Anouska Knight - Letting You Go

‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ Something had happened to Jem’s voice too. Ted’s face was grave, his oil-stained hands hanging at his sides, both thumbs rubbing relentlessly against their neighbouring fingers. He was clearing his throat again, over and over, trying to ready his voice like an engine on one of his cars, it was turning over but not quite ready to fire up like it should.

Blythe murmured again, more decipherable this time, as if she were simply drunk or groggy from the dentist. ‘Hell-lo. My darl—’ Blythe stopped.

‘Oh, Mum.’ Jem whispered.

Ted still wasn’t ready, his thumb still rubbing back and forth. Alex felt that drawstring in her throat tighten again. Her mum’s eyes shone with effort. Somebody had to return her pitiful attempt; someone had to validate it. It came from nowhere, an eruption of fortitude.

‘It’s all right, Mum. Everything’s going to be all right.’ Alex smiled, forcing her facial muscles to do what her mother’s couldn’t and bluff through this new horror that had descended on them. ‘We’re going to help you get back on your feet, Mum. You’re going to be OK.’ Alex felt herself default to work mode, it was like an outer body experience. She knew this role, the gentle encouragement, the championing of small steps back to something more familiar, more bearable. For a few sweet seconds Alex was galvanised, and then she caught sight of the small glistening trace of saliva escaping from one side of her mum’s mouth. Something began crumbling inside her. Blythe didn’t need a square meal and a few shopping bags of emergency food. It wasn’t Blythe’s financial situation that was broken. It was her self.

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