Many Worlds Theory

Should I stay or should I go?

It used to work well, our family of three. There were disagreements - that’s normal in a family, right? The tidy bedroom thing, for instance. Don’t sweat the small stuff my mum would say. But this is way beyond that. It’d be funny if it wasn’t scary. The way they face each other more like boxers than father and son. And he’s outgrown his dad. A psychologist would have a bloody field day. But then, would he say I had a part to play too?

I’m not sure I can take it if they hit each other? Get hurt. What happens then? Is it a domestic?

I’m shouting.

Stop you idiots, stop. There’s no need. We can work it out.

I sound like the bloody Beatles. They don’t even blink.

Try to see it my way.

I don’t say that.

More posturing.

I’ve got choices; like a sapling about to branch. I can’t stay rooted to the spot any longer.

I make a decision.

The door slams shut behind me. I doubt the buggers even notice. I’m leaving them to fight it out. It’s not my argument and they’re not listening. They’ll continue circling like wild animals, I bet. Not sure how it even started. Coming in late, that kind of thing.

He’s got so hard on him of late. Says he has to, says he doesn’t want his son running with the wrong crowd. Seems like the same crowd who’ve come round for years now, emptying my fridge. Polite boys. His dad says we don’t know the half, them roaming the street when they should be indoors. I say he needs some freedom. Who’s right? Is there a right? That’s the thing with being a parent; you’re always walking a fine sodding line. You just do your best.

One grown man, and one almost grown, but bigger, broader, probably stronger. His father might regret encouraging him to play rugby to build him up. There used to be so much love, so much affection. Play fighting, yes. But lots of playing too. The big one carrying the little one around on his shoulders, running, the pair of them screaming and shouting, driving me mad, but I had to smile. You do, don’t you?

I go to the woods. I love it there. Always something to see, to hear. You’re never alone in the woods. Things rustle. Leaves fall. It’s that time of year. Crisp and golden. I kick them up, like I would have done when I was a kid, like the three of us used to do, not all that long ago. When he was small. Nice memories. God, we thought we had it tough then, with bedtime battles. But that was the worst of it. It’s not me he fights, mind. He’s fine with me. And that annoys his father. Says I’m partisan; taking sides. We should put on a united front. I’m not partisan, really I’m not. I just want it to stop. Peace not war.

See I’m on a John Lennon roll now.

The path ahead is clearer, less leaves, not piled up like they were at the start. The few that fall dance as they hit the ground; the wind not allowing them to rest. Life feels like that. No sense of control. Is that true, mind? This time I walked away. Left them to sort it out. I needed the headspace. I get that here. I walk further. I think about that thing, the tree falling in the wood thing. If there’s no-one around to hear it fall, does it make a sound? Haven’t got a clue about stuff like that, me. All I want is a simple life. Not too much thinking.

A snuffling sound. Badger, maybe? If I’m lucky I might catch a glimpse. I stand still for a moment.

*****

I stand still. I’m right between my husband and my son, small, not even reaching their shoulders with heels on. I’m not running from this. This has to stop. I keep my voice low, no shouting. They tell you not to shout when they’re little. That you’ve lost it if you shout. I remember glances between mums; we all knew we lost it from time to time. Tiredness. That’s what did it for most of us.

I’m invisible, and they’re in the zone, prepping for their fight, psyching each other out. I’m like the ref, but they take no notice of me.

I can’t tell you how worried I am, that he’s gonna leave if it carries on. He’ll walk out and it fears me that’s the last we’ll see of him, and then there’ll be the two of us. And what will we have to say to each other after that, me and his father? Not playing happy families, that’s for sure. I know, I know, it isn’t now, but maybe we can retrieve something? Maybe?

It’s your fault, my son says, jabbing his dad with a finger. Not Mum’s, he says. She’s always been there for me, he says.

That’s not gonna help. He doesn’t like that, my husband, when he thinks he’s being undermined. I can see that. Wish my son would keep quiet now. Know when to stop.

You’ve given him too much freedom, my husband has said, before. Have I? Freedom? Boundaries? They have to learn to make their own mistakes, stand on their own two feet, he’s nearly a man, but then they say they need boundaries too. I’m so bloody confused. Always have been. It’s not easy, this. My husband, he never did the boundary thing. He was there so little when his son was small, all he wanted to do was play with him.

My fault is it? He’s shouting now. Always my fault? Never yours? One day, son, you’ll take responsibility for your actions. You’ll grow up, and until then you’re no son of mine.

He turns to walk away, but my son throws a punch.

The punch doesn’t hit his dad. The punch hits me.

I don’t fall, it’s not that hard. Maybe it was for show. But it throws me a bit. There’s silence.

I have to leave, to get out. I need fresh air. I need refuge in the woods. I need to go.

They call after me, both of them.

Mum.

Lisa.

Bit late now.

I do glance back, though. They’re both staring, like they can’t quite make out what’s happened. Really? I pick up speed. They stand still.

*****

It’s time to head back. Darkness is falling. It’s that time of year. Dull all day, then dark before you know it, another night’s crept up on us. Let’s hope they’ve sorted it without a full on scrap. No play fighting, these days, not anymore.

There’s a torch on my phone. I know these woods so well, each branch breaking off, becoming a smaller path, then a smaller one still, until it ends. But even with this knowledge it’s not so easy when it’s gloomy. I tread carefully. Don’t want to fall over some root, land flat on my face, twist my ankle or something. Could be out here for hours if those two eejits are circling round each other still. There’s no phone reception out here. I never said where I was going, but they’d guess, if they had any sense. Not that I’ve done this before. Walked away. I’m always the peacemaker. I’d had enough this time. And, for the first time ever I was a little bit scared, of the both of them, to be honest. Don’t like admitting that, scared of my husband and son. Not good, is it?

It’s all downhill from here, now. I’m almost back. I hear an owl, lovely sound. Graceful, I think. One last kick in the leaves, like a kid. Hopeful. Crack. There’s a sound. Behind me? Or was that me, stepping on a twig. Dry as anything, they are, the twigs.

I don’t think it’s me, though. If I don’t look back, there’ll be no-one there. No-one there. Bit daft, coming out like this at dusk. Anyone would say so. I pick up speed. I can see the road. A car passes, headlights on. That’s good. We’re only four houses down to the right. I count my steps like we used to do when he was small. One, two, one two. Left, right, mum, he’d say, like a soldier. Left, right. Left hook, right hook.

*****

I love that the wood’s so close to our house. One good reason for moving here when he was small. It’s pretty much dark now, mind. The paths I know so well aren’t so easy to navigate in the dark. We used to come here with cubs at night, to build dens. But we had torches then. Big torches. I’ve got a torch on my phone. I pat down my pockets. No phone. Silly. You always carry your phone these days, don’t you? Bet that’s even a cub scout rule. Oh, well, won’t be gone long. Just need to nurse my wounded pride, and face, give them time to calm down and think about what they’ve done. Maybe I wasn’t right to intervene. Should have left the pair of them to it, walked away before it was dark. Hindsight. Wonderful, isn’t it?
It’s uphill to begin with. I can hear my own breathing, my heart beating. I stop for a moment, catch my breath. I’d expect to hear an owl. I stop. No. no owl. Another sound, though. A twig snapping. Can’t be me. I’m standing still. It’s not just my breath I hear.
Someone else’s too.

Chris?

Luke?

No reply.

Not Chris or Luke.

Another twig.

Funny how things take a turn you’re not expecting, isn’t it?

*****

I’m relieved to be home. I fumble in my pocket. No keys. Phone, but no keys. It doesn’t matter. The front door opens.

Luke.

Where’s your dad?

Here, love.

I didn’t see him at first, he’s standing behind our son.

You gonna let me in, or what?

Yeah, sorry, Mum.

Both man and boy stand aside.

Cup of tea, love?

Something stronger. I got a bit freaked out in the woods.

You, love, in the woods? Really? You’re a woodland sprite. It’s home from home for you.

They laugh off my fear. And theirs.

I think they’re embarrassed, but I doubt they’ll say.

He brings me a large glass of wine. I take a gulp, it goes down the wrong way. I’m coughing, more laughing.

Mum never could take her drink, Dad.

Well at least we’ve got her home in the bosom of her loving family.

Really, I ask?

Yeah, love, really.

We’re sorry, aren’t we mate. His arm round his son’s shoulder. Son doesn’t shrug him off.

Sorry they both say.

It’s going to be okay. I think it’s going to be okay.

Best thing I did, running away into the woods.

You never know how things will turn out, do you?