Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

‘I was listening. That was very sweet,’ Susan says.

‘It’s our thing,’ I say.

Susan lifts another glass of whiskey up from the floor: ‘Here you go, I poured you one. I thought it was wise,’ she says. ‘It feels like a whiskey night.’

‘Good call,’ I say, sitting down next to her. ‘Sorry about tonight.’

‘Don’t be, I don’t mind, and you were good. How was the date?’

‘You know I think you messaging was probably for the best. I had a good time, and it was nice. I did go back to Jane’s for a last drink, but nothing more than a kiss, and it’s okay to leave it there. No hurt feelings, no complications,’ I say.

‘I’m impressed and terribly proud of you. I’m getting a bit emosh. You’re much better at this than I thought you would be. You really are, you’re a natural, like an actual grown-up,’ Susan says.

‘Thanks for that, it means a lot,’ I say. ‘He hasn’t been like this before. Most of the time it’s been plain sailing.’

‘It’s bound to happen. It’s the first time you’ve left him. So maybe that was it. Not knowing when you were coming back after leaving his mother. He must miss her so much. I can’t imagine. It’s why he wouldn’t put the phone down.’

‘That’s a new thing. The phone, I mean,’ I say.

We sit and don’t say all that much. Susan puts her head on my shoulder, and I sip my whiskey slowly and feel the soothing burn as it slips down my throat, and we stay like that for a while.

‘I should get going,’ Susan says.

‘Thanks again. Sorry it was a Luke-baptism-by-fire-themed evening,’ I say.

‘That’s okay; no one called social services so we can all walk away from this with our heads held high. On that note, I’ll love you and leave you,’ Susan says.

I walk Susan out, and I wave to her as she walks off. I head back inside and pick up our empty glasses and a few of Luke’s toys before brushing my teeth and washing my face and heading to bed. I pick up the guitar in the sitting room and carry it into my bedroom. I lay it down in its case and then I lay myself down on the bed and shut my eyes.

They don’t stay closed for long as my mind is racing. I find myself staring up at the ceiling, staring through the dark, as I think about Luke and how unsettled he has been these last few days. I continue to turn it all over in my mind and try to work out how I’m going to cope if he gets worse. What will life be like if that happens and what will I do? I know my only option is to ride it out, like a choppy wave, and take each day as it comes. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to do and, besides, I’m not sure that there is any other choice.

I lie there like that for a little longer, and I’m still unable to drift off. I sit up and rub my hands over my face, and I sit on the end of my bed. I lift my guitar from its case and brush my thumb slowly over the strings without any real intention of playing anything. I remember what Lauren wrote in one of her notes about music and how important it was to Luke, how he loved it when she played for him. It reminds me of what Mrs Holmes said, about how music was good for the soul.

Lauren is standing there, leaning against the window frame, lit by the soft yellow glow of the street lamp outside, which shines through the blinds. It sends shadows reaching across the ceiling, and I know that’s all Lauren is, a shadow. It doesn’t stop me thinking about her and I wonder if she thought about telling me where she was when she sent Luke.

‘I wish you had told me where you were or something, but then I wish a lot of things,’ I say.

I did think about telling you. I thought about it a lot. I thought back to when we first met, and we didn’t exchange addresses or numbers because we were tempting fate. Besides, I knew you would try to find me and it’s too late for that. Sending Luke to you wasn’t about me. I promise you, I had good intentions. That’s why I opted for this, and I hope you can forgive me. I was thinking of Luke, I always have been, I promise you, she says.

I know she has been. It is in every word that she’s written to me. Everything is for Luke. That’s loud and clear, and I don’t doubt it for a moment. I know Lauren was thinking of Luke. This is hard and it is starting to get harder and I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to let anyone down, least of all Lauren and Luke. It is a feeling that I cannot escape and I wonder now if Lauren would reconsider her options if she had the chance?

I’m thinking again of that simple twist of fate, of the turns that we make in our lives, of the forks in the road that we take, and how there’s rarely any going back. No going back for Lauren and no going back for me.

The only thing I ever worried about was Luke. He’s only five, and there’s only so much a small boy can take. There would have been more heartbreak, and there should always be less heartbreak, Lauren says.

I tap the body of the guitar with my fingers, and they make a hollow little thump as I beat slowly in time to the quiet rhythm of the night. I know she’s right, at least I sense she is, about the heartbreak: there should always be less of that. It does not, however, diminish my desire, and my growing need, to find