Rain Must Fall

Sick Brains

"Not enough," Annie said. "The press is crawling down my throat for this. And up my ass. Both directions, Venkat! They're gonna meet in the middle!"
― Andy Weir, The Martian

Henry screamed, frantic around the house. Roger's ears shattered as he came from the kitchen, a mouth full of marmite toast, to try and find him.

"Henry!" He demanded sternly, his voice muffled by bread.

"Mummy!" He yelled back. Roger sprinted towards Henry's crying and found him running towards the bedroom I was in. Roger picked him up, even though he was strongly refusing.

"I want mummy!" He said angrily, trying to wiggle out of Roger's grip.

"Mummy is trying to sleep. Why don't we go out to the backyard and you tell me what's wrong." Roger suggested, carrying him out before he could reject the offer. He made it to the back door before I asked what on earth was happening. They both turned around and Henry started crying again at the sight of me. Roger let him go and he ran to me. I got down on my knees to accommodate him, letting him hug onto me.

"Nanny and auntie Claire... Said you were hurt... That a man hurt you... That it was daddy." Henry cried and I held him closer, arms around him. I glared up at Roger.

"Fix this. Before I do." I was beyond angry. I was hurt. Roger nodded and left the room, while I rocked Henry to settle him.

I never wanted to explain violence to my baby, especially not before he could say the alphabet without stopping to ask for assistance every few letters. I knew he would one day ask questions, but I never thought it would have to be this young. I would never tell him more than needed, and I certainly wouldn't tell him anything above it Terrence and Angela.

"Why did daddy hurt you if he loves you?" He asked between sobs.

"Come to the backyard, Henry. We need to go have a talk." I picked him up with pain and carried him into the yard, sitting us down on the lounge swing.

Roger confronted his mother and sister inside, angry.

"Does anyone want to tell me why the hell my four year old son is scared of me? Who told him it was me who did that to Lucy?"

Winifred calmly laid the newspaper out on the coffee table, showing him the front page. There was a blown-up picture of me, Vivienne supporting me and helping me hold a sheet over my head, my bruises prominent.

"Oh you're fucking kidding me!" He yelled, snatching it off the table. Roger stood against the wall and read the front page, angry and hurt. The words blames him, insinuating it must have been him because he wasn't there and this other woman was. He wanted to throw something and just scream.

"Do we tell Lucy?" Clare asked, stressed.

"We have to. She'll know how to fix it. And if we don't, she'll figure it out for herself and hate us." Winifred reasoned with her children.

I remained outside with Henry, talking and listening.

"So, someone you used to love hurt you because their brain was sick?" Henry confirmed, reminding himself of the conversation just gone. I always asked kids to explain things back to me when I worked with them, just to make sure they really understood and to see if they needed clarification.

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Mummy? How do people's brains get sick?"

"Well, baby. There's a lot of reasons why. Some people don't eat enough for a long time, or they don't sleep for a long time, or someone did something bad to them that made them upset for a long time."

"Will your brain get sick?"

"No, sweetheart. I have a good doctor that will help me make sure my brain doesn't get sick and having a good family helps. A lot of people who are sick don't have anyone that loves them like you and your daddy love me." 

Henry paused for a moment, thinking.

"Can I go to the toilet, please?"

I laughed a yes and watched him jump from the lounge swing and waddle run into the house again, just tall enough to reach the door handle. I lingered outside for a moment to feel the wind as the summer breeze rustled the trees. My tights and long shirt were the most comfortable things I had worn in days, and I finally felt home enough to put a hand on my body.

I opened the back door and stepped in, my toes going from soft grass to flat carpet. The house was unusually quiet as a walked slowly through the laundry to the hallway that lead to the kitchen. Roger sat on the bench, mulling. He sensed me enter and looked up, holding an arm out for me.

"They think it's me. I don't know what to do."

I walked over to him and took his hand, stretching his palm and kissing it, letting it rest  on my jaw. I wasn't surprised by this, and neither was Roger. We both saw it coming. The press were a monster which Queen could never escape. Some I trusted, some repulsed me. Roger was the one hurting now.

"Leave it with me, honey. I know what to do. I've seen this situation too many times."

We laid in bed that night, both facing the doorway. Roger had an arm hooked over me and was spooning me close, protecting me.

"Roger? You've asked me why I love you, but I've never asked you before." I pondered, rolling over.

"I love you because you are my heart. You're my teacher, my water, my spiritual guide, and my brain. I can always come to you for advice and another viewpoint. You make sure I know my way home. You pull me down to earth and a single touch can settle me. You know exactly what I'm thinking without me saying because you get me, Lucy. You really get me. You understand. You're so strong and have so much fight in you and you never give up, baby. God you don't stop. Your laugh is like air to me. Your eyes look into mine and dig out everything. You encourage me and give me strength and love me no matter what mood I'm in or how long I'm away for. You're so faithful and caring and I don't deserve you but you'll say I do because you're smarter than anyone else I know. I mean, just today I was a mess because of the newspapers and you immediately knew how to fix it. By just getting the police to order a statement. I'm completely enamoured with you. Forever."

He laid on his back and pulled me towards him so I could rest on his chest. Roger put on such a show of being fine and happy all the time. He was seen as this headstrong man that oozed confidence and sex, but those that really knew him understood that he was so much more dynamic than that. He was strong, but vulnerable and easily hurt. He needed emotional structure from another half to keep the temple standing.

"Some days... You're the only one who even knows me."