Page 96 of Vivacity
He’s shaking his head, shaking his hands, jiggling on the spot. ‘I dunno, I dunno. It was an accident. I didn’t think.’
‘We’ve just spent over a grand on a piece of kit that you said you were ready for, and you’ve gone and blown the entire thing up with one stupid, childish mistake! Well, I’m not replacing the parts. Let that be a lesson to you. You can save up or wait till your birthday. Fuck’s sake.’
I slam my hand down on the island and it makes an effective thwack against the marble. I’m not sure why I’m so furious. Maybe because I’ve seen how capable he is, how much he cares and how fiercely he can focus when he’s really passionate about something. This gift was a massive gamble, and he’s just ruined the entire fucking thing over a stupid fucking error, before we even got it upstairs! It’s madness, that’s what it is.
Jamie stares at me, tears cascading down his cheeks. His nose is running, and he wipes it with the back of his hand. ‘I hate you! I hate you! Why do you always have to be so mean? You’re a fucking psycho, just like Mum said!’
Before I can react, he turns on his heels and sprints out the door. I hear the panicked thud of his footsteps up the stairs, and then the slamming of his bedroom door.
I stand, shell-shocked, next to the inert ruins of his labour of love. What the actual fuck just happened? I feel sick to my stomach, but I nonetheless down the rest of my glass of red.
Slowly the anger abates in great, toxic waves, leaving me even more sickened.
His face. Those things he said. That name he called me.
He messed up. He made a stupid mistake in his excitement, and I tore him limb from limb. I chose to punish him rather than comforting him like any normal, emotionally healthy parent would. What the utter fuck is wrong with me?
Even when my heart was bleeding for the poor kid, my knee-jerk reaction was to eviscerate him. To humiliate him. To pile on. I was angryforhim, but I unleashed my furyathim.
An image flashes into my mind.
My dad, excoriating me for my poor investment club performance in front of his mates. The loneliness I felt. The shame. The anger. The sheer, unnecessary cruelty of it all.
Jamie was already devastated. The little lad knew he’d done badly as soon as the bloody PC powered down. He had that sickening realisation that, with one tiny lapse in concentration, he’d undone all his painstaking work and probably ruined his new prized possession.
But I’m the one who’s just ruined my son’s Christmas.
CHAPTER 42
Ethan
Idon’t see or hear from Jamie all evening. He doesn’t come down for the homemade sausage rolls Davide made specially for him, and when I knock on his door around ten, he shouts at me to go away in a voice so fragile, so tear-filled, that it has me choking up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him uselessly, pressing my palm against the door as if it’s his heart. ‘I’m so sorry I lost my shit. We’ll find a way to get it fixed, okay? I promise.’
Nothing.
While I want to bulldoze in there and try to make this right with every fibre of my being, I recognise that this is about my son’s needs and not mine. I’m a fucking mess. I’ve been doing the work, putting in the hours. I’ve talked this over with Philip several times. And at the first sign of a fuck-up from my poor, beleaguered kid, I go fucking nuclearon Christmas Dayand unleash all my issues on him.
I have a feeling Philip would tell me to have some compassion for whatever parts clearly want me to fail at having any kind of relationship with my son, but he can go to hell. If I’m incapable of showing compassion to my amazing kid, I sure as fuck don’t deserve to show any to myself.
I pace around downstairs for another hour or so, cleaning up the wrapping paper mountain Jamie left and neatly sorting the packaging for all his PC parts, blasting some godawful Christmas music to drown out my thoughts of self-hatred. I can’t call Elena. I can’t put that on her. Besides, she’ll be furious with me, and she’ll probably insist on aborting her trip and coming over to collect Jamie.
I’m half delirious with heartbreak, so I do the only thing I can think of. I spoke to Soph first thing this morning to wish her Merry Christmas, but I message her now as I trudge up to my room.
Let me know when you’ve finished dinner and are free to chat x
She calls me immediately, and I flop on my bed.
‘Hi, babe! How’s it going with your fellow titan of tech? You guys having fun?’
Even her voice sparkles. She sounds animated and relaxed and maybe the tiniest bit tipsy. She sounds like how people should sound when they’re spending Christmas Day with their loved ones.
My voice cracks. It’s hearing her voice, feeling her presence and her absence equally keenly. It’s the knowledge of how gravely, how terrifyingly, I’ve erred.
‘I fucked up big time. I lost my shit with him and I’m sick to my stomach over it. I don’t know what to do.’
Silence. And then: ‘Oh, honey. God, I’m so, so sorry. I know how much your plans for today meant to you.’
