No Right to Falter
Ned was all nerves, darting from window to window as dusk bled weirdly orange over the crooked chimneys of Manchester. He pressed his nose to the glass, half-expecting the street below to twist itself into a spiral of brick and rain. Then, clutching his colossal LEGO set like it might suddenly sprout wheels and roll away, he let his restless feet scurry back to the centre of the lounge. The box was so heavy and vivid it seemed to glow, promising galaxies and moons and impossible palaces.
Mum, will Dad be back soon? he asked again, bouncing on the spot as if about to grow wings. He said hed help me build the whole space city tonight! He said he promised!
Rebecca, tired but gentle, squatted next to him, her hands moving as if smoothing invisible tangles from his mop of blond hair. Her heart pinched at his lit-up, storm-bright eyes.
Sorry, petal, she murmured, your dads got to work late tonight. Big bosses, you know how it is. Her words twisted off into the blowing of the boiling kettle, then she added with a forced brightness, But Uncle George is coming round! He always makes you laugh, doesnt he? Will you be pleased to see him?
Neds face clouded at once. His lip quiveredhope crumpling like wet tissue. All week hed been a paragon at nursery, rising early, sharing his crayons, suffering the collapse of his papier-mâché planet without a single strop, all to earn an evening with his dad and their promised city among the stars.
But but Dad promised he breathed, and his voice caught, small and shivery.
Rebecca wrapped her arms around him, brushing away the spikes of unfairness. I know, love, I really do. But if he upsets this lot, theyll keep him there all weekend, and nobody wants that, least of all you. She hesitated, glancing toward the idle vegetables and lamb sitting on the kitchen worktop. Her smile reformed, wobbly but warm.
Tell you what, she said, clapping her hands, you and I shall make supper together. You can be my most important little chef! And well build that city just the two of usbigger and brighter than anything Dads ever seen! Georgell be so jealous. Sound good?
Neds tears glittered stubbornly, but a sprout of interest flickered behind them. He nodded, slow as if underwater, the hope not quite stilled.
All right, he whispered. Ill help.
Rebecca grinned, squeezed his hand, and swung him gently into the humming brightness of the kitchen, where the air shimmered with hope and onions and steam.
Ned eyed the LEGO box, unable to resist glancing backhalf-convinced it would burst open, trailing comet tails, while their backs were turned. Wasnt that how dream cities grew? He felt the ache in his chest soften at the promise of play.
Perched on a wobbly barstool, he watched Rebecca as she swept about, a conjuring magician weaving carrots and herbs into a casserole like a matinee sorceress. The house smelt thick and comforting, like a memory of Christmas.
Auntie June never makes it smell like this, Ned thought privately, his nose wrinkled in pride. She tries, but her foods always sad. I eat a bit so shes not offended, but when I get home theres always proper food. He snorted at the memory of Junes gloom, remembering how Mum always made cooking a kind of waltz instead.
Fetch me the two jolliest-looking tomatoes you can spot, Rebecca commanded. Ned examined each tomato as if it might wink or tell his fortune. He handed her the most plump and shining, watching Rebecca beam at him in return.
Brilliant job! Youve got the keenest eye, my sous-chef.
For a moment, Ned sat up tall, chest swelling. The city in his box could wait; right now he was working magic with his mum.
Time slipped weirdly by. As the kitchen pressed itself full with the smells of roasting rosemary and bubbling sauce, Ned bobbed closer to inspect the dance of knives and spoons. The world narrowed to the safety of walls and slippers, to Mum, marvellous and weary, making something out of nothing.
At last, Rebecca served up dinner, her smile stretched over tiredness as she flicked the phone open and dialled Neds dad.
Adam, are you going to make it back? Neds about ready to eat the table.
Adam sounded gruff and distant in the receiver. Children were cackling on the other enda surreal chorus. Not for a couple hours, love. Ive got to drop Jane at Heathrowafter that, well grab a takeaway. Dont wait for us.
Rebecca swallowed annoyance. If you get peckish, warm things up yourself, will you? And Adamdont forget to explain to Ned. You did promise to play, and
George is my son too! Adam snapped. What do you expect me to do, Rebecca, chuck him out? Hes thirteen!
Rebecca pressed a cool hand to the window pane. His gran lives round the corner. Shed have him.
Dont be ridiculous! Adams tone was spiked with scorn. Shed spoil him rotten.
Hes your son, Adam. But so is Ned. Dont forget that. She hung up before the argument could gather storm.
In the hush, Ned peered at her with concern from his tall seat.
Mum, can we eat now? he asked, eyes shining in the fading kitchen light.
Rebecca mustered a honest-to-goodness smile. Course we can. But lets wash our hands first.
Supper was eaten with the slow pleasure of a quiet celebration. Neds first mouthful made him beam.
This is delicious! Even better than Auntie Junes!
Rebecca laugheda sound to clear the cobwebs of any old disappointment. Watching her little boy light up the room, she feltbrieflythat life, though never what she planned, might still come right.
************
Every other weekend, George came over. At first Rebecca had hoped the boys would clickNed always got excited but George, older and sly, seemed to relish clouding the house. Hed sigh pointedly if Adam sat with Ned; hed remark, Mum wouldnt let me do that, or Everythings different at ours, as if to underline that this wasnt a proper home.
That afternoon, George lounged on the sofa with his phone, eyes flicking to where Ned, beaming, skipped across the room with a box of felt-tips. Rebecca had finally let him draw on the grand hall mirrora forbidden canvas. Ned swirled galaxies and stars and crooked rocket ships, lost in the wonders he created.
George, without looking up, muttered, Mum never lets drawing on mirrors happen at our place.
Rebecca, slicing celery, didnt miss a beat. Children need to express themselves, dont they? Bit of glass cleaner, and its all gone.
George set down his phone and prowled the lounge, gaze sweeping for fault. His eyes latched onto trainers and boots messily scattered near the door.
And shoes everywhere. We never have that.
Rebecca gave him a thin smile. Thats because your dad brought home a puppy who drags things about. Complain to him, not me.
Georges brows knit. You could pick up after him! he snapped.
Rebecca inhaled, slow as a ticking clock. She saw George repeating words and intonations scraped verbatim from another household. What did he want? Approval? Authority?
Your puppy made the mess? she replied blandly. Then its down to you to tidy. I hadnt any trouble till you got here.
Outrage flushed Georges cheeks. He balled his fists, intent upon a riposte with teeth.
Thats child labour! he blurted, glaring as though daring her to contradict.
Rebecca didnt flinch. She folded her arms, her eyes pinning him firmly. If you dont, Ill pop Monty out onto the stairwell to look for another family. You spotted the mess, you clear it. Not my problem.
George knew Rebecca meant what she saidher threats werent idle. He hesitated, then slouched off muttering.
When Adam finally arrivedhis coat barely offGeorge pelted him with grievances. Dad! She made me clean up! She threatened Montysaid shed kick him out!
Adam frowned. Weariness oozed from his posture as he stormed to the sitting room. Rebecca, seriously? Hes just a lad. You cant
Rebecca didnt look away from the telly. Move over, Adam. If George wants to stay, he follows the rules here. Otherwise, see him elsewhere.
But Adam started, but Rebeccas upraised hand halted him.
No buts, Adam. Im finished letting each of Georges weekends become a parade of complaints and drama. If you dont like it, arrange to see him somewhere else.
Adam glanced, flustered, from his son to Rebecca, flailing for compromise.
What, so you want me to spend weekends with Jane instead? he retorted, needling with guilt.
By all means. I daresay Janes got her own affairs to juggle, but thats your lookout. Im done adjusting my life for your son, Adam.
Adam tried one last time: Ill speak to him, but please, treat him as you do Ned.
Rebecca met his gaze, unwavering. Ned is my son, George is not. Thats the first difference. Secondtheres years between them, and Im tired of the atmosphere. And dont bring Monty any moreNeds allergies flare up.
Her words landed like the click of a lock. Adam stood down, gathering himself, and backed out. George, eavesdropping, smirked quietly; he imagined, soon enough, that Adam would return for him, and this lifeRebecca, Ned, all of itcould be set aside.
************
A week later, George arrived for the weekend, grinning with desperate hope. Adam, touched, promised a fishing tripjust the two of them, wading through the otherworldly banks of the River Irwell.
But morning rewrote expectations. Ned woke pale, listless, complaining of aching limbs and a clattering fever. Rebeccas hands turned briskthermometer out, medicine fetched, coat zipped. Were going to the hospital, now.
Get them a cab! George whined from the hall, arms crossed. Why cancel the trip? I barely see you, Dad!
Rebeccas glare could have frozen water. One more sulk and youre not coming here again! Ned needs me. Youre thirteenyou can walk home. The bus is round the corner, the suns out.
George opened his mouth to object, but she was already tucking Ned under one arm and her bag under the other.
Adam managed, Shouldnt weat leastsee George home?
Hes thirteen, Adam! Manchesters tame at midday. Dont fuss. Ned needs help. She bundled Ned outside, shoulders squared.
George trailed down the street, foot scuffing at the wonky pavement, filled with private indignation: why did Ned always eclipse him? Why did plans scatter at every fever or whim?
Rebecca, at the hospital, kept vigil beside Ned, smoothing his hair and whispering comforting shapes the way dreams dowords floating and reforming behind his fevered eyelids. Adam, pacing the corridor, felt both guilt and confusiontorn between worry for Ned and shame for George.
A harried doctor appeared, reassuring, Nothing serious, just observation. Rebecca let herself exhale, warmth crawling back into her bones.
***********
Ned spent the night in hospital, and Rebecca wouldnt leaveher body rigid with the duty of a soldier on the ramparts. She perched in a miserly plastic chair, clutching his tiny hand, humming fragments of lullaby as her boy thrashed through uneasy dreams. Only when his breaths softened did she relax, brushing hair from his brow, determined to be stalwarthe needed her strong.
Adam felt ill at ease. He returned to Janes house to see George, heartsore and heavy. No words seemed fit to bridge the chasm that divided yesterdays family from todays patchwork.
Two weeks later, George was back, knuckles white against the doorframe, more eager than ever for Dads attention. Adam smiled, planning a park outing and, tomorrow, the long-promised fishing trip.
The phones ring burst the morninga jagged intrusion. Adams face folded as he answered, and once again it was work. Only a couple of hours, mate, then its just you and me in the park. Promise.
Georges hope flickered as if a cloud passed over the sun. Just us? No one else?
Just us, Adam vowed. No exceptions.
George turned away with a rough sigh, trying to mask the ache behind teenage bravado. Fine. Dont be long.
Rebecca, worn thin by sleeplessness and the crash of so much disappointment, shuffled into the kitchen to make tea and toast. Her every movement made the room spinthe world wobbly, familiar objects gone subtly wrong.
Ned hovered by her side, voice tiny, Mum, can I watch cartoons? You look tired, Ill be quiet.
She smiled wanly. Of course, darling. Just keep it low.
Ned, delighted, vanished into the sitting roomleaving a trail of quiet giggles as he became lost in a round-faced bears Saturday exploits.
But the uncanny calm quickly shattered. Neds shriek knifed through the houseso sharp Rebecca dropped a plate, and red beaded her palm. She barely felt it, the ache overwhelmed by dread.
She darted into the loungeand the scene twisted. George, that seemingly ordinary boy, straddled Ned, a sofa cushion pressed to his face. Ned writhed, panicked, arms flailing, trying desperately to escape.
Time seemed to fizz and stall. Rebecca lungedrage twisting her voice, her limbs made longer and sharper by mother-fury. She wrenched George away; he crashed to the carpet, stunned.
Ned! Look at me, love! Are you all right? She pulled her boy to her, running frantic fingers over his cheeks, desperate to feel his breath.
Mum! Mum, it hurthe triedhe
Rebecca stood, trembling, vision quivering with anger. How DARE you lay a finger on him! she blazed, voice raw, knuckles white.
George, dazed but rallying, curled his lip. We were only playing. You nearly broke my arm! Ill tell my dadIll call the police!
Rebecca sat Ned down, running soft hands through his hair, whispering reassurances. But Ned, near-hyperventilating, begged her with wide eyes not to go, not to leave him alone with George.
George sprawled in the armchair, legs flung wide. His grin was grotesque, his stare daringtesting boundaries.
Rebecca clenched a phone charger in one fist, her voice low and dangerous. You have no idea what Ill do for my child, George.
She cracked the cable lightly across his leg; George yelped, leaping upright. Another swipe sent him bolting for the door, shouting curses and threats of the police, vengeance, retribution.
The phone rang seconds later, Adams voice barked, How could you strike my son?! Are you mad?
Rebecca, ice in her every word, replied, Leave, Adam. Take your precious boy with you. If I hadnt come inif Ned hadnt screamedyour son might have killed mine. Im filing for divorce and custody. And Ive got everything on camera.
Her words cut through the wiresunforgiving, final. She hung up and returned to Ned. Kneeling, she cupped his damp, terrified face, whispering over and over, Its over now, sweetheart. Im here. No one will hurt you again.
He clung to her, sobs shaking both their bodies. Rebecca pressed him tightly, humming lullabies, her love fierce and encompassinga wall, a haven, a fierce warmth burning through the wiped-pale drizzle beyond the window.
To Rebecca, Ned was everythinga reason, a future, a world held tight in a dream that, for all its strangeness and pain, she would never let slip away. Her husband? She could manage. But her sonnever. Never in waking life, nor dream. In all the mad world, there was no stronger force than this: the promise to hold on, no matter how the streets outside curled or the stars twisted above their quiet, battered window.
