“I’m just popping down the outdoor” Guy called out brusquely to his wife as he left their grimy bedsit.As if she would even care that he was going to buy more whisky he thought. His mother hadn’t cared either had she.”Your teas in the oven she used to drawl, as she slipped into a coma on the sofa, bottle in hand. Off to get his snap he would know it would be burnt offerings, even for a six year old. As usual.
The counsellor said none of it was his fault. Any of it. As he had looked blankly at the empty chair in the counsellors room his anger rose like a ship on the swell of a wave. Who would have thought that yelling at his imaginary drunken mother as suggested would help him. He saw her drunken haggard fizzog and her slumped bony frame in the chair as he tried to raise his voice. He remembered the embarrassment as a mere mouses squeak emerged.
Getting into the car, his eyesight was blurred as he drove along the dual carriageway towards the off licence. His jaundiced eyes looked back at him as he looked in the rear view mirror and his nicotine stained fingers clutched the wheel loosely.
He was powerless to perform an emergency stop as the child suddenly hit the windscreen, its face now unblinking through it, with a crimson halo.
A few moments ago, on the road bridge above a mother had lifted her toddler son into her arms, calmy stepped up onto the ledge of the barrier, opened her arms wide and taught him how to fly.