This Is England » Freddie Highmore

98.

"YOU CAN'T just force her to eat, Freddie," Bertie pointed out as we did dishes together. We don't talk about the funeral or Mum, we just talk about Amelia. Because Amelia was all that I could think about. I'd never seen her so distraught in the time I've known her. "I mean, for fuck's sake, she just had a miscarriage."

I dry the dish he'd just completed washing. "I know that, but I don't want her to forget about herself." I put the dish in the dish rack, then continue helping my brother.

"Well, you do have a point," Bertie looks off into the distance, then continues. "did you happen to see who hit you?" He scrubs the bowl with the sponge, soap soaking up his wet skin.

"I just saw a vehicle run into us," I reply. "happened so fast that I couldn't see the license plate. I also had to focus on Amelia, so that's why --"

Bertie cuts me off. "-- You don't need to explain." He says. "I think I know who did it."

"Who?" I ask, quirking a brow.

Turning off the sink, Bertie wipes off his forearms with the rag. He gives me a knowing grin, a grin I've known all too well, despite my time being away from him.

"The Convicts."

..

The night sky swallows me whole as I stare up at the stars, smoke tendrils falling down to greet me with their nicotine kisses. I thought about Bertie's statement after we were through with the clean-up, and it dawned on me that those assholes would do something like that.

I texted the gang and told him about the situation. We kept talking about what we should do regarding this incident. As much as I wanted to commit bloody fucking murder, I also had to think about Amelia and our relationship. She wouldn't want me behind bars, and I wouldn't want to be somebody's bitch.

I took another drag from my cigarette and started to focus on the hospital visit. It tore me to shreds the way Amelia looked, how her face scrunched up in pain as the baby made its way out of her; how instead of life coming into the world, it was death. I wanted to tell Amelia that we could make another baby, possibly try again, but it wouldn't do anything good right now.

I took the cigarette in my hand and put it out by crushing the nicotine stick with my fingers, the burn from the heat familiar to my palm. I then go back inside the house, getting ready to head upstairs to see a sleeping Amelia resting in the bed we made our beloved child in.

I take off my jacket, shirt, and pants, pulling her clothes beneath the blanket and nuzzle my chin in between the crook of her neck and shoulder.

"I love you, darling," I whisper. "we're going to get through this. You'll see."

"How are you feeling?" I ask as I see Amelia dress herself for the day. She's dressed in a pair of black tights, a black sports bra, and was donning on a gray v-neck shirt. She brushes her bop back and doesn't look at me.

"I've been better," Amelia replied. "can we just go back to Highgate?" She asks me with pleading eyes. "I'm needing to go back to class. I've missed a few weeks."

I bite down on my lower lip, trying not to feel absolutely broken, but I nodded and got up from my sitting position.

"Sure." I reply, and get ready to take the drive.

...