“Don’t tell me to do this. Stop blaming me!” His whole body now rocking back and forth. He liked this rocking; memories of rocking his darling baby daughter to sleep were brought to life and made him feel safe. But of course Emily was gone now. And so was Daniel. And so was Mary. His life had seemingly walked out on him some time ago. Although, time didn’t seem to fit with his agenda, and so had no sense of it whatsoever. Returning from work all he found was a note, in Mary’s hand writing. It read:
Michael,
You’re dangerous at the moment. Keep your faith in God. It’s good you have someone to talk to.
I must take Emily and Daniel, they don’t deserve this.
I hope you understand.
I’ll call soon to arrange when you can see the children.
You know this has been coming for a long time.
Mary.
She never did call.
He stopped rocking and, listening intently to the other voice, but it was drowned out by the 8:50 direct to Manchester, speeding past. He liked the sound of trains and the sound of the woman’s voice as she read out the train times in a soothing monotone voice, and the smell of the coffee and cigarettes of the well-to-do city workers waiting on the platform. He liked the feel of the breeze as the trains slowed, stopped or carried on. It’s the little things that make us what we are. He breathed in steadily through his nose taking in the smells, and once again focused on the second voice. The second voice was Jacob.
“You can’t go on blaming other people for what you’ve done Michael. No one is to blame but you. Over and over, Michael, let’s not forget last time.”
“You’ve got into my head; you’ve manipulated how I think. It’s not my fault. It’s you Jacob, it’s you!” The pitch of Michael’s voice became higher, and more frantic. His face had become an unattractive shade of scarlet; his hands were still by his side, but clenched into a tight fist and shaking, the Tesco bag rustling. “It’s not me, it’s you, it’s you… I know it’s you. It is. It is…” He kept reassuring himself that Jacob was to blame; that he couldn’t have controlled what had happened. He tried to overcome the guilt he felt.
The original voice in the conversation spoke once again.
“You can’t stay here, you’re in trouble now. Walk away, don’t fall into this trap.” The voice trailed off towards the end as Michael was losing hope.
He slowly crouched down, into a squatting position, his head buried in his knees and arms wrapped tightly around his legs. Tears streaming from his eyes, this is how he spent so many hours of his childhood, wishing and hoping and praying for his mother to come back, a train had taken her away as well, but he was sure she’d come back. That hope still prevailed, but of course in vain.
He’d annoyed her that day, and sitting on the bridge over the railway, watching his mother seemingly dancing clumsily over the tracks, he knew she was waiting for something, the train came and she went with it. What she’d wanted had come, she’d got away from Michael; he hated himself for it. His father didn’t seem to notice, his father made mistakes and Michael knew that, but he disguised his mistakes in goodbyes, as he left each morning for work, not returning until very late, and hours after Michael had cried himself to sleep.
Of course nothing was his fault, it was Jacob. It was Jacob who’d pushed his family away as well. And it was Jacob that made Michael tumble backwards into the train. And it was Jacob who left Michael’s head, in mid air, as last thoughts of guilt and regret, yet also utter bliss, went round in his mind. He’d found the same escape as his mother. And it worked.
Lorna Shuttleworth-Greville. 10FP.