Summer holidays

“No way! I hate her! Why do you always make me go there?!” shouted Patrick, landing his fork on the table with a loud bang and leaving a greasy stain of white sauce on the polished surface.

“Don`t even get me started, young man,” his mother lifted her index finger with that warning look on her face that Patrick knew all too well. “You will stay at Debbie`s and then we all will go to Spain.”

Patrick was furious. His mother just ruined his whole day by announcing that he was going to spend the whole month of July at his aunt Debbie`s place in a western county. The only reason being his mom didn`t want him to wander around unattended while his father and her were at work till late.

“But I`m thirteen! I can look after myself alright and if something goes wrong I can always run down to the Murphy’s. Mom, please, it`s not a big deal, please! Nothing ever happens to me, so why would anything happen now?!”

His mother shook her head, “It`s decided. Now would you please clean up after you finish your lasagna?”

Patrick slammed the door behind him. His aunt`s place was so excruciatingly dull that he never knew what to do there. The local boys loved fishing but he found himself pretty indifferent to that kind of sport. Debbie did not even have a dog, not even an old, blind, bald fleabag so he had absolutely nothing to do all day. When he was smaller, he used to fly kites with his father at the beach. Hot sand filled his tennis shoes and he stumbled on the uneven pebbles trying to run faster than his kite. His mother used to bring a basket with some light snacks and having set everything up she would go into water barefoot. She was watching Patrick through her cheap plastic sunglasses letting the waves caress her feet, laughing openly and loudly tilting her head back and letting long ginger curls loose. Patrick was proud of his colourful kite flying high in the sky floating on the sunbeams and teasing the sun with its glistening red fabric. “Look, mommy, I`m gonna fly, too!” His happiness made his heart hammer in his chest wanting to burst out like Christmas fireworks. Hot summer air smelling of salty seaweed filled his expanding lungs burning them gently and leaving the ocean smell in his light fluffy hair.

“Patrick, come here, you forgot your sunscreen! Do you want to burn your nose?” the echo of his mother`s voice lingered in his ears. But his parents had no time for this anymore. They were too busy at work, so no more kites shot into the endless blue sky stretched lazily above the turquoise waves rolling onto the beach. And without his parents it wasn`t fun at all.

Debbie lived outside a coastal town in a detached house of her own. There were no other houses for a few miles around. Patrick helplessly kicked the foot rest and pressed his forehead against the dusty bus window. He had to spend another two hours watching green fields and hedges running along the road blurring altogether in a never-ending carousel of green dotted with white spots of sheep herds. Why couldn`t his mother trust him enough? Why was he considered a grown up when it came to studying and cleaning but immediately demoted to a child when he asked to stay on his own in the house? How did his parents manage to have it both ways with him confusing Patrick more and more? He found it increasingly difficult to meet their ever-changing and contradicting demands. If that was what the adult life was about, he didn’t want it. No, sir, the party wishes to politely decline the generous offer.

Patrick reached for his phone. Debbie discouraged constant use of electronic gadgets in her house believing that children should spend their summer holidays outside away from the corrupting influence of the Internet. It was his last chance to have things exactly the way he wanted them. The last two hours of freedom, he thought putting his headphones on.

“Patrick! Patrick!”

He must have fallen asleep. Patrick began to romp about hurriedly in his seat taking off his headphones.

“Patrick, for God`s sake, where are ye?” A tall woman in skinny jeans and a large floral top was standing next to the bus driver. She was clutching a leather handbag while biting on the sunglasses` temple tip.

“Coming,” mumbled Patrick under his breath getting out of his seat and feeling everybody staring at him. “Hi, aunt Debora.”

“Good boy,” she cheered him loudly and ruffled his hair. “Look at the state of ye! Don`t they feckin` feed you back at home? You look like a chopstick. Come, get ye luggage.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and followed his energetic aunt to the luggage compartment .

“Jaysus, what`s in there? Bricks?” exclaimed Debbie, grabbing Patrick`s sports bag. “I clearly see that Anne has no idea how to look after a child… It`s quite an achievement ye’ve made it to… what age are ye now?”

“I`m thirteen,” Patrick snarled. A month alone with that beastly woman and her floral chiffon tops which always exposed lacey bra straps on her fat shoulders; her pearls and rose gold from another lover; ginger hair in the sink and shower plugholes; frozen food thrown in a microwave… and above all iced vodka every night that would leave her passed out and snoring on the couch downstairs.

“Really? I must have lost the track of time. I thought ye were twenty-five!” she laughed dropping his bag in the car`s boot. “Get in the car and buckle up.”

The boy swallowed angry tears starting to flood his eyes. It`s not funny! he wanted to scream. You are not funny at all! I hate you, all of you!

The car ran down the Main street and turned right. “So do ye have a girlfriend or a boyfriend even?” his aunt asked, turning the steering wheel and glancing at Patrick. He was thoughtlessly staring at her handbag. A crystal clear bottle neck was dimly sparkling at the bottom of it. Slowly he looked at all the empty Tayto crisps bags and empty coke bottles littering the car.

“It`s personal,” he said at last. “I don`t want to discuss it.”

Debbie shrugged her shoulders. Just like that weasel, his father. A grand believer in secrets and so called personal boundaries.

“Pass me the smokes, will ye?”

If I ever go to hell, at least I will be well prepared, thought Patrick.

The car crawled up the lane to a large white country house surrounded by blossoming flower beds showcasing a rich variety of colours; hedges made of Griselinia and Ligustrum combined were carefully cut back hinting at gardening as the second Debbie`s hobby – right after vodka. Patrick jumped out of the car the moment the engine stopped and produced his bag from the boot. He couldn`t wait to get away from his aunt.

“I will be in my room,” he managed a weak smile. “Thanks for the lift.”

“I thought ye`d give ye aunty a hand with the car,” started Debbie.

“Maybe later,” he felt like a sticky spider`s silk thread tightening around his neck. “I`m tired now.” His aunt exhaled and reached for her handbag, and Patrick darted towards the house.

“One,” he mumbled drawing his first tally mark on the inside of his clothing cupboard. By the time he would see his parents again, he would have 30 marks – seven for each week spent in this house. He closed the cupboard and kicked his bag under the bed. What would he do when it`s time to cross out a week? Maybe he would treat himself to some ice cream or a cinema ticket even. He looked at the cupboard again. He can do it. It could be worse.

“What`s ye plan, Paddy?” Debbie asked lighting a cigarette and grabbing her coffee cup. Patrick choked on his cornflakes. He hated it when people called him Paddy and his aunt was well aware of that. How could she be his mother`s sister?.. All they had in common was ginger hair but Debbie`s wasn`t as soft as his mother`s.

“I`m going to cycle,” he replied avoiding looking at Debbie. His second week just started and he had crossed out the first seven marks the night before.

“Ye`ve been cycling every day since ye came here,” she frowned as she dropped some burning ash on her chest. “I thought ye would do some weeding in the garden, I`m planning a wee barbeque with a few friends of mine. Oh, come on, stop making that face! Wouldn`t it be nice to have some burgers and pasta salad? Besides it`s not that ye`ve been slaving around!”

I just wish you choked on that burger, thought Patrick. Then I could go home.

The party took place two days later. It felt like Debbie invited half a town. Despite Patrick`s attempts to run away or hide in the attic, Debora made him rush between the kitchen and the back garden bringing salads and cold drinks. He didn`t really mind, to be honest. Busy with chatting to other people, his aunt seemed to have forgotten about him. He heard her loud deep laughter exploding somewhere in the crowd, scattering around like bouncy vodka balls smelling of charcoal and mayonnaise. All the guests were obviously enjoying themselves, cigarette smoke was curling up in the cooling evening air.

Patrick wanted to disappear in his room. He collected a few dirty plates and headed towards the house hoping to drop the dishes in the sink and go upstairs.

“Hey, Paddy, come here for a moment, will ye?”

The boy froze. Damn. Slowly he turned around to where his aunt`s voice was coming from.

“I`m busy.”

“Oh good man, bless ye. I was just showing Aoife some of ye…” she let the cigarette smoke out of her mouth. “Some of ye drawings. What`s this called? A comic book style? They are pretty good. Ye must be a real artist then.”

The crisp clean sound of cracking plates drowned in the white noise produced by heavy streams of rushing blood in his head. Patrick forced his legs to take a step but it was almost impossible as if he got himself stuck in black tar. A familiar burning feeling of tears filling up his eyes opened up his ears to slowly increasing sound levels of chatter around him.

“Oh come on, don`t be such a madam! It`s just pictures not a bloody Mona Lisa!”

Patrick tore his drawings out of his aunt`s bird-like hands. He wanted to shout at her, wanted to curse, wanted to tell her what he thought of her and her useless pompous friends but he turned around instead and started to run, leaving the sticky tar behind with each step. He folded his drawings with shaky hands and shoved them in the back pocket of his jeans.

It was still bright enough but Patrick could find the road to the town with his eyes closed. He had enough coins to buy a bus ticket home, he had to get out. He mounted his bike and cycled down the lane to the main road.

It was a beautiful country evening full of bird chirping and cow bellowing. The road was framed by tall purple beech bushes entangled with blackberry twigs but Patrick was deaf and blind to the beauty surrounding him. His chest felt tight and his vision was blurred from tears. He felt he was left alone in the whole universe, naked and helpless, stripped of his dignity. If she wanted to be proud of him – and he could review that possibility – why couldn`t she do it on his terms? Even if she wanted to be proud of herself, she could still grant him some respect. Why was he treated as a robot, a pet at best but not a human being with valid feelings?

Deep in thoughts and overwhelmed by bitterness of humiliation, Patrick reached a sharp bend in the road. Suddenly a strong bright light flashed in his eyes immediately blinding him flooding the road with cold whiteness. Instinctively Patrick jerked his bike to the side. The front tire burst on the gravel and the bicycle fell in the road side ditch dragging the boy with it. The car swept along and disappeared behind the road bend. Patrick pushed the bike aside and moved slowly. Strangely enough he wasn`t feeling too bad. He didn`t seem to have broken any bones but he definitely acquired a few fresh blackberry scratches. He took a deep breath and got himself back on the road. I can`t go to town like this, he thought. It`s fine, it`s all fine. The realization kicked in and he started to cry, shivering and sobbing. He thought of his mother and how they had parted. Standing in the middle of the country road, crying Patrick swore to stop being an ungrateful swine. Oh if he could run to his mother and hide his face on her shoulder!

Crying and wiping his face with dirty hands, he started to slowly walk back to Debbie`s house.

Darkness finally landed its velvet cover all over the country but he made it back safely not seeing a single car. Debbie`s lawn was empty and the house windows were dark. Patrick let out a happy sigh of relief and quietly crept into the house and sneaked past the living room. Debbie was snoring on the couch. The boy made it to his bedroom, got in the bed and immediately fell asleep.

When he woke up, he found it difficult to open his eyes as his eyelids were swollen from crying. Patrick was thirsty so he lazily got up and shuffled to his cupboard to leave the mark for yesterday before going downstairs to fetch some juice. He opened the cupboard and his heart sank. His clothes and tally marks on the back of the cupboard door were gone. The inside of the cupboard was all painted white. Patrick felt sick, his head suddenly felt so heavy and yet so empty at the same time as if it was filled with the heaviest cotton wool in the universe. It could be that the yesterday`s sticky black tar made its way into his head somehow. The boy slowly turned around and the sheer panic hit him. His room was absolutely empty, there was just his bed with a bare mattress left. Was it the wrong house? No, it couldn`t be, he saw Debbie… Debbie!

Patrick rushed out of his room and down the stairs almost falling on the hall floor tiles. There was laughter in the living room. “Mom!” Patrick shouted darting to the living room and froze in the door way. Debbie and his parents were decorating a tall Christmas tree. They all looked a few years older, his mother had a new haircut and there was… there was a little girl there happily helping his parents. HIS parents.

Terrified and numb Patrick stepped into the room but nobody seemed to notice him. He looked around – there was his photograph on the mantel piece towering above glittery lighted garland. Next to it there was a photo of Patrick with parents and the last one – Debbie and his parents with that little girl who couldn`t be any older than three.

 “What is this ball, dada?” she asked his father, rummaging in a big box with Christmas decorations. “It has a face.”

“It`s your brother Patrick,” smiled his father and lifted the girl in his arms. “Let`s put it on the tree here, Bessie, shall we?”

 “Mom,” he whispered. “Mom, I`m here. Look at me. Please.”

His mother startled and looked behind her back.

“Anne?..” his father frowned.

“I`m grand, just… nothing.” She kept looking somewhere above Patrick`s shoulder.

“Mom, I`m here, mom!” Patrick broke down in uncontrollable spasms of crying. “Mommy!”

His mother`s face changed and she pressed her cold fingers to her temples. “Excuse me, I just… I need some air.”

“Annie, are ye alright, dear?” Debbie looked worried.

Anne nodded and rushed out of the room. Patrick glanced at his father with Bessie still in his arms and followed his mother. With shaking hands she filled a glass of water in the kitchen and downed it in big gulps, her teeth clinking against the rim. She pressed her hands to her face and started to cry, gasping for air.

Patrick took a step back. Seeing his mother crying was heartbreaking enough but knowing that she was crying because of him… just wasn`t right at all.

“I love you, mom,” he exhaled through tears and crept to the front door stopping on his way to have a last look at Bessie and his father. The little girl glanced at the empty door frame. She thought she heard the front door closing and a distant silvery jingle of a bell. The red Christmas ball with Patrick`s photograph on it slipped from her hands and smashed on the floor.