Panic fills my every cell.
“Mom,” I cry. “Don’t go, I’m here. I’ll fix the pipes, I’ll visit more, I promise.”
I jump awake with a start; my heart is beating fast and hard and I pant as I try to control my breathing.
I look around my bedroom, it’s dark and still.
Normal.
As if my whole world hasn’t just ended.
I stare at the ceiling, as if I don’t have enough to deal with without having fucking nightmares.
There are a lot of feelings rushing through me, sadness, despair, hopelessness…but the overwhelming one is guilt.
I never truly forgave my mother for lying to me as I grew up. For the last few years, I avoided seeing her, visiting only occasionally.
And now that I’ve finally worked it out, it’s too late.
She’s gone.
I drag myself out of bed and go to the bathroom, I get a glass of water from the kitchen and drink it at the sink. My skin is wet with perspiration, I’ve never felt so unhinged. I’m like a time bomb waiting to explode.
Alone.
I stare into space as I imagine what I would say to my father if I saw him now. If I could just have the chance…, what would I say? I see his face and without a doubt, I know what I would do.
I’d kill him.
Without a single regret, I would kill him. I’ve never hated someone so much in my entire life.
My mother was too good for him…too good for me.
I get a lump in my throat, if only I could turn back time.
I’m sorry, Mom, I failed you.
* * *
It’s Wednesday and I pull my car to park curbside, I turn off the ignition as the traffic whirls by. I look across the road at the apartment block and up to the top floor, her apartment.
The afternoon sun shines through my windscreen and I don’t know why I’m here, or what I’m going to say, but I need to see her.
Francesca.
The woman who so kindly offered support and friendship to me at the funeral.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
And I know that if I were a better man I would, but it’s already established that I’m not.
Tap, tap, sounds on the window and I glance up, startled. “Everything okay, boss?” Antonio asks.
“Yes.” I run my hand through my hair in frustration. Fuck off and mind your own business. “Is she home?”
“Who?” Antonio’s face falls. “Francesca?”
“Who else would I be talking about?” I snap.
“She’s about to go out.” He looks across the street at the apartments. “We’re waiting for her to come down now.”
“Where is she going?” I ask.
“Shopping with her mother, I believe.”
“Right.” I roll my lips, annoyed.
Antonio looks at me for a beat longer than needed and I raise an eyebrow.
“Shall I get her?” he offers.
“No. Nothing important.”
The front doors of the building open and Francesca walks out, she’s wearing a tight, fitted, cream knitted dress and sky-high stilettos, her long dark hair is swept up into a high ponytail. I can see her big red lips and chiseled cheekbones from here, impeccable posture, innately feminine, Italian to the bone.
Perfect in every way.
“Will that be all, sir?” Antonio asks interrupting my thoughts.
“Yes, I’ll call her later,” I reply as my eyes stay glued to her.
“I’ve got to go.” Antonio runs across the street and opens the back door of her car.
She’s talking to the doorman, he and she laugh out loud and I stare over at her in awe.
In slow motion, I watch her walk out, she says something to Antonio as she gets into the car and he smiles and says something back.
He closes the door behind her and I watch as their car pulls out into the traffic and drives away.
I lean my head back onto the headrest and exhale heavily.
She’s gone.
Francesca
“Good lord, these are delicious.” My mother holds her glass up to inspect it.
“I know.” I sip the last of my margarita and smile. “How is it, though, that every time we go shopping together, we end up at this restaurant drinking cocktails?”
“This is how you do it, darling.” She holds her glass up in a silent salute and I giggle.
My phone rings, it’s Anna. “I’m just going to take this.”
“Hi,” I answer.
“Oh. My. God.” She splutters excitedly, “Can you talk?”
“Yes, I’m just having dinner with my mother.”
“Can she hear me?”
My eyes rise to see if Mom’s listening, “Possibly.”
“Go for a walk.”
“But….”
“Trust me, go for a fucking walk,” she cuts me off.
Weird.
I fake a smile. “Just going to go to the bathroom, Mom.”
She nods, preoccupied with her drink.
With my phone to my ear, I weave through the tables and go to the corridor for the bathroom. “What?” I whisper.
“So, I found some porn on Frank’s computer.”
I frown, I wasn’t expecting this. “Okay.”
“He’d downloaded it from a website called Pornhub.”
“And?”
“I logged in through his computer to see if he had an account.”