Page 31 of Connie
“Steak and kidney pie, mash and veggies, then bread and butter pudding.”
And with that she pulls me out of my room and out of the house so we can go shopping. She gives Dad strict instructions not to leave the living room and to my surprise when we get back he has done as he was told.
“You have no idea how badly I want to bend you over that island,” I say from my position on the window seat watching Connie cook dinner. “I never realised cooking was so sexy.” Is it weird that the sight of her being all domesticated in my kitchen turns me on so much? The thought of her being here, doing this kind of stuff everyday gets my pulse racing.
“Shut up you muppet, I’m covered in flour and meat juices!” she says back but the look she gives me over her shoulder lets me know that she wouldn’t argue if I was to start something.
“Fuck sake, why’s my dad got to be in the next room,” I groan as I watch her bend over to put the pie in the oven. Fuck, that arse!
“Come and butter this bread, make yourself useful.”
“Fine,” I grumble.
Dinner was amazing, as it always is when Connie cooks.
“Thank you, baby, that was incredible,” I comment after we both watch dad leave the room. The relief I felt when we went to tell him dinner was ready and he responded with “thank you, son,” was extreme. I’d take the piss taking about me getting a girl to come home with me at last any day over the alternative that is more and more common these days. He was enthralled by Connie and her culinary skills. It made me so happy to see him genuinely happy.
“Let’s go upstairs, we still need to talk,” I say going to get up and grab the plates.
“No.”
“No?”
“If we go upstairs you know as well as I do that talking will be the last thing we’ll be doing.”
I huff out a breath, “I guess.”
She just raises an eyebrow at me and laughs. Fuck, I’ve missed that laugh. Who am I kidding, I’ve missed everything about her.
“Is that you and your mum in that picture?” Connie asks pointing at a picture frame on the mantle piece.
“No,” I respond sadly, “that’s Mum and William.”
“William? Your dad said that name a couple of times earlier.”
“He was my little brother.”
“Oh,” is all she says. I feel bad that I’ve never told her any of this but I guess my time has come.
“I was three when Mum was pregnant, I only remember bits of it. Her pregnancy was awful apparently. She was in and out of hospital, on bed rest all that kind of stuff. They had no idea there was anything wrong with the baby but it soon became clear when he was delivered really early, something tells me thirty weeks, but I could be wrong. He only lasted a couple of weeks. It was the beginning of everything going wrong for my family.” I feel her reach out and grab my hand from under the table so she can give me some support.
“I remember Mum and Dad being really sad, crying a lot. There were more trips to the hospital and then Mum got ill. I didn’t understand at the time how bad but while she was pregnant they discovered a tumour. She refused any treatment because she didn’t want it harming the baby, not that it really mattered in the long run because of the rare genetic disorder he was born with. After his death she had treatment but I think she’d given up. Dad told me she had awful depression after losing William and he thinks she just gave up. She was gone by the end of the same year.
“It broke my dad. Not only had he lost his little boy but his wife gave up on him, and me. He was left to deal with everything, he had to work, look after the house and me. Money was tight, Mum didn’t have life insurance or anything so there wasn’t a pot to keep us going. Dad had to drop hours so he could be about to look after me, it was awful.”
I reach up to wipe a tear from Connie’s cheek.
“I’m sorry. How did we not know this, you’ve been like family for as long as I can remember, how did my parents not know?”
“We both hid it. Dad is just as proud as I am and refused to ask anyone for help, so instead we stuck together and did what we could. Well that was until he started falling apart. It started with depression when I was a teenager, I think it all eventually got too much. I told him we should sell the house, get somewhere smaller but he refused. This house has been in our family for years and it was where he lived with my mum, he couldn’t bear to leave. I couldn’t drag him away from the place that held so many memories for him so I’ve done everything I can to keep the roof over our head.”
“Fuck, Fin.”
“He’s been slowly getting worse over the last ten years but it’s only the last year or so that it’s got really bad.”
“Let me help, Fin, please. Let us all help you,” she begs.
Chapter 8
