The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (open ebook .txt) 📕

give her an ultimatum,” I tut, realising what he’s referring to. “I asked her to make a choice – about whether to stay or go. So that neither of us were just living in limbo any longer, waiting to see—”

“So you told her if she wanted to carry on working abroad, then she couldn’t see me anymore.”

“No! No. Absolutely not. It wasn’t like that.”

“That’s how she seemed to think it was.”

“That’s her twisting things, as always.”

“But you told her to make a choice.”

“No. Well, yes, but that makes it sound—”

“Why would you make her choose?!”

“It wasn’t like that! I never made her break off contact! She could have contacted you at any point. She could have seen you at any point! I never would have stopped her, I just told her to stop messing us around—”

“And so you forced her to choose – me or her career.”

“There was no career!”

“But you forced her to choose.”

“She should have chosen you! That’s what I did. I chose you!”

“You had no choice! You were stuck with me!”

“Yes, because she left!”

We glare at each other.

“I didn’t mean… I mean, no, I wasn’t stuck with you, I wanted to be with you—”

“You never wanted me! No seventeen-year-old boy wants a baby—”

“I did want you!” I insist, but even as I say it, I’m tormented by the memory of standing in that hospital, secretly hoping that his first breath would never come. “You weren’t planned, but I did want you!” I repeat vehemently, as if saying it with enough conviction might erase the shame of what I once felt.

Josh shakes his head as if he doesn’t believe me and I feel sick to the core. Is that what he’s always felt deep down? That I’m the one who got stuck with him through default because his other parent left?

“Look, I never told her to leave. You don’t understand how it was—”

“You had no right to keep those emails from me!” he fumes.

“But the emails weren’t to you, they were to me! We – me and her – we have to sort some things out before we take anything forward—”

“You should have told me!” he yells, fury blazing in his eyes.

“Okay, yes okay, you might be right—”

“It involves me! Me! Were you even going to ask me how I feel about this?”

“Of course I was! I just wanted to clarify where she was coming from first. I was pretty shocked by this, Josh. I might not have handled it correctly, but I wasn’t expecting this email from her out of the blue and I was trying to negotiate things—”

“You didn’t need to negotiate anything, Dad! This isn’t Brexit! All you needed to do was talk to me about it!”

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry. I screwed up. I should have just told you about it and asked what you wanted to do.”

“But you didn’t. Because you always think you know what’s best for me. What GCSEs I should do, when I should study, what I should do with my future, whether I should even be allowed contact with my own mother… I mean, were you this much of a control freak with her? ’Cause I’m not surprised she left!”

I blink at him in disbelief. He really thinks the fact Hellie left was my fault?

“Forget it,” Josh spits, turning away and heading back to his room, “I’m going out.”

I follow him as he grabs his phone and hoodie from his mess of a room.

“You’re not going out,” I tell him, blocking his doorway, “we’re going to talk—”

“I don’t wanna talk!” he shouts, shoving me so hard in the chest that I stumble out of his way. I’m taken aback by his strength and his anger. He’s never laid hands on me before.

“Wait!” I snap, grabbing him, but he breaks free with a quick twist of his arm.

“Get off me!”

“We need to talk about this! Josh!”

But it’s no use. He’s already out the door, slamming it behind him.

I’m left alone in the hallway, shocked and dazed.

“Shit!” I spit, banging my fist against the wall. “Shit, shit, shit!”

That evening, I drive around in the dark searching for my son. It’s well past closing time on a Friday evening and only a few people walk the streets – the odd couple who’ve been out for a quiet drink with friends, the odd group of mates who’ve had a few – or way too many. I drive with the window down, the intermittent noise of their shouting and laughter making me nervous. I don’t want Josh out there alone.

I’ve been reassuring myself that despite my fears he’s probably big enough to take care of himself. Six years of karate, judo, kickboxing… I remember the way he twisted his arm free of my grasp earlier today, not randomly but with applied technique. But I’m starting to slip into panic. I’ve called everyone I can think of and no one’s heard from him. I’ve driven around town twice, walked through the park, explored the grounds of the closed-up leisure centre, the skate park, the underpasses…

I pull into the deserted car park of the Canal House to phone my sister. An hour ago, I promised to call her with an update, and it’s more than my life is worth to break a promise to Laura. But I’m distracted by a figure lurking in the darkness.

I get out of the van. “Libby?”

“I thought that was you,” she says, stepping forward into my headlights, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for Crumble. He’s normally back in by now. Stu and Irena told me not to bother, but you just don’t know, do you? People can be so mean after a few drinks.”

My stomach flips. I don’t need a reminder of this.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for Josh. We had an argument and he ran off and I can’t find him anywhere and I’m going out of my mind because this isn’t the kind of thing he does. I just don’t know where else to