Sharon Hadley-Ford
Writer
The Apartment Block
In the bathroom mirror on that Monday morning, the bruises appeared like black-purple stones. Swimming was my first lesson, but I knew my swim trunks wouldn’t cover those marks. I couldn’t swim like that, so I had to ensure I missed that lesson. I got into my uniform and thought to myself, this is what happened when I told Dad the truth. I never thought he would hit me, his only son.
I slipped from our apartment with my head down and crossed the blue hallway. I passed the grand, stained-glass window by the resident’s stairs. Our block of apartments was ancient with its steep, slate roof, vaulted ceilings, and row of stone gargoyles. Miss Scott, my History teacher, said the building used to be a children’s home in the fifties.
I reached the stairs; “Boys and girls come out to play, the moon doth shine as bright as day,” echoed as Lara walked back and forth across the landing in her nightdress, dragging her bald doll by her heel. I pulled my coat hood over my head before she noticed me and raced down the stairs, out of the building, to school.
I’m embarrassed to say I played with her, and the other three kids in our block for two years before I understood that they were dead. I was five when we met – hide and seek was our game, and they played it well. I would count to twenty and never understood how they hid so fast. I searched cupboards and the basement but never managed to find them. Eventually, they would appear and shout “boo,” from nowhere. It took me ages to realise they only came when I was alone and no one else could see them. I didn’t wonder why they always wore the same clothes or care about the cold that they brought – it never bothered me. We all cried when I stopped playing with them because we had been best friends. They said I was just the same as everyone else because no one wanted them. But I couldn’t keep playing when I knew they were ghosts. Every day I got older, they never changed; they looked the same.
After school, I went home. I opened the apartment door and knew they were inside because my breath became a cloud in the frozen air. I spotted Dad cowered in the lounge corner, hugging his knees and shaking his head. The sofa, chairs, and coffee table were upside down in mid-air. Lara and the others skipped hand in hand in a circle, laughing. “He won’t hurt you again, Adam,” Lara said, grey eyes smiling.
“Adam, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said you could see ghosts. I'm sorry I got angry. I see them now, and they won’t leave,” Dad said, getting to his feet while crying like I cried last night when he punched me.
Love
Stephen takes my cold hand and leads me upstairs to his bedroom. He stands to one side and nudges the white panelled door open, for me to step inside. I feel the rhythm of my heart in my ears as I meet his eyes.
“Jess are you sure you really want to?” he asks, squeezing my hand as he looks into my eyes for the answer.
In reply, I rise on my toes, and pressing myself against him, I taste his lips. Fairy lights pave the way to a haven of blue blankets and pillows on a rug under the night-filled window. Old Spice surrounds us while ABBA plays in the corner, as we open buttons, one by one.
“I want you to know I love you,” he whispers into my hair, and I hold my breath for a moment, as my cheeks warm up.
In the corner, I spy his dreaded green army duffle bag. It screams that he is leaving, and my hands fall by my sides. He follows my gaze, then lifting my chin up to face him, he tries his best to reassure me,
“You know initial training is only twelve weeks, and then I’ll be back home on leave. I’ll write you whenever I can, every day if I can.” Blinking his dark lashes, he pulls me back towards him.
Our skin melts together as photos of us smile from his bedroom wall, and I think how perfect I want this first time to be. His broad chest excites me, but I can’t stop the thoughts of him leaving tomorrow. I wonder where the army will send him and imagine this could be our last night together.
It all becomes too much. I stand back from him as my mouth dries, and I feel light-headed. The anxiety forces sickness upon me and I sprint to the bathroom.
“Don’t come in, I don’t want you to see me like this!” I shout, heaving into the bowl.
Ignoring what I say, he pushes through the door. Holding my hair back from my face, he smooths my back.
“I promise everything will be O.K., and I promise I’ll come home,” he says. We both kneel together, praying to the toilet. In that moment, splashed with sick - I know he loves me.
Forty years later, I rub his back and kneel at the toilet alongside him once again. He kept his promise and came back safe. I hide my tears because I know it’s my turn to reassure him now. I tell him everything will be O.K. while cancer forces sickness upon him.