Rag Doll Ch. 07 - Ricky's Family 02

And so the week went; days playing and having fun in town, evenings burning up the clubs, and long nights of making love to my girl; it was truly the best time of my life; I finally learned how to dance properly, Yaz and I learned what turned us on most about each other, we learned our likes and dislikes, our limits and boundaries, how we liked to make love, and we grew ever closer; that week is really what made us the couple we are today; even today, after all the intervening years, with life and work and children to occupy us, 'going to Brighton' is Yaz and my code for a little afternoon delight away from the kids and the business.

*****

Back home after our break, everything soon swung back into 'normal' mode; Shari had never looked so relaxed; she'd spent the week doing a large amount of nothing except sleeping late, having long, leisurely breakfasts with mum, avoiding the office completely, and never once stepping out of the house; she was in Heaven, it had been so long since she'd had a break, and we could see it had done her a world of good. Yaz and I tried our damnedest to be 'big brother-little sister', and I thought we disguised ourselves pretty well, although in hindsight, I remember mum giving us a couple of strange, almost knowing looks now and again; at the time I ignored it, now, well, you'll see.

Mum had decided that I needed to learn more of the practical side of the business. The financial and contract side was under control, Yaz had a good handle on that, and the property acquisition and negotiating side was Shari's baby; they were both naturals at what they did, of course they were, mum was a financial whizz-kid and, before my bastard father came on the scene, had been a top-flight property developer, of course her daughters were going to be like her. Neither of those appealed to me, though; that kind of brain-work is usually done by someone who knows and likes what they're doing, and I didn't. I was eager to learn something more practical, so mum persuaded one of her favourite contractors to take me under his wing and show me the tricks of the trade.

For almost a year I learned about basic building inspections and planning applications, how to talk to borough surveyors and planning departments, and what to look for when inspecting a building, basic estimating tools and techniques, and the basics of plastering, joinery, and first-fix electrical.

I discovered I was pretty good with my hands, and quick to pick up the tips and techniques that separate the professionals from the bumbling amateurs; I got to the point where I could get materials estimates pretty much spot-on, safely operate most power tools, accurately manage setting-out procedures, and be left unsupervised to plaster, sheet-rock, or patch a wall, repair and replace baseboards and door architraves, level and caulk floorboards, cut in locksets and door furniture, and estimate and run the cables and conduits from a drawing for the electricians to come in and start connecting.

Also, the girls and mum had decided I needed to learn how to drive, so I did; after ten lessons, and acing the written test, I took my driving test, and passed first time, which meant I was now chauffeur whenever the girls or mum wanted to go shopping; I didn't mind, the family's big Shogun 4X4 put me up higher than the surrounding traffic, and the 4-wheel drive on wet days or out on muddy building sites was a Godsend, plus there was more room than any two minivans. I loved that car, that's why Yaz and I still have it, and drive it every day.

I used to wonder in idle moments, if I'd ever really given it some serious thought, why Nicky had wanted so much to be a motor mechanic, now I knew; it made me think about what I could have been, what I could have done if dad had given me the tools to go out and learn a proper trade, instead of shutting the world away from Bobby and me. I realised just how much harm he'd done the pair of us, and it hurt deep down inside to realise I could have been someone, I could have made something of myself if not for him; the irony that the woman he'd brutalised so savagely had been the one to make something of me wasn't lost on me, either, but it was a harsh and stabbing irony.

Underlying all this was the knowledge that I would have to go back one day and face Bobby, and somehow make him realise that there was a better life than the prison he'd locked himself into, that all he had to do was let us in and it would be over for him. I broached the subject with Shari, because I really didn't know how to do it. She and Yaz already knew I'd lifted Bobby's money to make the journey to London, and I was feeling guilty about what I'd done. Shari's solution was that we go there, give him back what I'd stolen, and try to convince him to join us.

I thought that would be a really bad idea; I strongly doubted he'd welcome our intrusion, which is how he'd see it, and, to be honest, it would probably make a bad situation worse, he was so warped by dad, and so angered by everything we'd been through since dad's arrest I just knew he'd blame them, and maybe even try and take it out on them.

I couldn't risk it, not yet. It might be dangerous for the girls, Bobby was so unpredictable, his angers and hatred so deep-seated, it might be dangerous for the girls to expose them to him just yet; to my way of thinking, it was best to let the bear alone until we were ready to go prod it; besides, Bobby was still so sunk in his misery and anger, if we showed up out of the blue, he'd probably see it an intrusion and a threat, and I had no way of knowing how he'd react, but I could guess, and it wouldn't be good.

I had no way to give him a heads-up anyway; Bobby had no phones, he didn't read the mail, ever, it was always only ever bills he had no way to pay, and I didn't think the time was now, not while I was still learning how family worked; how could I help him, when I didn't know how to help myself, yet? He needed time, we both needed time to grow up a little, and I needed to work out how to find a way back to him.

Whatever we decided though, one day Shari and I, his big sister and me, maybe his only surviving brother, would have to bite the bullet and go to him, and somehow try to get through to him, Shari to talk to him, and me to protect her if he kicked-off, and together convince him to put down his hate and anger and come home with us so our family could be together the way it should be. I needed to apologise to him for taking away his safety-net, I felt that most acutely; small as it was, it was all he had, and I still felt guilty about absconding with it, something the girls understood but still thought I was wrong to do, but needs must.

*****

As time wore on, I began to notice that mum seemed to be having migraines more and more often; she'd been plagued by them all her life, according to Shari, but now they were so severe that some days all she could do was stay in a darkened room and leave the everyday work to Shari, Yaz, and me. Nothing seemed to alleviate her pain, and we took to dropping in at home in relays throughout the day to make sure she was OK, refresh her ice-packs, and sit with her until the worst of it had passed. One afternoon, I thought it was my turn to look in on her, but when I got home, Shari and Yaz were already with her, and a man in a sober suit with a serious-looking briefcase was shuffling through piles of paperwork. I thought nothing of it; mum's legal people were in and out all the time, but something was different, although I couldn't put my finger on what, but I popped my head in, nodded to Shari, and headed back to the job site.

When I got home that evening, he was still there, plus another man, which was odd, and the girls looked haggard and dragged-out, but they came out and helped me put dinner on, so I thought nothing more of it. Mum, however, seemed even more listless; the migraines were taking more and more out of her, they came on more often, and were lasting longer, and even though none of us mentioned it, we were all beginning to get seriously worried about her.

The day mum pulled me aside and asked me to stay home, she needed to talk to me over lunch, it worried the hell out of me; whenever mum had anything to say, she did it with all of us present, pulling me aside like that told me something was bothering her, and she didn't want the girls to know, which meant it was serious. We had a leisurely lunch, then, with almost no preamble, she started.

"Ricky, I'm not going to intrude into your privacy, and I know there are things you don't want to share, I understand why, but there's one thing I want to ask you; if something happens to me, will you promise you'll be there for Yasmin? Shari's tough where it counts, and she'll be there for you, both of you, but I need you to swear you won't hurt my Yasmin, she depends on you for so much, please don't let her down. Will you promise me that you'll care for and protect and love your sisters, but most especially Yasmin? She has a...special attachment to you, even I can see that, so please, just be careful with her, and take good care of her for me, will you promise me that?"

I was dumbfounded; was she telling me she knew about us? Of course I was going to look after my sisters, on the remote chance anything happened to her, and I told her so.

"Mum, I love my sisters, I would never let anything harm them, you know that! Yaz is my little sister, but she's my best friend too, I think the world of her, and Shari too, and I know this is all academic, but, just in case anything happens to you, I promise you, whatever happens, I will protect and love my sisters the best way I can, and yes, I'll be especially careful with Yasmin, but I know nothing is going to happen to you, so this is all academic, you're our mum and you're not going anywhere!"

If only I'd known I was whistling past the graveyard...

The end, when it came, was as shocking as it was unexpected. Yaz and I had decided to head back home for lunch, pick up some drawings, and spend some time with mum, but when we got home the house was fairly buzzing with silence; as usual, we looked in on mum's office to see if she was lying down on the divan in there, nothing, so Yaz went to look in the sitting room while I started up the stairs. The sound of Yaz screaming brought me tearing back downstairs, to find her kneeling by the couch, holding mum's hand, and patting her face as she cried. Mum was lying as if she'd decided to take a nap, her head resting on a cushion, and her eyes were open, but dull, filmed-over, unfocused and lifeless, two dull marbles in the immobile blankness of her face. My heart leaped in terror, all I could think of was getting her up, holding her up so we could hug her, wake her up, warm her up, something, anything, but she was a dead weight in my arms, she wasn't breathing, and try as I might, I couldn't find a heartbeat.

I panicked; this was mum, she was going to be OK, she was just deeply asleep, I could wake her up, please, wake up mum, please, please, please wake up but no matter how I rubbed her hands or patted her cheek or held her close or called to her nothing was happening and I didn't know what to do. Yaz was having hysterics, kissing her and calling her, and I didn't know what to do, I didn't know, all I could think of was if I called her enough times she'd hear me and wake up and we'd all be fine again.

But she didn't wake up, and her hands were cold, and Yaz was clawing at me, begging me to wake mum up.

"Ricky, do something, help her, Ricky, wake her up, please Ricky, wake her up...!" she gabbled endlessly, and I couldn't, I tried but I couldn't wake her up, and my heart was sick with fear but I couldn't rouse her and I didn't know what else to do...

I grabbed Yasmin's arms and held her still long enough to speak to her through my fear and anguish.

"Call Shari, get her here now, please Yaz, get hold of her, I don't know what to do, help me..." I blubbered, past all real thought, with only fear, huge and unmanageable, left inside me for my mum.

Somehow, after fumbling and dropping her phone a half-dozen times, Yaz managed to call Shari, but then she broke down, and all I could do was shout down the phone at her to come home now, mum needed her, please hurry, please...

Shari arrived at a dead run, she threw herself on mum and kissed her cheek, rubbed her hands, called her endlessly, the desperate, raw panic adding an edge to her voice, while we waited for the ambulance, but to no avail. When the paramedics arrived, they quickly took stock of the situation, but all their equipment failed to register anything, no heartbeat, no pulse, no brain activity, nothing. When the lead paramedic called it, and told Shari that they'd agreed the time of death as almost three hours earlier, not long after we'd all left for work, in fact, her scream of anguish nearly deafened me, while Yaz collapsed sobbing into my arms. I was trembling with reaction and loss and in no better shape than Yaz, but I had to be strong for her, Shari was an island of grief, isolated and tense, as they carefully wrapped mum and put her into the ambulance, then she climbed into the ambulance to go with mum to the hospital.

The paramedics were professional but kind and sympathetic with it, leaving the paperwork with Yaz and me, and an apology that, because mum hadn't been under the care of a doctor when she passed, they would have to report her passing as an unexplained death, which meant there would have to be a post-mortem, when we arrived at the hospital the bereavement aftercare team would walk us through what came next, and liaise with the people who would help us through this.

I was only half-paying attention; all I knew was that mum had died alone, that she'd been alone when she'd needed us most, that there was no-one with her to hold her in her last moments, and the guilt was rampaging and shrieking huge and terrifying inside me; she'd died alone, if I'd been with her, maybe I could have got her some help, and that was the thing that hurt most deeply; that maybe I could have done something if only I'd been there for her, but now I'd never know. They'd taken mum away, my mum had only just become my mum and she'd been taken from me, from us, she was dead, and what did we do now, she was our everything, what happened to our family now?

*****

I called a cab and Yaz and I made our way to the hospital. Shari was waiting for us, they'd taken mum away and started the process for getting the post-mortem underway, not something any of us wanted to consider, but the bereavement counsellors sat us down and told us what came next. I was barely paying attention, and Yaz was completely out of it, while Shari sat, completely expressionless while the people talked at us, but what they said was just background noise and made no sense to me; I'd never been in this situation before and I was in pieces, as was Yaz, and I only vaguely remember them calling us a cab and arriving home.

Once we got back indoors, Shari's control evaporated and she began crying hysterically, Yaz was in no better state, and I didn't know what to do to try and soften the edge of this nightmare, all I could do was hold my sisters and cry with them and want my mum back.

We passed the rest of the day in numb silence; I didn't know what to say, and both Yaz and Shari seemed lost in their own world, they drank whatever I put in front of them, ate mechanically, looked at me with blank, unseeing eyes, and just drifted through the rest of the day silent, noiseless, not making even the merest sound to break the ringing silence. I had never felt so alone; the two people I loved most in the world had retreated into a shell and I wasn't allowed in, I was grief-stricken with no-one to share it with, and I really thought I would go mad with the loss I felt and no-one to help me through it.

By the time it got dark they still hadn't moved or made a sound, just stared unseeing, so I led both girls to their rooms, sat them down on their beds, pulled off their shoes and made them lie down and covered them, still fully dressed, with their coverlets, tiptoed down to my room, and cried myself to sleep.

*****

Waking that first morning was the worst thing I'd ever experienced; for the first few seconds I was at peace, then memory came flooding in, and with memory came pain, and loss, and deep, crushing sadness; our lives had changed forever, she was gone, and what happened to us now? The house was still silent, sombre, and there was no sign of Shari or Yaz, so I wandered around aimlessly, at a complete looses end. Eventually, I found myself staring at the couch in the sitting room, at the place mum had passed away, the seat cushions and throw cushions still in disarray where first the three of us and then the paramedics had tried to revive mum. I began straightening them up, when Shari spoke behind me.

"What the hell are you doing? How dare you, how fucking dare you!!?"

I spun around and she was standing there, her face a mask of fury.

"You don't touch anything in this house, you got it? My mother's dead because of your bastard piece of shit father, your whole fucking family killed her, you piece of shit, and you have the sheer fucking effrontery to go touching ...? Get out! Get the fuck out of my house, Mummy would still be here but for your fucking father, and now you go touching her stuff? I never wanted you here, mummy took pity on you, you pathetic fucking nobody, she took you in like a stray dog and now she's dead and you're still here, so get out!"

Her eyes were blazing with hate, that bullet hardness I'd seen only once before, also directed at me, and I knew then without a shadow of a doubt that she'd never really forgiven me for anything, that I was nothing to her except something to blame and hate.

"We gave you a home and all the time we were harbouring a fucking snake, I was right all along, I knew this would happen, you're a piece of shit like your piece of shit father, you wormed your way in here and made us trust you, and now she's gone and it's all because of your dogshit family. Get out, now! You came here with nothing, that's how you leave, get the fuck out, go die somewhere far away, I hope you do, your family did this to us! You heard me, you don't belong here, get the fuck out of my house!"

I was rocked back by the blast of hate coming from her, and the venom in her voice, and horrified at what she was saying; that this was what she really thought of me, what she'd always thought of me. Tears pricked my eyes as I turned to run downstairs to my room (although according to her it wasn't 'my' room, it was just a kennel they'd kept a stray dog in) and get my jacket, she wanted me out, it was her house, I had no choice, I had to leave.

She was waiting for me at the top of the stairs, her face twisted with hate.

"Don't you ever, ever show your face here again, you understand?" she gritted, "This is not your home, and you're not part of this family, your family are killers and fucking losers, so Get. The. Fuck. Out! Now!"

She stalked over to the front door and yanked it open, pointing outside.

"Get out!"

I was almost out the door when I heard Yaz scream.

"Ricky, no! Where are you going, no, come back here, don't leave!"

I turned to her and shook my head, trying to say everything I was feeling, but I didn't need to, because suddenly she was hugging me, holding me around the waist and pulling me, dragging me, away from the open door.

"No, you can't go, we need you, I need you, please Ricky, don't listen to her, stay here, stay with me, please!"

"I have to, Yaz, this is not my home, and I have to leave!" I choked out, and Yaz turned her tear-stained face up at me, crying and babbling at the same time.

"You can't go, don't listen to her, this is your home, we are your family, you're one of us, and we need you; mummy loved you, she wanted you, she loved you too, you're my brother, this is your home, this is your family, please don't go, please don't leave me!"