Happy Mother's Day!

AFTER taking a long cool early shower, during which she had thought herself in circles until she felt more confused than ever, Siena changed into her red velvet pyjamas and went downstairs to find Rick alone in his den, drinking a brandy and reading that morning’s sports section.

‘So why aren’t you out with your young man?’ he asked, not looking up.

‘He’s not my young man,’ Siena said, realising she had perhaps been a bit too vehement when Rick looked at her in disbelief.

She regretted sitting down when he folded his paper. ‘And why not?’

‘Because I never have young men in my life. Not in the way that you mean. I.I can’t.’ ‘Why can’t you?’

‘Because until recently I thought that relationship-wise I was little more use to any man than rat poison. And, though I’m not so sure that that’s the case any more, I’m still feeling pretty raw.’

She stared at her fingernails, cleaning out an imaginary speck of dirt.

‘I had a conversation with an eight-year-old this afternoon that made me realise how ridiculous it was that I have always blamed myself that Dad died that day.’

‘You what?’ Rick practically exploded on the spot, his newspaper rustling as it half fell to the floor in great flapping black and white sheets.

She glared at Rick, her thoughts, and memories, and emotions on high alert, all akimbo and mixed up and backwards since James had gone and kissed her and liked her and made her fall in love with him.

‘Come on, Rick. The day he died, the day I played truant from school and came home early and found him on his bed, so cold and so still. You blustered in and yelled—and I quote–“Now look what you have done”. But it wasn’t my fault, Rick,’ she said, looking her big burly brother dead in the eye. ‘It’s taken a lot for me to realise that. But that won’t make a lick of difference to my life unless I know that you realise it too.’

Rick opened his mouth to deny it. Siena let him take his time to gather himself. It had been some accusation after all. But then something inside him seemed to extinguish, leaving him looking every one of the twelve years older than her that he was.

‘He was sixty-five,’ Rick said. ‘He’d had heart problems all his life. And I am an ass if I ever made you feel that way.’

Siena could do nothing but stare at her big brother as the words she had longed to hear all her life spilled from his lips.

But, rather than wanting to throw them back in his face with a great self-satisfied, I told you so, she just let them wind around her like a long coiling rope drawing her closer to the brother who, until that moment, she had always looked upon as an unfeeling tyrant.

‘Dad died because he ate salami like it was going out of fashion,’ he said, his voice raw and rough. ‘He worked himself far too hard and never did a day’s exercise in his life. I am truly sorry if I ever made you think any different.’

He sat back and ran a hand over his eyes.

‘You were such a handful as a kid, Siena. You were so smart. So full of life. Hell, you still are. Yet you were throwing all that talent away on late nights with your friends and parties. And it pains me deep down that that’s what you are still doing with your life.’

Her eyes burned and she rubbed at them frantically. Now was not the time to fall apart. This was too important. ‘But I was only ever trying to get Dad to pay attention,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

And you, she thought. I just wanted you to see me. To really see me, not just be angry with me. Not be disappointed …

‘I know,’ Rick said, lifting his face to look her in the eye. ‘I know. And I knew it then too. But you were his light. You were his everything.’

She knew it. Deep down she knew, though it had taken some convincing. But she also needed to know what she was to Rick too. Theirs had been the defining relationship of her childhood. This wasn’t really ever about her father; it was about the father figure sitting before her.

‘So why did you always tell me off if I wore mismatched socks, when he never once even lifted his voice if I came home an hour after curfew with smudged lipstick?’

‘We all have our own ways of loving, Piccolo. Mine is more forward. Verbose. Dad’s was to sit back and watch with wonder as his little girl grew into such a personality. He loved your energy and your spirit and chastised me daily for trying to clip your wings.’

‘He did?’ That she had never known.

‘You have to remember I was twelve when you were born, Piccolo. Twelve when my mother died. Twelve when you became the apple of my hero’s eye. You, who stayed out after curfew, who never tried in school, who pierced her belly at age fourteen and had a fake ID. And I was not much older than you are now when Dad died. Imagine yourself now, in the prime of your life, suddenly being lumbered with a teenager. When you become a parent, Siena, your own needs and wishes must come second.’

And, just like that, all of Siena’s indignation melted away. It flowed from her mind and off her shoulders and out the tips of her fingers, leaving her feeling as if she had run a marathon.

She thought again of her conversation with Kane on James’s bed, that small face looking up at her as though she had all knowledge of heaven and earth. And looking back at him all she’d wanted to do was protect him, keep him safe, do all she could to see that he was never hurt.

Be happy, she’d insisted to Kane. Don’t ride your bike without your helmet.

That was all Rick had ever done for her. He’d spent his own young adulthood trying only to protect her. She swallowed, the taste of the words I’m sorry too burning hot on her tongue.