Finding Abby

5

4. He doesn't have kids.

I wonder who the friendship bracelet is from and why someone like him is still so connected to someone like my Mum after so long. I wonder why he doesn't have his own family.

We walk back home from the pub. Ben strides along beside Mum. I'm behind, watching his long legs and Mum's pin legs stepping in time with him. They're both tipsy. Mum zigzags along the pavement, talking about random stuff. Ben laughs so hard at I don't know what because Mum's not funny. He turns around to me every now and then and asks me a question; probably to check I'm still there.

Not only can't I remember anyone turning round to check on me before—apart from Minda's Mum—I can't remember any other time Mum has been so upbeat. She seems to enjoy herself with him.

More than she ever has with me.

When we get home, Mum goes to put the kettle on, and I flop onto the couch next to Ben, still relishing in the fact that he's here, and I could probably get away with pretending he is my dad for a bit, if I wanted to. He's got his guitar across his knees and he starts to run his fingers across the strings.

"What music are you into?" he asks, turning to me.

"All kinds," I shrug.

"Haven't heard of them," Ben jokes. "Any good?"

He's even making dad jokes. Can this night get any better?

"Ha, funny man. I'm not into one thing." I hear Mum messing around in the kitchen and decide there's time to ask questions while she's out of the room. "What CDs were you gonna listen to with Mum?"

"Old stuff," Ben says, strumming on the guitar. His fingers are loose and easy on the strings.

"I like old stuff." I reach out and touch the friendship bracelet on his wrist. "Who's that from?"

Ben ignores my question; looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Recognise this?"

He's playing something I'm familiar with. He puts his head down to concentrate and his long hair falls like a curtain around his face. He sings under his breath in a deep, smooth tone. The guitar sounds rich and raw and I fly away with the notes.

It's familiar.

I think it's Silent Moth but can't be sure. If it is, it's not one I know well - I've only got their first album. I've listened to it a lot though because the singer's voice is weird and emotional, and their lyrics are full on. Like this song.

I wonder if it's on the mixtape. Maybe now's the time to mention it to him?

Ben's voice flows along easily. He flicks his hair back and turns to me; gives me a small smile – his expression warm and thoughtful. Then he breaks the connection, looks down and he's gone again. The words he's singing make my stomach twist.

When he finishes and the final notes drift away into the air around us, he rests his long fingers gently on the wooden face of the guitar and turns to me. I'm about to ask him if the song is on the mixtape or if he knows anything about the tape, when a noise from the doorway makes us both look up.

Mum stands there, clutching two mugs of coffee then her hands shake. She wobbles slightly and, when she tries to lean on the door-frame, the mugs fall from her fingers. I watch as they bounce against the floorboards in slow motion. One smashes into big pieces. A dark stain of coffee spills over Mum's bare feet and legs and the hem of her dress. She presses her hands across her mouth and bends over, gasps for breath, grips her arms around her middle as if she's going to be sick.

Ben slides the guitar onto the couch - rushes to her. He puts his arms around her and she grabs onto him; clutching her bird-hands around his waist while he folds himself all around her, enclosing her in his bulk. She sobs into his chest and he tells her over and over again how he's here now, and everything's going to be okay. All the time I'm staring - staring at Mum who I've never seen shed one single tear; never seen her scream or yell or fight or be passionate about anything. After so long, she's here sobbing her heart out with Ben.

I don't know what to do.

I want to cry with her, but I'm not part of what she's going through.

I should probably disappear.

I push off the couch and go over to them.

"Are you ... are you okay?" I touch Mum's shoulder, but she flinches away from me and hides herself inside Ben's arms. She's shaking hard, choking, gasping into his chest, and I'm worried for her. It's like she's drowning like the kid in the pool–but, this time, I can't rescue her.

"Is she okay?" I ask Ben and he releases an arm from around my Mum and squeezes my shoulder.

"I think so," he says, softly. "Are you okay?"

No. I'm not okay. "As okay as I normally am."

Ben inhales and closes his eyes then kisses the top of Mum's head. It's such an intimate thing to do that I lower my eyes, a rush of emotion filling the void inside me. He squeezes my arm again. I meet his eyes and he looks at me like he wants to say something other than, "Maybe you should go to bed, huh?"

I look at the floor where the coffee and splinters of crockery have pooled around Mum's bare feet. "I'll clean this up."

Ben wraps his arms around Mum again and helps her step across the mess to her bedroom.