a giants finger down upon you. Their eyes met, just for a moment, a glance laced with silent, tired understanding. Words would spoil it. They turned, as if choreographed, breathing together, and melted past the peeling mailbox, away from their home or whatever home was meant to be.
Who would wish to spend a precious evening among the clattering swords and shields of their parents endless arguments? Certainly not these two. Their steps, silent and slippery as spring rain, carried them towards the next block of flats their grandmother lived there, old Margaret Wilkins, and lately her little two-bed had become a strange sort of sanctuary, where arguments cant seep under the door. If once theyd only visited her on Sundays, now almost every night found them camping under her knitted throws, seeking hush and comfort.
Back at their parents place, the ghosts of arguments rattled every tin, soaked the curtains, hummed in the radiators; the air thick as custard. Mum and Dad volleyed shouts until the neighbours cats scattered, and the saddest part, the most wicked bit, was how their parents tried to drag them in, as if they were jurors at a trial no one asked to attend.
Sometimes, Mum would spin round to Alice, demanding:
You agree with me, dont you? Tell him, Im right!
And before Alice could shrink away, Dad would snap at Matthew:
No, come on, son, you know Im right. Back me up.
But Alice and Matthew would say nothing. They had learnt silence is a shield. They walked the thin wire between thunderheads, longing only for the soft, safe lull of their grandmothers living room, for books and Radio 4 murmuring quietly.
Arguments like scratched records went on, day after day, until even the dog refused to wag its tail. There came a time when they hardly bothered unpacking their bags at home, sensing the storms from the smallest clues a slammed mug, a chair pushed back, a certain look in their mothers eye that said, Tonight again. Any child could have felt the tremor in the air.
They werent certain what had started all this. As far as they could recall, things had once had their ups and downs like the adverts, only more crumbs in the butter, and Dads tie never quite straight. Yes, there were disagreements but small, gentle affairs. Mum might frown, Dad might grumble, but after a while all would be soothed with a round of digestives and a pot of tea.
Then, as dreams move, time folded, and about two years back something sour crept in. The version of Mum and Dad who once compromised and chuckled over shared crosswords seemed replaced by near-strangers, always on the edge of battle over the tiniest of slights. A dirty mug on the table a case for Sherlock Holmes! A shirt misplaced in the airing cupboard a crime worthy of the old Bailey. A spoon left in the sink? Treachery.
One evening, Alice sat at her grandmothers tiny pine table, stirring her tea slowly around and around, as if she could swirl up an answer from the amber depths. In the haze of the kitchen lamp, she asked voice low, strange with the bitterness of a bad dream:
How did it come to this, Gran? They went on that holiday together, and everything changed. What happened?
Margaret Wilkins paused, setting her own cup down with a sheepish clink.
Grown-ups have to work things out in their own time, she said, lightly squeezing Alices hand, hiding her worry behind those soft old eyes. Sometimes people just get a bit lost before they find the right path.
Alice nodded but her gaze was sharp, knowing Gran was leaving things unsaid. But why push? While she was just the child, the truth would remain locked away.
We cant stand their shouting anymore! Matthews voice cracked the air, desperate. You cant read, you cant even do homework. When was the last time we all ate dinner together? If its so hard for them, let them get divorced. At least everyone would breathe again.
The words tumbled out, as they do in dreams, but rang with the hard reality of months piled up against the door. Matthew knew Alice felt the same they both did, hearts worn thin by their parents dueling echoes.
Gran took off her glasses, set aside her crochet, and looked him steady in the eye.
And if they did, have you thought what that really means? The two of you youd have to choose. Youd be split up. Are you ready to live without each other?
Alice was quick, almost pleading:
Wed live here with you! Were here most nights now anyway! You wouldnt mind, would you?
Margaret froze for a moment, torn. Shed seen how the children wilted after every new barrage from Mum and Dad. Here, at least, they could work in peace, read in silence, eat without forks thrown or tears coughed into napkins. She loved them like her own and would catch and keep them if she could.
But then what of their parents? How to explain why the children no longer wanted to come home? Would they understand, let alone accept it? And would the price be a tearing-apart far deeper than just changing postcodes?
Lets not rush, she said gently, breathing deep. You are always welcome here, darlings, you know that. But lets try first to talk with Mum and Dad. Maybe all together we can find a way back.
Dont worry, well talk to them ourselves, Alice promised, grinning as if the hardest part was already done. Gran had nearly said yes. Just dont turn us away, Gran. Honestly, we cant take another day in that flat! Theyd both be better off on their own. At this rate, theyll really hurt each other. Dad nearly hit Mum yesterday he didnt, I swear! But you should have seen his face
She fell quiet, lost in the stilled moment where shed caught Dads raised hand, the short, sharp second that lasted an eternity.
Please, Gran, say yes! Matthew insisted, gripping her wrinkled fingers. Well help around the flat, promise. Just dont send us back. They only notice each other, never us! I told Dad about parents evening yesterday. He said, Go to your Mum. So I did. You know what she said?
Ask your father? Gran guessed, knowing the answer.
Exactly! Matthew gave a bitter laugh. And then they argued for two hours over whod go, shouting from opposite ends of the corridor while I just stood there listening.
I asked for a permission slip for the museum, Alice added, eyes lowered. Her thumb kept worrying the loose thread of her cuff. Now Im the only one in class not going. Neither of them signed. Just another row: whose job it was. I gave up.
Margaret saw it in their faces: this was not childrens tiredness, but something bone-deep, forged from years where each day stuck to the last. At home, comfort had been replaced with accusation; warmth replaced by numbness.
Always the same, Matthew muttered, sagging. Every time we ask for something, they use it as ammo for the next row. We dont even want to come home anymore. Came back at eleven the other night did they scold us? No! Just sent us off to bed, never bothered to ask where wed been. Just blamed each other for it later.
The two exhaled at once, a sigh as heavy as autumn fog. Theyd even whispered, some nights, about running away a joke at first. But the idea clung, as if freedom might be possible tucked under a bridge or wandering the high street with pockets full of change. But then Grans flat! Why not simply live here? That thought blossomed between them, warm and hopeful.
They imagined life anew quiet breakfasts, uninterrupted homework, calm evenings over dominoes. No shouting, no picking sides, no need to bolt their doors. For the first time in forever, hope bubbled up like soda water in their chests.
******
Mum, Dad, we need to talk, the twins said, standing side by side in the lounge, holding hands Alices grip squeezing Matthews knuckles pale. But first, promise youll listen to us. Right to the end.
Paul looked up from his phone, startled. Evelyn, folding laundry, stiffened as a sudden chill swept the room, as if the wallpaper itself grew nervous.
Well, this is your fault! Evelyn snorted, folding her arms. The children setting conditions! They think theyre the adults now, do they?
Oh, splendid coming from you, Paul barked, letting the phone fall with a heavy thud on the table. I work my fingers raw for this family. Youre always with them. So, what lasting values have you instilled, exactly mutiny?
The twins exchanged glances. This, they had expected the usual barrage of blame. But they steadied themselves.
Enough! Alices voice trembled, tears stinging just under the surface, but she held her ground. Matthew and I have talked. We think you should get a divorce.
You could hear the teaspoon drop, the shock was so complete. Evelyn gaped, Paul stood up, as if walking through syrup.
Well, isnt that just grand? Evelyn thundered, her tongue lashing out. Alice, youre still a child, not the Queen. What else have you decided? Maybe youll split the mortgage as well?
If you refuse, well go to social services, said Matthew, feeling the edge of his own threat, even as it wobbled. Dad, you always said your schools reputation is everything. You could get the sack. Any more scandal and its over, right?
And you, Mum, Alice added, fixing her with a sharp gaze, the neighbours already whisper. Well tell everyone what goes on. You wont have anyone left to talk to.
Theyre threatening us! Our own children! Evelyn squeaked, wavering on the spot.
We arent threatening you, Matthew said, calm but firm. Just explaining. We cant live like this. Were tired of the shouting, the not being heard, of being the excuse for every new fight.
The plan is, you separate, well live with Gran, they finished, rehearsed and steady. Everyone gets peace. Were done being in the crossfire.
Mum and Dad stared, all the words in their arsenal gone. Normally, this would trigger another round of blame. But tonight, for once, both were silent, staring at their children suddenly aware these two werent children anymore.
Even Paul and Evelyn had thought about divorce, in the secret hours after midnight. What had always stopped them was the impossible thought of splitting the twins. They were each others centre of gravity. To tear them apart would be to end something far deeper than a marriage.
Gran as a carer? The thought had never occurred. Perhaps grief makes us blind, or maybe dreams just dont allow for such neat solutions. Yet hearing the twins proposal, Paul and Evelyn felt the ground shift beneath them. Gran would love them, the flat had a spare box room, and the arrangement might just relieve everyones aching heads.
Ill ring Mum, Paul managed, voice thick.
He didnt get to finish.
Thats it, Evelyn snapped, and her voice was so hollow, she startled even herself. Then lets finally end this. Call her. Ill be glad not to see your face every day.
Her words floated, strange and heavy. She hadnt meant their sharpness, but old resentments squeeze out in dreams even more than in real life.
And Ill be just as pleased, Paul replied, hiding pain behind a wry twist of his lips.
He dug out his phone, dialled Margaret. Elsewhere, doors closed gently, and even the shadows held their breaths. Theres a tipping point in every dream; perhaps they had just reached theirs.
******
That evening, the Wilkinses made their decision. Pauls call traced a careful, awkward path through the story, Margaret listening with the patience of teabags left to oversteep.
At the end, she said, after a long pause:
If you both know this is for the best, Ill do it. Theyll be safe with me. Ill look after them.
By dinnertime, Paul and Evelyn sat at the kitchen table no raised voices, just footnotes and details. They agreed: divorce, children to live with Granny. Each month, a transfer of pounds to cover their keep.
Nobody planned to abandon Alice and Matthew; rather, theyd visit separately on weekends Paul on Saturdays, Evelyn on Sundays. No overlap, no more fighting, nothing to drag them back into old quarrels.
Ill take them Saturday for a walk, you have Sunday, Paul said, and his wife nodded, weary but determined.
As long as the children never feel unwanted, she said.
The most important rules: no badmouthing the other, no pulling children to your own side, no arguments in earshot. It was less a new chapter and more the start of a different book altogether.
Were still their parents, Paul said, quietly. Thats not changed, even if the marriage is over.
And, strange as it seemed, it worked. For the first time in years, Alice and Matthew could be themselves. Alice joined art club something shed always dreamt of but never quite dared. Matthew signed up for football, found new friends. Together, they rediscovered how to laugh and talk about school without bracing for a storm.
Homework improved dramatically, quiet as the air that now filled the flat. Grades soared, teachers commented: Youre blossoming, both of you keep it up!
Life, while not a fairy tale, became steadier. The old anxieties slipslided away, replaced with an ordinary peace: they were just teenagers now, not refugees from someone elses war zone.
******
Five years floated by, as only time can in a dream. Alice and Matthew drifted along the gentle currents of normal: college, hobbies, trips to the cinema, Sunday tea at Grans. Their parents came and went each in their own way, bearing gifts, stories, sometimes a truce. In these years, Paul and Evelyn learned an uneasy calm, able to share a sentence without barbs, a smile that was at least honest.
The first face-to-face meeting of the exes happened at the twins graduation. The hall was decked with bunting, the band played Elgar on repeat, and both parents arrived stiffly, settling as far apart as the room allowed. But dreams soften the edges, and at the after-party Paul crossed the room.
Shall we dance? For old times sake?
Surprised, Evelyn nodded, as if some old spell had been woven back into the air. Later, they lingered outside on a bench while night wore thin, talking of the kids, of childhood holidays, winding their memories softly instead of in battle.
The twins watched from a safe distance, heartened, though wary, as if the sky might fall at any moment.
Suddenly, thunder twisted the air the next day, Paul and Evelyn invited the twins for tea at a café. Over milky cups, eyes met, hands joined, Paul beamed:
Kids, weve been thinking… Wed like to remarry. Weve realised after all these years our feelings never went away. We want to give the family another try.
The announcement was spoken as if hed just won the pools. Evelyn glowed with anticipation of applause.
The twins exchanged glances, but their smiles flickered. Doubt crossed Alices face, Matthews fists clenched under the Formica table. Here we go again. Could history really change?
Are you serious? Alice whispered at last.
Utterly, Paul replied. Weve changed. We listen better now. Surely its worth another shot?
The twins chewed over a mix of hope and dread. Part of them wanted to believe but part of them remembered all too much.
They said little. When Evelyns voice wobbled Arent you happy for us? they only shrugged, unable to lie. What could they say? Dont do it!? The words choked somewhere behind their teeth.
Later, as they walked home, Alice muttered quietly,
I hope they know what theyre doing.
Matthew just sighed.
******
So, the plan is London then? Alice flicked open her laptop, scrolling through university listings till they blurred into one long bookmark. Far from this pantomime. I can already see how itll end.
Of course, Matthew answered, his voice edged with old fatigue, raking a hand through hair that never quite sat right. Theyll get along for a month, two at the most, then its back to shouting, slamming doors, silent stews for supper Im not being their emotional punchbag again. I dont wish to guess every dawn which version of Mum or Dad will greet us, or wholl crack first.
He paced, picking up old textbooks, dust dancing in the window-light. Why do adults act like kids? Why make the same old mistakes, as if wisdom was a train always missed?
Time to go, he concluded, staring out at the city smudged by sunset. In dreams, even the streets wait for you to make your mind up. Far away. Let them sort themselves out. Were not their arbiters not their shields.
When do we apply? Alice asked, calm as ever.
Tomorrow, he said, as if it were already so.
She nodded, not looking up from the glowing glare of university offerings. Notes filled her journal deadlines, requirements, pro-con columns. She pressed her pen to the page: anything to move forward.
All I want is to study in peace, she murmured, summing up all their plans. Im glad well be far away.
Me too, said Matthew, leaning close.
And if when the old dramas reignited, at least distance would turn them into background static.
******
Paul and Evelyn did remarry, though this time the event was pared back to a brief ceremony at the registry office, an understated meal at the local pub pie, mash, and washed down with mild laughter. The photos showed honest smiles, hands entwined, faces softer. For a while, it seemed as if years apart had sanded away the sharpness.
The first weeks went swimmingly they thanked each other, let the little things slide. But slowly, the grooves returned: small gripes muttered in corners, then more open bickering someone forgot the milk, turned the radio up too high, left shoes on the stair. Words sharpened, tones rose, peace thinned.
Two months in, a row over who should buy dinner exploded into a firestorm Paul threw a mug, shattering it against the wall; Evelyn smashed a plate with a satisfying crash. In dreams, crockery always seems to break with echoing perfection.
After each episode, theyd reach for their children, calling with voices rough from shouting.
You wont believe what he said to me! Evelyns voice trembled into Alices phone.
Son, honestly, shes impossible. I do my best, but she provokes me, Paul complained to Matthew.
But Alice and Matthew had learned. They listened little, excused themselves firmly.
Sorry, Mum, Ive got a seminar. Well talk later, Alice would say, setting her phone down with a sigh even if her next class was a donut on the timetable.
Dad, cant talk, projects due in an hour. Lets chat on the weekend, Matthew chipped in, not glancing at his screen.
Later and weekend stretched and faded. Calls from home fizzled, replaced by texts, until one day neither child felt any guilt in their absence.
They filled their hours with their own lives, far from shattered plates and echoing accusations. Alice immersed herself in psychology, diving into why people do what they do, spending her spare time at a city centre youth centre, guiding her peers through feelings she knew only too well. She gave others the patience and kindness she had always longed for.
Matthew found a home in algorithms and code learning to weave logic into order, ending up with an internship and a spot in a nationwide hackathon. He built apps, made friends, found a life that required only teamwork and clarity, not mediation.
They dreamt of a future untouched by the dramas of their parents, making plans over coffee, drafting designs on napkins, feeling in those moments a thrill of agency, a sense of being enough.
And when, inevitably, their parents tried to drag them into their private storms again, the twins stood united, calm and solid.
Enough, Mum, Dad. Sort yourselves out, Alice intoned, gentle but unyielding. We have our lives, and you have yours.
But youre our children! Evelyn wailed.
If you acted like adults, maybe wed stick around, Matthew replied. But you got married again and kept breaking things, breaking each other. If you truly cant get along just split, be done, and dont drag us through it.
Maybe it sounded cold. Maybe. But, in dream logic as in life, all Alice and Matthew wanted was peace not as a luxury, but as something they finally felt they deserved.
