Chapter Twenty-Eight - An Asian Company That Makes Bricks Though.
I knew Rhys hadn’t slept much the night before. The violet shadows in the hollows beneath his eyes told me of his restless night. And the fact that there was around twelve empty biscuit packets littering the floor around us also told me he didn’t sleep. He always ate whenever he was worried or bored.
A thin shaft of the early sunlight filtered through the curtains, and rested on the wall to our right. It had just gone past half six in the morning, and I had no idea why I was awake. I was definitely not a morning person; most people who knew me could tell you that. Rhys wasn’t a morning person either, I’d have woken him up, but he looked absolutely wrecked.
So, laying in the semi-darkness all alone it was.
I mean, I had a seventeen year old boy sprawled out on top of me. I couldn’t exactly just shove him off, he’d kill me and besides he weighed a ton. And maybe I liked having him sprawled out on top of me?
Rhys’s breathing quickened, and I felt him stir. I gazed up at him, taking in his sleepy, half-opened eyes and lazy smile. And then he just dropped off to sleep again. How anti-climactic.
It had been three days since the hospital incident. I had two weeks and six days left. And I still didn’t know exactly who I was.
I had been doing a lot of thinking recently and thinking of all the holes in my life, and all the things that don’t add up. There’s a lot that doesn’t add up.
Why couldn’t I remember who that Alex was?
And why doesn’t Rhys spend more time at the hospital if he has leukaemia too?
Why did my mother just leave us?
Why did James just leave my life?
Why doesn’t my mother like Rhys?
“Stop thinking and cuddle damn it.” Rhys mumbled, burying his face in-between my boobs and glancing up at me innocently as if I had another packet of biscuits or something. Not that he needed anymore, he had already eaten around twelve packets in the past twelve hours. Or maybe he needed the biscuit or twenty, Rhys was looking quite skinny. Those biscuits would make him cuddlier and warmer and he’d be like a toaster, but a talking toaster!
“I am cuddling, just a squished version of cuddling.” I replied, speaking more to his hair than him.
“You know it’s sad when your boobs are better at cuddling than you are.” Rhys grinned, looking up at me at last. He shimmied up me, and I focused on his eyes willing myself not to get lost in the way his body felt against mine.
And he licked my eyebrow.
And then rolled off me and headed for the bathroom.
Alright then. Must not question that.
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“Where are you taking me?” I nagged, untying my Doc Martens and throwing my socked feet up on the dashboard of Miranda’s car earning me a dirty look from Rhys. I didn’t move my feet, and just wiggled my toes to annoy him. He harrumphed, and ground his teeth. Mission annoy Rhys was successful.
“Why do your feet smell? Both those questions have the same answer. You won’t get an answer from me until you figure it out for yourself,” Rhys snapped, “Did you bring a coat?”
Oh, I see, he’s going for the ‘you’re annoying me so much but I’m not going to say anything as it’ll just satisfy your need to annoy me. But I’m also going to make sure you have a coat so you won’t freeze to death or anything’ angle. How original. It’s not like he hasn’t taken this angle before. “No, I didn’t bring a coat because you didn’t tell me where we were going so I remained optimistic and prayed we would be staying indoors where it’s toasty warm.” I rambled, still twitching my toes and hoping the stinky feet stench would waft over to Rhys.
“I can smell your feet. Stop moving them, I get it, you smell like cheese. You can borrow my coat, but if you get saliva on it, I’m going to smack you so hard you’ll be in next week.” Rhys huffed, seemingly regretting bringing me anywhere today.
The afternoon sun was dull, and thick, black clouds fanned the grim sky. Rhys’s mood now was very similar to the weather. Maybe if I brought him somewhere sunny, he would be happy no matter how many times I waved my feet in front of his face.
“What if I like the notion of you smacking me?” I absent mindely wondered, staring out the window and fighting the urge to smile. Rhys spluttered a cough, and from the corner of my eye I saw him flush a deep red that stretched to his ears.
He said, “Behave, you heathen bitch!” This naturally made me laugh, I mean, yes that insult is totally going to make me cry so much that I’ll be forced to hide my tears from him and sob at night into my pillow while thinking about how shite my life is.
In fact, I was laughing so hard that I didn’t notice that Rhys had stopped the car and was waiting for me to stop laughing while he returned to a normal skin colour. I hadn’t even noticed where exactly he had stopped the car. When I did glance out the window, my eyes were drawn straight back and I immediately sobered up.
A graveyard.
That was where we were.
My throat closed up with grief, I hadn’t been here in years. My father was in there, and I hadn’t ever been to see him. I just couldn’t. It was too painful, more than anything it would be like a slap in the face; he was dead. He had been for years.
And now here I was, right in front of the place.
“No.” I choked out; my eyes were stuck to the grey gates that loomed over me and the eerie shadows created by the gravestones that overlapped on the dewy grass.
“Annie, please. I promise you, we won’t go anywhere near him. I just wanted you to meet my mother.” Rhys pleaded, taking my suddenly clammy hand in his and squeezing it.
“No.” I breathed, my voice cracking on just the one syllable.
“I’ll be right beside you the whole time, I promise.” Rhys soothed, running a thumb over my knuckles gently.
“No.”
“Do you honestly think I’d do anything to upset you on purpose? Granted, I didn’t think this through; I didn’t know he was in here. I just wanted you to meet my mam. We can avoid him, if you want. Just five minutes is all I want, what she wants.” Rhys pleaded, taking my chin between his thumb and fore finger and turning my face towards him.
I didn’t reply, and Rhys took that as a positive. He stepped out of the car, and I stayed where I was. He fuddled around in the back seat, throwing coats and shoes around noisily. After a few minutes he popped up around in front of my car door. He popped it open, and a breeze blew into the car. Without saying anything, Rhys took my feet which were still in socks and slipped them into a pair of wellies I must have left in the car. He offered me his coat, and when I didn’t take it he presented me with his hand. I didn’t take it, and just pushed myself off the seat and outside.
Rhys held his coat out to me again, and I still didn’t accept it. I didn’t even look him in the eye. I couldn’t. In around two months I would be in there too, in that graveyard in the cold soil, just sitting there. Just rotting. I’d be dead.
“Annie….” Rhys trailed off slowly, and draped his coat over my shoulders, “Come on, if you’re not comfortable we’ll leave straight away.” He looped his arm with mine and grasped my hand and nearly had to drag me to the unnerving sight of the gates. They hadn’t changed at all over the past few years. They were still in need of painting, and were cracked in more than one place.
The gravel track was the same, and the trees were still there. Our feet made the same crunching noise as we walked and the leaves on the trees made the same rustling noise. It was oddly peaceful, the simple noises shrouding us and the serene never changing surroundings. The graveyard was a symbol of continuity, it never really altered.
Rhys led me down the path, I knew that if I took the next right and walked down the path just over a hundred metres I would be facing my father’s grave. “Do you think he hates me?” I murmured, and Rhys’s pace slowed down to a dawdle.
“I don’t think he does. Your father loved you, Annie. He probably understands, he would find it hard if the roles were reversed. I bet he’s so proud of you though, I bet you that he’s watching us right now and is thinking of how grown up you are, and how you’re making your own decisions.” Rhys spoke clearly, seemingly not affected by his words.
My throat was closing up. “I don’t think he would be proud.” I admitted, taking in a shuddering breath. Rhys draped his coat over my shoulders, and I didn’t shrug him off.
“Why?” He asked with curiosity in his tone.
“Because he would have wanted me to fight it. He would have wanted me to fight it with everything I had until it was dead. He wouldn’t have wanted me to live my life, not wait for it to end.” I explained, and Rhys nodded slowly.
“Well, fight it.” He said simply, so simply.
Rhys stopped walking. He turned to face the small patch of land in front of him. It was beautiful, but remorse clung to every square centimetre of land. Flowers, mementos, small gifts and random objects covered her grave, they didn’t clutter it, but they made it feel homely. Some would argue that it was all just a pile of cluttered shite, but I could see the significance of the objects. I could make out drawings that Rhys must have done and laminated. I could see photos. I could see a rolling pin? There were a few bottles of nail varnish, and a pair of extremely dirty and scruffy violet slippers.
“Stop looking at our pile of shite like that. It’s our special pile of shite. In fact, I think I’ll start you a pile of shite when we’re old and have a million kids all called Rhys regardless of their gender.” Rhys rambled, obviously embarrassed over the pile of stuff that had accumulated. My mouth went dry. Rhys honestly thought we were going to grow old together, have kids. I remained silent, thinking.
Marrying Rhys. Arguing with Rhys over who should clean the toilet. Screaming at Rhys for leaving socks in the kitchen. Having children with Rhys. Tyson chasing Rhys with a hedge trimmer. Rhys changing a light bulb in our house. Rhys coming home from work and telling me about his day. Rhys’s face when I told him I was pregnant. Tyson chasing Rhys with a hedge trimmer. If I grew old with Rhys, I would be happy, more than happy. Rhys saw it too, I knew he did.
It wouldn’t happen though. Because I was dying. Because I was too stubborn. Because I was scared.
“Hi, mam. I’ve brought someone with me today, her name is Annie but I like to call her the little bitch. She’s a complete pain in my ass, but I love her anyways, just like you said I would one day.” Rhys spoke comfortably, sitting down on the cold ground in his cross legged pose. It wasn’t awkward at all, sitting at his mam’s grave and him telling her I was a bitch. I sat down next to him.
“Uh, hi?” I mumbled, feeling slightly stupid talking to the air. Rhys gave me a lopsided grin.
“You’ll have to excuse her shyness. She thinks I’m crazy.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You do. I saw that look you gave me!”
“What look?!”
“The one which said ‘Jesus, what a nutter.”
“I didn’t!”
“See! You are a pain in my ass!”
“But you love me anyways!”
“Mam, as you can see, she uses my words against me at every opportunity. I’m sure you’ve met her dad up there, and you’re probably plotting against us both right now as we speak, but I just wanted to bring her here.” Rhys took a turn off track, rendering me speechless as we sat in front of his mam’s grave. I felt myself smile at the thought of my dad and his mam together and making plans to knock us off track.
“Do you speak to her often?” I found myself asking, and Rhys nodded. “Do you tell her all the bad things about me?” He nodded again, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Can we go see my dad?” I blurted, and Rhys just eyed me in surprise.
“You sure? You wouldn’t get out the car half an hour ago.” He spoke sceptically, and I could see why he would. Normal people don’t go from not wanting to go in here to wanting to go to their father’s grave in under thirty minutes. Rhys was right, I wasn’t ready for it.
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“Baby you light up my world like nobody else, the way that you flick your hair gets me overwhelmed, I don’t know the rest of the words, One Direction suck, AND THAT’S WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFUL!” Miranda whined, leaning forward to snatch the bottle of Jack Daniels from the coffee table when she thought Rhys wasn’t looking.
We had come home to Miranda sprawled out on the sofa with the bottle of Jack Daniels. Rhys had got her to surrender the bottle, and she kept on attempting to take it back off him.
“You know, Annie, love’s a bitch. I was in love once, you know. He turned out to be gay. But I still love him, but he likes penis and I don’t have one. Maggie was a mistake, fuck; I don’t even know who her father is. The moral of that shite story is that love is a bitch. Completely full of lies and wrong genitals. I’m still in love, Annie. His name is lovely. I think it’s a name of an Asian company that makes bricks though.” Miranda rambled, looking at me with extremely wide eyes. I nodded sympathetically, hiding my surprise at her not knowing who Maggie’s father was.
Rhys sighed, “Come on, don’t you think it’s time for bed, Miranda?” At the mention of a bed, her eyes grew even wider and then seemed to droop. Despite the fact that it was only half two in the afternoon, Miranda headed upstairs and left me and Rhys alone. The sounds of her clomping upstairs and singing One Direction songs reached us, and Rhys was trying to hide his amusement. The whole situation was just ridiculous.
I thought over what she had said, stopping when she mentioned that she couldn’t remember who Maggie’s father was, and that she had been in love once. “Do you know who Miranda was once in love with?” I asked Rhys, watching as his mouth turned down in a grimace.
“Is in love with, she still loves him. And as much as she likes to deny it, Miranda does know who Maggie’s father is. Miranda and Tyson used to have a thing, Annie.” Rhys tightened the cap on the bottle of Jack Daniels, before putting it in the cupboard next to the television.
I gave what he had said a few seconds to sink in. Tyson and Miranda? Didn’t that mean that Tyson was indeed gay? Not that it mattered; he was always my brother no matter what happened. I still love him, no matter what. “Who’s Maggie’s father?” I bit my lip as scenarios flitted through my mind.
“You wouldn’t know him. He was Miranda’s teacher at the time, complete bastard. Wouldn’t even acknowledge the fact that Miranda was pregnant with his child. He was too busy playing happy families with his new wife.” Rhys’s face twisted with disgust.
What other secrets were the other three hiding from me? It seemed like I was completely out of the loop in our group. They all had their own little surprises, which they kept quiet. I didn’t feel angry, or distrusted. Just curious.