Picture me this

Dad held her hand tight through the whole funeral, like he was afraid she might disappear, and she supposed she could, not that dad knew that.

It hurt a bit, but he was shaking and crying so much, she thought it better not to say.

There was a lot of people there. Mum had been popular, more so than she knew or understood, Mum was always very friendly, that must’ve been it. Each person was as distraught as the last, you couldn’t tell the pretenders from the real ones.

A woman who was already half keeled over, pushed herself forward with her walking stick. She didn’t look that old, she looked like she should’ve been able to walk without help, but maybe that was the make-up. She did have an awful lot of red lipstick on. With a crumpled, tearing tissue to her nose, she blew and snorted away her tears. Amy watched in parts revulsion as she placed that infected hand on Dad’s shoulder and leaned into him, speaking lowly into his ear. She went then, back to her seat, staggering like a drunk down the aisle. Amy turned and watched as she gripped the back of the chair as she slammed down below, and all the handkerchiefs and tears seemed to vanish.

That was a nice trick, she may ask her later, how she done that.

Dad hadn’t said much since this morning. Before they left the house, he’d gotten on his hunkers in front of her, righted her dress and just held her two hands for a moment too long. Whatever he’d been prepping himself to say was lost in a blow of air, holding the remnants of a sob. He hung his head and tried to regain his composure, so she touched the top of his head and fisted a lump of his hair in her hand as a sign of gratitude. It seemed to work, he lifted the corners of his mouth just so and rose with her close to him.

Now, he walked them away from Mum, and they started down the aisle, front and centre. She found it odd, that no one looked away. It was like the two of them were magnetised. Shy eyes who never looked up, now stared.

Amy relished in the hold of Dads hand, as they were pushed into the car and driven away from the scene of the crime, it was what she imagined having paparazzi follow you was like. Only they didn’t always have a getaway car. They left mum there, surrounded by strangers who claimed to have a hold over her.

Getting home filled Amy with dread. Dad would click the door closed too quietly, drop the keys with a sad, awkward, clank and just stand there. The silence had taken Mums place in the house. It felt haunted.

“Dad, can I go to my room?”

Eyes heavy, he looked up. “Of course.” He replied, his voice cracked.

“You need to let go now.” She told him softly, and he looked down at their entwined fingers bewildered.

He let go, “Sorry.”

Amy started scampering up the steps, her shoes too loud. When she reached the top, she looked down to see him still standing there, staring at his empty hand, anywhere but around him.

“Dad.” She called out.

He pinpointed her voice. “We’ll be okay.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he bit his lip to stop them coming. Nodding his lead filled head.

Slamming the door behind her, Amy yanked out her chair and picked up her pencils. She drew every day; it was like second nature to put her pen to paper. She had to see if this would work. Why could she do all this if it wasn’t going to work?

She drew the place by the river, the one with the fallen down log, that looked like it came straight out of Winnie the Pooh, and the sun that always broke through the trees, leaving the river water twinkling as it rolled away. When she was finished, she leaned back in her chair and took a deep, heaving breath. She placed her hand on the page and prayed that she’d feel that tingling sensation she usually did, like magic was coming from her fingertips. Petrified, she waited. Waited for that feeling of colour that would draw her away. She couldn’t remember if it usually took longer than this, time felt funny all of a sudden.

As her heart rate accelerated and the nerves kicked in, she felt a tingle of power coursing through her. She kicked out her legs excited and leaned towards the page, letting all the funny parts of her seep away and through the images she’d just drawn. It felt like floating and flying all at the same time.

She was pulled through the white space, until she landed with a thump on the ground beneath her. Leaning down, she fixed her red pumps that had gone askew and started wondering down the forest path. Peering around every corner with the same nervous excitement.

The sound of trickling water led her through. They always came here, her and Mum. It was their place, and she promised it always would be. Amy was afraid as she finally stepped into the crack of light, afraid she’d been lied to, but when she looked across at the waterside, there she was, Mum.

“Mum!”

Amy dashed across the ground and threw herself into Mum’s opening arms. She landed with an oomph of air trapped between them. Amy squeezed her tight and breathed in the familiar smell of her. She smelled like home, the old home.

“Sweetheart,” her mum said against her ear. “You came.”

Mum dropped her back to her feet, and she looked up with big eyes. “Of course, I did. I promised.”

She only smiled in response and helped her onto the big tree. They didn’t do anything spectacular, they simply sat. Mum held her hand softly and looked out at the water in a blissful state of ease. Amy hadn’t felt this good in a while.

“Your Dad?” she finally asked.

Amy paused, fiddling with her dress. “He’s not good.”

Mum took a haggard breath. “I thought so.”

“He loves you a lot.”

“I know.” 

Amy squeezed her hand. “I could bring him to see you if you like.”

Mum shuffled closer and pulled her into her side. “I would like that, very much.” She smiled, before it broke. “But then your dad would never move on. He’d be the man that never left.”

“What about me?”

Mum kissed her hand, “Your stronger sweetie.”

“So, I can’t tell Dad?”

“Maybe. Just not yet, okay?”

Amy nodded even though she didn’t quite understand. Mum wanted to see Dad, and she could, but she didn’t want to ruin what they had.

She felt herself start to be pulled away. The pages could never keep her for very long, she didn’t know if it was them or her doing it. She opened her mouth to tell Mum she had to go, but she was already releasing her before she could say anything. The last thing she felt was her mum moving a tendril of hair from her face and whispering, “I love you.”

She was back in her room, thrown into the seat she’d been sitting in. She wiped the loose tears from her cheek, threw the chair back and ran down the stairs, feeling exhilarated. She wanted to tell Dad all about it, but she couldn’t.

When she found him, he was holding a picture of the three of them, he hadn’t got much further along.

“Amy?” he said, his head springing up.

She didn’t know if it was the right thing to do, but seeing him, she decided. It was her power to do what she wanted with.

“Dad?” she said, “Would you like to see Mum?”

“More than anything.” He replied, just as cracked as before.

“Then trust me.”

She held out her hand to him once more, and Dads eyes caught hers. Whatever he found was enough for him to nod and let himself be pulled away, with even the beginnings of a smile.