Nemesis: Loud Like Love - 18. Chapter Eighteen: This Picture

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

This Picture

Nick came inside and put down his guitar case in the hall.

‘That you, Nick?’ called Richard from the kitchen.

‘No, it’s Father Christmas. Sorry I’m a couple months late, traffic was hell.’

Richard laughed. ‘You hungry?’

Nick took off his shoes and coat and walked into the kitchen. ‘What’s for dinner?’

Richard tossed his head towards the cooker. ‘Spagbol. Help yourself, I already ate. How was band practice?’

‘Not bad. Stuart got us another new gig in a few weeks. At this rate, we’re gonna have to write some new songs, or people are gonna get sick of us.’

‘Fat chance, you guys are fantastic.’ Richard smiled.

Nick piled food onto a plate and sat down. Richard appeared to be elbow deep in paperwork. ‘Should I leave you to it, or would you like an excuse to take a break?’ Nick asked.

Richard closed his laptop. ‘I would love an excuse to take a break. What’s up?’

‘Matt and Stuart have invited themselves over for my birthday on Friday. So I guess we’re having dinner.’

‘We were going to have dinner, anyway,’ Richard pointed out. ‘It’s your eighteenth birthday. It’s meant to be a surprise, though, so don’t tell yourself.’ He winked. ‘I mean, since you haven’t expressed an interest in having a party, we have to throw you one, even if it’s just dinner and cake with your family.’

‘Matt wants to bring cake. Not sure if I trust him.’ Nick took a bite of his food, considering what to say next. He’d been thinking about something on his way home, but he wasn’t even certain he wanted to say it out loud. He sighed.

‘Something wrong, mate?’

Nick shook his head. ‘I dunno. I kind of had a thought . . . I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I was wondering if maybe it’s time I talk to my mum. Saturday will be the second anniversary of her . . . her suicide attempt. So maybe I should go see her. I don’t know. Don’t know if it’s even . . . I mean, I don’t know what kind of state she’s in right now. She’s institutionalised.’

‘I know.’ Richard gave Nick’s shoulder a squeeze. ‘If this is something you think you’re ready for, I think you should do it. She’s your mother, after all. And you don’t just stop loving someone cause they do something shitty. Right?’

Nick shook his head. ‘No. You don’t.’

‘You should give Zoë a ring and talk to her about it.’

‘Yeah.’ Nick took another bite. ‘This is really good, by the way. Thanks for cooking.’

‘No worries at all, kiddo.’

When he had finished, Nick left Richard to his paperwork and went to his room to call Zoë.

‘Hey, Nick! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

‘Hey Zoë. What you up to?’

‘Just some coursework. Nothing that can’t wait. What’s up?’

Nick hesitated again. He wasn’t sure that he even wanted to see his mother, but he still felt like he should. It was time. Zoë hadn’t been to see her properly either. In two whole years. ‘I’ve been thinking . . . I want to see Mum.’

The line was silent for a little while. Then Zoë sighed. ‘Are you sure?’

‘No. But I want to do it anyway. I think I need to. I’ve spent so much time being angry with her, and . . . I’ve actually talked to Evan about this, before. He thinks facing her might help me. And I need to stop being so angry all the time. I need to . . . I need to let this go.’

‘Yeah. I get that. If you think you’re ready, we can go see her. When would you like to go?’

‘Think we could go Saturday?’

’Saturday? You mean . . .’

‘Yeah. Good a time as any, right?’

‘All right, if that’s what you want to do, we’ll go. I’ll call Aunt Karen.’

‘Thanks. Oh, by the way, Matt and Stuart want to come over for dinner on my birthday.’

‘Excellent!’ she said with forced cheer. ‘The more, the merrier.’

* * *

Nick woke up on his eighteenth birthday feeling exactly like he had the night before. Literally nothing was different, and he wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed. He had a dozen or so texts from friends, including ones from Mel, Stuart, Matt, and even Chas, though he hadn’t spoken much to him in the past several months.

And there was one from Dave, which read, Happy Birthday, Nick. Buy you a coffee soon?

To which Nick replied, Thank you. Sure. Free Sunday?

Dave was, and they decided to meet at The Jekyll & Hyde around noon.

Nick’s birthday dinner was attended by Zoë, Richard, Matt, Stuart, and, surprisingly, Maria, whom Zoë had invited on the sly, and who was very happy to attend the eighteenth birthday party of her favourite nephew.

‘Josh’s family leaves something to be desired,’ she said. ‘His mistress—sorry, wife—spoils their kids rotten. I mean, had he at least buggered off for someone nice, but she’s all fake smiles and haughty platitudes. So, just so you know, you lot are my real family now.’

‘Strong words,’ said Zoë, passing potatoes down the table. She was smiling.

‘Yeah, well. Josh and I were always too alike and too different in temperament all at once, so . . . Apparently, though, the biggest difference between us is that he is clearly deeply stupid. Think I’ve got something on him in the intelligence department.’

Nick laughed. Hearing his aunt trash talk his father like that made him feel strangely happy.

‘So!’ said Maria, glancing around at Nick, Matt and Stuart. ‘How’s the band doing?’

‘Not bad,’ said Matt. ‘We’ve got a gig in three weeks, in Sapswell. You should come, if you can make it up.’

‘I’ll see what I can manage,’ she replied with a smile. ‘I’d really, really like to hear you guys play, though I might not be able to pull it off this time. We’ll see, I suppose.’

The dinner passed in pleasant conversation. Matt had, in fact, to everyone’s great surprise, kept his promise and brought a cake. Two layers of chocolate sponge with chocolate mousse in between, and chocolate coffee buttercream frosting. It was even home made, though Matt admitted that his mother had helped him make it.

‘Since when do you even cook?’ Stuart asked incredulously.

‘I cook!’ Matt sounded a bit defensive. ‘Just ask Alan. I make a mean Alfredo.’

‘This cake is amazing,’ said Richard, having taken a bite.

Nick laughed. ‘This is witchcraft. Must be.’ Then he thought of something and turned to his aunt. ‘Oh, by the way. I’ve got some news about your ex, Maria.’

She arched an eyebrow. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yup. His wife left him. Tossed him right out of his own house just before Christmas, the same day you left. Apparently, he started a big row with her when he got home, and she told him to bugger off. She and Dave have moved out now.’

‘Hang on,’ said Matt, ‘Dave’s dad is your ex?’

‘Yup.’ Maria shrugged. ‘He was . . . less like that before. Or perhaps not. Either way, good for her. I hope he’s very happy in that big, empty house by himself. Here’s to losing shitty husbands!’ She raised her glass.

* * *

Zoë and Nick drove to Coventry the next morning, stopping at Aunt Karen’s first. Karen greeted them with hugs and kisses and happy birthday wishes for Nick, and they had lunch together at her flat. She wanted to know about Nick, what he had been up to lately. Coventry wasn’t even that far away, but they hadn’t seen each other since the summer.

After they’d eaten, the three of them set off to the hospital; the mental institution. The loony bin, Nick thought to himself. The cuckoo’s nest. He wasn’t sure what to call it in his head, or what to expect, but what he found was a three-storey brick building. It didn’t have a typical hospital look, on the outside or the inside. The corridors had cream white walls with several colourful prints and paintings.

‘Is this really a hospital?’ Nick asked Aunt Karen.

‘This is a long term care facility, for people with mental illness and disability that makes them a danger to themselves or others. The ward where Angie lives is for the former. It’s good. They’re good here.’

They signed in at reception, and then a male nurse took them to what appeared to be a common room. Some people were watching television. Others were talking. Two older men were playing chess over in a corner. Everyone wore normal clothes. Everyone looked normal. Even the nurses were dressed casually, their keys and ID-badges the only thing setting them apart from the patients.

She was reading a book. Behind her was a large bookshelf, filled with what Nick assumed was hospital approved reading material. She sat in a comfortable looking chair, and wore a green, knitted jumper over loose jeans. She looked somewhat less thin and frail than she had when last Nick had seen her. She also wasn’t in a hospital bed, wrists slit, getting a blood transfusion, which was a marked improvement as well.

‘Angie?’ the nurse said softly. ‘Your family’s here to see you.’

Nick’s mother closed her book and looked up, eyes widening. Karen had told her they were coming to visit, but she still looked surprised to see them, as though she hadn’t expected them to actually follow through. She had cut her brown hair short, and her grey eyes were bright. She looked surprisingly healthy. She stood up. ‘Zoë,’ she breathed, looking at her daughter. Then she turned her attention to her son. ‘Nick . . . Belated happy birthday, love. Oh, it’s so good to see you! We . . .’ She looked around the room. ‘Liam,’ she said to the nurse. ‘Is the music room occupied? Can we use it to talk?’

Liam the nurse nodded. ‘It should be free. Come on, let’s have a look.’

They all followed him, and he led them down a corridor to a closed door, which he unlocked and opened. Within was what looked like a sitting room, with two sofas and several bookshelves. There was also a piano, two guitars, and a very old looking violin which hung on the wall and looked more like decoration than for actual use. There was a tall cupboard at the back of the room.

‘Let me know when you’re done so I can come lock up, okay?’ Liam smiled, and left the room, closing the door behind him.

‘So, you have a music room,’ said Nick, and he realised that they were the first words he had spoken to her since he had seen her in that hospital room, two years ago.

His mum nodded. ‘Yeah. We have music therapy in here. That cupboard is where they keep the ukuleles. I play now. It’s fun. There’s an art room, too. I paint sometimes, and sculpt clay.’ She fell silent.

‘Shall we sit?’ asked Karen, breaking the silence. She took her sister’s hand and they sat down, shortly followed by Zoë. Nick did not sit. Instead he walked over to one of the guitars. It was a banged up old nylon. He picked it up off its stand and strummed the open strings. It was horribly out of tune, and he set to tuning it.

While he did, the others talked. ‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ Zoë was asking.

‘Oh, you know. Ups and downs. They take good care of me here. I’ve made some friends. This is a good place.’

‘That’s good. Karen’s told us a bit about it before.’

Nick finished tuning the guitar and strummed it again, playing a C chord. Close enough.

‘I’m really very happy you’re here,’ said Nick’s mum. ‘I . . . I don’t blame you for not wanting to come see me sooner, you know. I . . . I wrote some letters, but didn’t end up sending most of them. We write letters kind of as an exercise sometimes. To tap into our feelings or something.’

Nick played a C, an F, and an A minor chord. He sat down at the edge of the piano chair and played a simple melody. ‘Was that what you were doing when you sent me that letter last year?’ he asked. He knew he didn’t sound completely casual, but tried to keep his voice calm.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I just . . . I wanted to tell you those things. Though I understand now that I shouldn’t have sent it. I’m sorry, if it hurt you. I’m sorry I hurt you, all of you.’

Nick plucked at the guitar strings some more. Now that he was here, he had no idea what to say to her, or how to say it. He couldn’t even look at her properly. It was too painful.

The others made small talk, and Nick played. He tried out a couple of melodies, changed up the chords, and all the while listened to them. Listened to his mother talk about what things were like there, what kind of activities they had, how she could go for walks around the neighbourhood as long as she was with at least two other high functioning patients, or one nurse or doctor. She talked about her painting, her ukulele playing. She talked about the therapy, the groups, the doctors. The medications she was taking. The friends she had made.

When Nick stopped playing, she looked up at him and applauded. ‘You’re so good,’ she said. ‘Really, you’ve become so . . .’ She sighed. ‘You’re eighteen . . . You’re all grown up.’

‘Yeah.’ Nick put down his guitar and came over to sit in the sofa opposite from his mother.

‘Are you happy?’ she asked softly. ‘Your life, is it . . . is it okay?’

Nick found himself smiling. ‘Not great, right now, but . . . Yeah. I guess it’s okay.’

‘There are so many things I’ve missed.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about your friends, your music, your love life . . . That’s all my fault, I know.’

‘It is,’ said Nick simply. ‘And it isn’t. It’s not your fault you’re sick.’ Then, because she hadn’t spoken, and because he wanted to say something and it was probably time for her to know anyway, Nick said, ‘Mum, I’m gay.’

She blinked. ‘You are? Well . . . that’s all right then. Got a boyfriend?’

Something lifted. Or cracked open. Something, somewhere came loose, and Nick’s laughter came bubbling up out of nowhere. She was the same. His mother was the same person. She was like she had always been, if somewhat small and tired, if often sad, if broken. She was his mum.

‘Sorry,’ he said, and cleared his throat. ‘No. I haven’t got a boyfriend right now. There’s someone I’m in love with, though.’

Angie Parsons gave a wide smile. ‘In that case, I’d like you to tell me all about him.’

When they left, Nick hugged his mother, and she hugged him back. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for coming to see me. Karen said it was your idea, even. I’ve missed you so much, baby. And I am so proud of you.’

Nick swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘I love you, Mum.’

‘I love you too, baby.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘If you’d like to come back . . . If not, maybe I can come visit some time. They let us do that, sometimes.’

He kissed her back, and then he let out a sob that he hadn’t known he’d been holding in.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said, placing a hand on his cheek and searching his face with those grey eyes that were exactly like his own. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you all right?’

Nick laughed through the tears. ‘I’m fine. I’m really all right. I just . . . I’ve missed you.’ He hugged her tightly. Then they pulled apart, and he smiled at her. ‘I’ll come back. I promise.’

* * *

Dave walked to The Jekyll & Hyde, hands in his pockets. It would be the first time he saw Nick since what had happened between them in Manchester. He realised with a jolt that it had just been a week. It felt like forever ago, somehow.

Nick wasn’t there yet when he arrived, but before Dave had time to even order his coffee, he had appeared next to him.

Dave smiled. ‘What would you like, birthday boy?’

‘Oh. Er. Mocha, please.’

Dave ordered a mocha for Nick and a cappuccino for himself, and a piece each of fudge brownie, before they went and sat down. ‘So, how are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m all right. Been a long weekend.’

‘Did you have a good birthday celebration?’

‘Yeah, it was just dinner, with Zoë and Richard, and Matt and Stuart, and my aunt Maria. It was nice. Did you know Matt can bake?’

‘Huh. No, didn’t know that. He cooks a mean Alfredo, though.’

Nick sipped his mocha, looking thoughtful. He was quiet for a few moments. ‘We went to Coventry yesterday. I . . . I saw my mum.’

Dave put his coffeecup down. He wanted to reach across the table and take Nick’s hand, but he knew that wasn’t where they were at right now, so he stayed like he was, until Nick was ready to speak again.

‘I asked Zoë if we could go. Yesterday was . . . well, you know what day yesterday was.’ He looked up and met Dave’s eyes, and he was smiling. ‘She’s okay. The place she’s in, it’s a good place. There’s art and music therapy, and friendly nurses, and lots of books. And she’s better. Not all the time, but yesterday was a really good day. We talked. I told her I was gay. I told her about . . . about you. Not all of it, but . . .’ His cheeks went slightly pink. ‘She was my mum again.’

Dave smiled, and now he did reach across the table to squeeze Nick’s hand. He didn’t linger, though, drawing his hand back after a few moments. ‘That’s amazing, Nick. Really.’

Nick nodded. ‘Yeah. Anyway, how are you?’

‘I’m okay. Bit swamped in schoolwork right now, but other than that . . . It’s good. I’m good.’

‘Good.’ Nick sipped his coffee again, and then took a bite of his brownie, and groaned. ‘Oh, God, this cake is orgasmic!’ he said, and Dave tried not to blush, instead taking a bite of his own cake, which did indeed turn out to be bordering on the obscene. Dave made a similar sound to the one Nick had made, and they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

‘We’ve got a gig in Sapswell in three weeks, by the way,’ said Nick after a while. ‘You should come, if you want.’

‘Thanks,’ said Dave. ‘I think I will.’