Body of Water by Stuart Wakefield Read Free Book Online

that. I'd have more birthdays but she, she was gone, and the slow decay of my heart began.
    I stayed with her for another ten minutes, stroking her hand and witnessing her passing, before going to rouse Dad. But once I'd left her room I couldn't go back; she had been my mum before, now she was a body.
    I went to my room when the doctor and funeral directors arrived, not wanting to remember anything but the peaceful look on her face. After so many days of seeing her face twisted in agony, she had seemed peaceful at last. I had no desire to see her body in a bag on a trolley, being manoeuvred downstairs and loaded into a vehicle by men she'd never known.
    As they drove away, Dad knocked on my door and stepped in. He had changed from his robe into a shirt and jeans but the shirt was inside out and he was struggling with the buttons. His hands shook so much that I doubted he'd have been able to do them up anyway.
    "She's gone," he mumbled.
    I helped him put his shirt on properly. A private man, I rarely saw him undressed but now, even in the low lamplight in the room, my breath caught when I saw how much weight he'd lost. His gaunt face was nothing compared to the painful angles of his ribs and shoulder blades. He'd been working his usual long hours and sitting up with Mum most nights. I wondered how he'd done that before remembering that I'd laid awake night after night myself.
    "She's gone," he repeated.
    A cold sweat varnished my skin, and I sat down on my bed, suddenly unsteady. I could only nod.
    "I'm going to go." his voice cracked. "Take care of the paperwork. Do you want to come?"
    I shook my head.
    "For me?"
    I looked up at him. His hands fluttered at his sides like moths caught in a web. I rarely saw him without Mum; he was either at work, unseen, or at home with us both. A single tear spilled down his right cheek, his eyes wet with desperation. I stood and crossed to him, wrapping my arms around him as he buried his face in my neck.
    "Oh God, son. What are we going to do without her?"

CHAPTER EIGHT
Transition
    Life after Mum's death became unrecognisable. Dad threw himself into work, rarely home in the daylight hours. I drifted, un-tethered from the real world. My plans for university shelved, I spent my days at home, feeling closer to Mum there and adopting her routine. If I couldn't have her here then I would remake myself as her, keeping her little rituals alive. But instead of time fulfilling its healing promise, it served only to illustrate how she had been the glue that kept our little family together. Kept me together. I knew that Dad loved me but he understood so little of what made me tick. Mum knew what I was thinking before I knew it myself.
    "Maybe you'd like to come with me to the office?" Dad said one rare morning when I'd got up before him.
    "What is it, Bring Your Child To Work day?" I sounded colder than I intended but I had tired of trying to tease a conversation out of him. Now that he'd tried I should have felt grateful but I only felt irritated. "It's okay; work is your therapy, not mine."
    Dad looked down at the breakfast table, folding his cereal with his spoon. "It helps keep my mind off things."
    "No." I stood up. "It helps keep your mind on other things."
    Dad dropped his spoon into the bowl, and frowned. "Why are you so mad at me?"
    "I could ask the same thing." I turned away and placed my hands flat out on the counter top.
    "What are you talking about?" Dad sighed. "I love you."
    "As much as Mum?"
    I heard him stand and then the dull ring as he placed his bowl down beside me. He hugged me and kissed my forehead. It was an exact imitation of the way Mum kissed me when I was upset. "No one loves like she loved."
    "That's what I'm worried about."
    Saying nothing more, Dad gathered his things and left.
    I tossed the bowls into the dishwasher and took in a deep breath before letting it out in a long sigh. I'd almost achieved what I'd wanted - a family and boyfriend of my own. Just as I thought I