The Hotel

Chapter Two

I didn't call the police. For seven days, Mama and I lived in Tom's house with his dead body covered by a faded white sheet. Mama would sleep or sit beside his corpse, drinking from a bottle of red wine.

She'd talk to Tom like he was still alive but barely noticed me. I didn't go to school. During the day, I'd sit in the living room. Sometimes, Mama would remember my existence and make something to eat. Other times I fended for myself, wishing I could make us disappear somewhere safe.

At night I cried myself asleep. I'd place my duvet over my head and try to block out the smell of Tom's body. The fear the police would come and take Mama away never left me. A voice of doom screamed inside my head that we needed to get far away.

Mama and I were in a nightmare, but only one of us was aware of it, and that person was me.

On the seventh day, Tom's boss knocked on the front door, hammering away for several minutes. "Tom mate, I know you are in your van is outside," he called through the letterbox. "Listen, I know you and Kelly are having some problems, but you haven't been to work for a week. I'll have to sack you if you're not there tomorrow."

Neither of us answered the door. Mama sat staring at the wall, lost inside her head. I worried he'd never leave, but eventually, he gave up and left in a huff.

Tom's boss would come back, or one of his friends would. Someone from school would eventually come to the house sooner or later when they kept getting no answer from phoning to find out where I was.

In my head, two scenarios played out. Someone came into the house and found Tom and called the police. I pictured Mama in handcuffs, the police dragging her away as she screamed for me.

The second was somebody came into the house and found Tom but didn't get the chance to call the police. I knew Mama would never hurt me. But I no longer knew what she would do to others.

Mama was calm. A scary type of calm where a person has broken mentally so that they no longer have a sense of self-preservation. No grip on reality. Despite Tom's body rotting on the landing. She'd blocked out killing him. In her head, Tom was alive and with us. By day seven, Mama's fantasy world was all that existed for her.

I knew the only way to reach her was to pretend her fantasy world was real. "We should go on holiday," I suggested. "Tom works so hard for us, Mama. I think he'd like a holiday."

It was a childish plan, thought up by a terrified child desperate to help her mother. But Mama, she went with it.

We took Tom's van. Mama wouldn't leave him behind. I tried my hardest to convince her that Tom would follow later, but she wouldn't listen.

Mama dragged his rotting corpse and put it into the back of the van. The stench of his body made me gag, but Mama didn't notice the smell. I envied her.

I wished I could escape reality as she had. Pretend none of this was happening, but I couldn't.

"Things are going to be different now," Mama said, turning on the radio and keeping the volume. "You'll see Lucy. We are going to be so happy. You were right. This holiday is what we all need."

Mama encouraged me to try and sleep as we drove through the night, but I couldn't. The stench of Tom and the feeling of dread made it impossible to fall asleep.

We had little money, no passports, and no real plan beyond going on holiday. With Mama's fragile mind and Tom's body in the van, I feared it wouldn't be long until she got arrested.

I prayed to God and the devil, to anyone or anything listening, for a place to hide. Somewhere no one would ever find us,  and no one asked any questions.

Somewhere we could get lost. I prayed Mama would let Tom go, that her mind would heal enough.