Another crack appeared in the ceiling. Betty sighed, thirty years in this house, yet she'd never managed to fully paper over them all. She looked up, recounting the last time Stanley had decorated this room, nigh on 12 years ago, back when Julia had just had Henry. She smiled at the memory of her youngest grandson, even then an angry stubborn young thing. She shook her head in disbelief, whilst she knew time didn't stand still it felt like it was slipping through her fingers like sand.
The letter on the sideboard taunted her, an unwelcome intruder right here in the sitting room. The stark white of the envelope illuminated against the dark mahogany, the gloss made it too slippy to stand so it had fallen flat. Despite her need for order, Betty had left it there. A small act of defiance in her otherwise ordered existence. She looked up again, knowing this was the first of many that would not be fixed. It felt like the beginning of the end for 38 Whitman Street.
Who could have thought a tiny crack so small, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things would be the thing that brought their world crashing down.
The door slammed, the cool breeze of the summer evening drew a breath and pulled it shut. The bang woke the baby, Julia tutted loudly, both exhausted and exasperated at being in her parent's house. Silence fell then the wails erupted, tiny fists clenched tight and a face scrunched up, red with rage.
"Jesus Christ, I've only just got him to sleep"
Julia shot her mother a look of pure contempt as she lifted the tiny bundle of fury back out of the pram. She bounced the baby a little bit too firmly the hushes almost hisses.
"Ah love, I'm sorry you know how draughty this house is, here, let me take him for a minute. You go get some air"
Betty extracted her grandson from her daughter, careful and gentle. Just the sound her voice seemed to calm them both. She cradled him close to her chest, drinking in the smell and feel of this new-born knowing he would most likely be the last baby in the family for a while. She looked around the sitting room, the magnolia paint barely dry, the sideboard had fitted exactly where she knew it would and rocked him gently.
She peered down the hall, Julia and her father stood side by side in the garden. Julia trying to find the words as Stanley stood listening, soothing her sharp edges as he only he could. His arms wrapped around her as she finally broke down in tears. She stared at her daughter and knew there was nothing she could do to mend her broken heart. The impact of her thoughts was compounded by the silence. She looked down and smiled to see Henry sleeping soundly in her arms.
Stanley walked past the door, he smiled to see Betty sitting with the baby sleeping in her arms. It had always suited her. He climbed the stairs, surprised by how much harder it was these days. The bedroom was stuffy, he opened the window, just a touch. Enough to let the room breathe a sigh of relief as it released the warm muggy air. Betty would close it again before bed, but for now, at least a slight breeze crept in working its way across the room dancing eagerly towards the door. Before he could stop it the air caught the edge, bang. It slammed shut, the sound betraying the gentle nudge it had been given. The air was still as silence filled the room. He took a breath, hoping the pause meant it hadn't woken the baby. The wails that followed assured him it had.
"Oh, bugger" he muttered to himself as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, Julia, the baby, Dan. He rubbed his temples, waiting for the fallout. The house was a pressure cooker. Grief, anger, fear, and pity simmered, bubbling away just beneath the surface. Dampening each day with its constant presence, draining the joy from having a baby in the house, from having Julia back with them.
Downstairs Julia shifted in her seat, awkward, uncomfortable. Why was the furniture so damn stiff, so bloody formal. The fabric scratched her legs, as the sweat formed she moved again desperate to fit the mould. She tried to position the baby more comfortably but no matter what she did he fussed, making his displeasure known to all.
Julia rearranged him again, silently praying he'd settle. Her prayers were answered, he succumbed to sleep and peace was restored. The relief washed over her body, she was surprised at how much tension she had been holding in. She looked down at Henry, so new, so angry looking, and smiled knowing this baby was a fighter. He'd arrived into chaos and yet here he was, sleeping peacefully on her chest. The last few weeks had been like a bad dream, a blur of scenes that she struggled to put in order. The sense of shock and disbelief still dominated, the combination of raw grief and no sleep rendered her virtually paralysed. She couldn't speak, she didn't want to say the words, couldn't bring herself to say it out loud because if she did it would be true and she simply couldn't face it.
Dan was gone. He was never coming back. He'd left them, left them with nothing, and now here she was. Back home in 38 Whitman Street on her own with a baby in tow, sitting in the best room in the house staring at the walls. Oblivious to the cracks that tormented her mother.
