His dad is not having sex with Fiona though, instead he’s behaving like some sort of jailer with him and Seb. Monitoring his every movement, making it harder to simply get in and out the house, FFS. He wonders if they’d notice if he slipped out now. He really feels a need to get away. Just out. Away from here. Away from her absence. The lack. He could go down to the embankment. It’s a really cool place to hang out and practise tricks. Although she’s sort of ruined the place now.
That is where he saw her, with him.
Six months ago. They were just walking along the street, hand in fucking hand, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. She looked comfortable, entitled. She should have been checking over her shoulder, nervous about who might see them. It was so arrogant not to be jumpy, cautious.
She looked really beautiful. It was a weird thing to think about your mum and not something he did think generally. His mates sometimes said his mum was fit. When they were younger, she had been identified as a MILF, it was just something that was said when they were playing video games in the safety of their own bedrooms. The confession spilling out amongst all the cussing and trash talk that was routine whilst shooting up Russian mercenaries. Oli hadn’t liked it and told everyone to ‘fucking shut up’ which they had. Sebastian is still young enough to say his mum looked pretty and he sometimes wants to take a photo of them all when they are heading out somewhere, but Oli outgrew that mum/son adoration thing a while back. So it surprised him that he couldn’t help but notice she was glowing, shimmering. He honestly didn’t recognise her at first, she looked like someone else. Besides, she was supposed to be at work in Scotland.
Then they fucking kissed, in the street. Totally gross. The man was nothing like his dad. He was younger, taller, blonder. He was wearing a suit. Oli had never seen his father in a suit, other than on his wedding day which Oli could barely remember but there were photos all around the house.
His mother was having an affair.
He isn’t an idiot. Loads of his friends’ parents are divorced. Usually their dads started banging someone else, usually younger and usually someone they met at work. That was the pattern. He didn’t know of any mums who had affairs, though. It was so weird. What was wrong with his dad? How dare she? He had followed them. It was nuts but what else could he do. He didn’t want to look at them, but he couldn’t take his eyes off them either. They walked for ages. It was a hot day. The bloke took his suit jacket off, threw it over his shoulder. Oli scooted along on his board, sweat pooling at the base of his back. Following someone isn’t as easy as they make out in the movies. He kept his distance, but he was scared he’d lose sight of them. Unlikely though, as the man was a fucking giant. He was sure his mum was just going to turn around and spot him, but she didn’t. She was too absorbed in the giant. It made him fucking sick.
They went back to this really flash apartment block. He couldn’t work out if it was a hotel or what. It looked like apartments but there was a bloke at the reception desk. What was that about? They went inside. Through the huge glass wall, Oli watched his mum chat to the receptionist. They were all friendly, not in a rush. She should have been ashamed, she should have been skulking. Hoping not to be spotted. But she was so relaxed.
He waited for ages for her to come out. She didn’t. He’d have waited all night but the bloke on the reception desk came out and asked what he was hanging around for. ‘Get along home, or I’ll call the police.’
‘What have I done wrong?’ Oli yelled back. Fucking loser. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but he moved along anyway. He had a feeling his mother wasn’t going to come out of the apartment block any time soon.
Oli didn’t know what to do with the information. He got up every day and wondered, is this the day she tells Dad and leaves us? He didn’t want it to be. Yet he did. It made him nervous, angry. He watched her to see if there were any signs that she was more or less happy than usual. There were none. She was just the same as ever. Just as reliable. Just as interested in his friends, school and football, just as uninterested in his Insta, his obsession with trainers. She didn’t change and that should have reassured him, but it didn’t, it worried him. He started to wish she would act differently, say something. Rowing or crying or something, maybe even leaving, would be better because her not changing meant this was her norm, and he began to wonder just how long it had been going on?
He couldn’t look at her in the same way. He hated being alone with her. He backed off and that was desperate because it just made her try harder with him. She cooked his favourite meals, turned up to every match every weekend, she was constantly asking, ‘You OK, Oli? Anything worrying you?’ What was he supposed to say to that? He felt embarrassed that he knew this weirdly intimate thing about her. It made him feel mad, alone, cheated and he didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He started calling her Leigh. He didn’t want her to be his mother anymore. She had poisoned his home. His life.
She was so smug. Going about her life as usual. Tricking them all into thinking she was a nice person.
