Page 13 of By His Side

Except, I knew the answer to that. Julian had worked his magic and manipulated me into seeing less and less of her. And then, as a final blow, had accused me of aiding and abetting in the murder of a sixteen-year-old girl. I’d gone to prison for it, and my mother had believed the word of the court over that of her son.

My mother still had her gaze fixed on the newspaper, but I knew she wasn’t reading it. When she lifted her eyes to mine, she looked wounded, like I’d shot an arrow into her heart. “I never went anywhere, Felix. I’ve been here the whole time.”

She had. Living here. Helping the same charities because she was rich enough that she didn’t need to work—my father’s life insurance policy setting her up for life. Before Samson, there’d been another dog, a terrier called Zeus. And before Zeus, a Jack Russell called Ralph. “You moved out,” she said, her gaze fixed on me. “And at first it was okay, but then he came along.”

Julian. And like many abusers, he’d separated me from my friends and family, but done it in such a way that it had looked like it was my decision. I’d canceled meet-ups, missed birthdays, and been absent from occasions I really should have been present at. All to stop him from flying into a rage. And the damage he’d done was still in effect years later.

This was different, though, right? We weren’t in a prison meeting room surrounded by people who could hear what we were talking about. We weren’t on a prison phone, where rules dictated calls had to be kept short. It was just the two of us in a kitchen.

No one to interrupt us. No one about to stand up and start the domestic of all domestics that would require a guard to tell them to sitdown or he or she would take them back to their cell and cut the visit short. No one to tap me on the shoulder and ask how much longer I was going to be because they were waiting for the phone. Just us.

“Mum…” I wanted to reach out and take hold of her hands, but I wasn’t brave enough, curling my fingers into my palms to resist the temptation. “Things back then weren’t the way they seemed. Julian was…” God, how did I describe the nightmare my life had become? If only I hadn’t hidden the bruises. If only I’d made leaving him stick for longer than a couple of days.

The ridiculous thing was that I’d always had this place to come back to. I hadn’t because it would have meant admitting that I couldn’t make a relationship work, that Julian wasn’t the angel I’d made him out to be. I’d let pride get in the way of common sense, and boy, had I paid for it. “He wasn’t that nice a person.” The words sounded pathetic, given he was currently doing a life sentence for murder. “Before, everything else, I mean…”Why was this so hard?“He wasn’t that nice to me. He…”

My mother deposited something on the table in front of me and I stared at it, the words I’d been going to say drying up as I stared at the rectangle of plastic with my name on it. “I set this up for you,” she said. “I figured it would be a few weeks… maybe even a few months before you can get your life back on track. I’ve put a decent amount in there. You can get yourself a phone, some clothes… some stuff for your room to replace the things I got rid of.”

I pulled the bank card closer to me and continued to stare at it. In many respects, it was a nice gesture. I needed money. I had some from prison—money that I’d earned from my job in the prison garden—but it would be gone before I knew it. “Thanks.”

My mother stood, our conversation apparently over. “Probably best not to think about the past,” she said.

I laughed. It probably wasn’t the best thing to do, but I couldn’t stop myself. Right. Just forget about the man who’d hit me, harassed me, and then convinced the world that I was guilty of the heinous crime he’d committed. My mother’s face clouded over and I regretted not having more restraint. How did I always make things worse while trying to make them better? If there was an award for it, I’d surely have earned it several times over.

My mother pulled on a jacket and picked up her handbag before retrieving Samson from his basket and tucking him under her arm, every move clearly broadcasting her intention to leave. I nodded at Samson. “You can leave him with me, you know.”

My mother considered it for less than a second before shaking her head. “It’s fine. He’s used to coming with me.” Her gaze strayed toward the breakfast things on the table, half her bagel still sitting there like she hadn’t been able to force herself to finish it once I’d foisted my presence on her. “If you want to be helpful, you could clean those up so I don’t have to come home to them. And you could run a hoover around upstairs.”

“Sure.” The word sounded flat, but I wasn’t up to imbuing it with any sort of life. I said nothing as my mother headed for the door without saying goodbye. I sat and pondered my attempt at opening up to her for a long time after her departure. Did she know, and she just didn’t want to hear it? Or had she thought I was going to say something else? Could I have made her listen?

I doubted it. Not unless I was prepared to tie her down. It seemed we were going to act like strangers until I found somewhere else to live, my mother no doubt counting the days. I let my head fall forward onto the table, the bank card digging into my forehead as I gave in to a dose of self pity.

Leaving the house felt like a much bigger deal than it should have done. I kept my head down as I locked the door, refusing to look left or right to see if any of the neighbors were around to notice my departure.You should change your name.Recalling Darien’s advice had me smiling ruefully. Yeah, but I couldn’t change my face, could I? Not without extensive plastic surgery. Perhaps I’d ask him next time I saw him if he had one he could recommend. Not because I had any intention of getting any done, but just to see his face if I suggested it. No doubt he’d get all earnest and sanctimonious and lecture me on learning to love what I had.

I went to the cash machine first, my mother also having provided me with the pin number for the card. A few button presses brought the balance up on the screen, and I let out a low whistle. No one could accuse my mother of not being generous, the vast sum of twenty thousand pounds staring back at me. Had she agonized over how much money to put into the account? Was it a deliberate ploy to give me enough money to move out? Because I could with that amount. If I moved out, we’d never fix things, though. And despite how badly the attempt to do just that had gone this morning, I still wanted to. I only had one mother, and she only had one son. And if I didn’t manage it, it would mean Julian really had taken everything away from me.

After withdrawing a few hundred pounds, I jumped on the C11 bus, the bus wending its way through the familiar streets of West Hampstead and Cricklewood before reaching Brent Cross. My first purchase from the shopping center was a phone, just as my mother had suggested. Then I bought clothes—her second suggestion. Nothingfancy, just some new underwear, some plain T-shirts that fitted my bulked-out physique better, some jeans, and some new trainers.

Laden down with shopping bags, I took the escalator upstairs and bought a coffee from Starbucks, drinking it while I set up my new phone, things not having changed that much in seven years that I couldn’t work out how to do it. Once it was done, I sat and stared at it. Who the fuck did I have to call?

There was one person. And he’d told me to call if I needed anything. Although, I doubted he’d had me just needing to have a conversation with someone in mind when he’d said it. It was probably just one of his stock phrases. Well, there was only one way to find out if he’d meant it. I rooted around in my pocket until I found the scrap of paper that Darien had scrawled his phone number on.

After carefully inputting his details into my phone—how fucking sad that I had one contact and it was my probation officer—I pressed call. A woman stared at me from the other side of the coffee shop while I listened to the phone ring. Did she recognize me? If she had a good enough memory, it was possible, given my photo had been all over the newspapers and the news. Not as much as Julian’s had, but enough that she might be trying to work out where she’d seen me before. Either that or I was paranoid. Whichever one it was, she averted her gaze as soon as I looked her way.

The flush that came to her cheeks said she’d been checking me out. I needed to remember that whatever the rest of my faults, I wasn’t bad to look at. And that wasn’t me being modest: it was a fact.

“Hello?”

Darien sounded stressed, something about that making me smile for the first time that day.

“Hi.” I said nothing else, just letting the single word hang there.

A long pause. “Who is this?”

“Are you at work?”

“Yeah… Look, really, who is this?”

“I’m wounded that you don’t recognize my voice.”

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