Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter Thirty

Abby.....

After posting my letter to Yate, I do yet another brave thing. I go to my mum's. She invited me around. I guess this is her way of trying to build some bridges between us. I accepted, because it's my way of showing her that I'm trying to allow her to build those bridges.

As I walk up the weathered path to her flat, I notice that someone has tidied up the small communal garden that used to always messily greet everyone. I usually avoid coming, and the last time that I did, the grass was wildly overgrown and the flowers and shrubs couldn't be seen through the tall weeds. I'm making the effort though, because mum has been there for me lately. Since I've told her about my counselling, she has been trying really hard to support me. She calls me after sessions and even accompanied me to one. So on this chilly, sunless morning, with a brumous sky above me, I am making an effort and the garden actually looks very nice. The grass is now smartly short, and the flowers and shrubs now have a chance to grow without being suffocated by all of the virile weeds. Impressed, I raise my brows with a small smile on my face as I press the doorbell to mum's flat.

Within seconds, a cheery voice welcomes me, "Hello?"

"Hey, Mum, it's only me," I reply, following her lead and sounding just as cheery.

"Come on up, Abby," she brightly answers, pressing the buzzer that allows me access to her second floor flat.

I quickly climb the stairs, reaching mum's flat within minutes. Surprisingly, she's already waiting for me with the door open. "I've just put the kettle on, and I've made a cake," she proudly tells me; her light blue eyes shine with relaxed happiness.

"Sounds good," I politely reply, noticing just how well my mother actually looks. Her bobbed brunette hair is glossy and freshly cut. Her clothes look new and trendily coordinated, and her skin has a healthy vibrant glow. "You look really well, Mum," I compliment her, as she slowly closes the door behind me.

"Thank you, so do you." She graciously accepts my compliment, before walking across the lounge, heading towards her kitchen. "Follow me, we can talk whilst I make our tea," she says, smiling back over her shoulder at me.

I return her smile, pleasantly surprised to see my mum not only happy and healthy; I'm actually more pleasantly surprised because my mum is indeed sober. For as long as I can remember, my mum has drank. Not the, drinking out on park benches, kind of drinking; more the drinking at home and passing out, kind of drinking.

If it wasn't a bottle of alcohol keeping her company in bed, it was her latest 'one week boyfriend.' Mum was a secret drunk. She only drank at home and usually alone. Yet, she always somehow managed to get herself up for work, and she always somehow managed to hold things together. She has worked on the check-outs of our local supermarket for years and years, and not a single colleague is aware of her drinking. Obviously, my nan and gramp knew all about it, but since their passing, only a few of her closest friends now know. For as pissed as she gets, she has stubborn pride. Part of her problem has always been admitting that there was a problem. Mum just figured her drinking was down to unwinding after a stressful day. In her mind, her drinking was acceptable and normal because she only did it in the home. I just remember her mood swings. I was usually the only one to see this hidden away side of my mother, and I was usually the only one who would get the verbal onslaught of all her frustrations with life. The older I got, the more I told my nan. Which is why, from the age of five, I ended up living with my nan and gramp. Not once did I ever regret it, and not once did I apologise for it. My mother resented me, and I resented her. The bond had been severed between us, and it was down to resentment and alcohol. Yet here she is sober and making me a cup of tea. I watch her for just a moment, busily pouring boiled water into the teapot. "This is nice," I warmly say, wanting her to know how I genuinely feel.