Down London Road (On Dublin Street #2)(40)

Cole heaved a sigh, running a hand through his hair. 'I got home late and I must have woken her up. She was in one of her moods. She was yelling and I couldn't get her to stop. And then I heard a banging at the door and then Cam was calling your name. He was going to wake up the whole building, so I answered the door to see who the hell he was.'

My jaw clenched. Cam knew the truth about Mum.

Could my life get any crappier? 'Well, now he knows everything about me.'

As if remembering what he'd overheard Cam saying to me, Cole's eyes narrowed in vengeful slits. 'He knows fuck all.'

'Language.'

Cole just stared at me, and while he did I searched his face for marks. Was that redness on his cheekbone or just the light? My chest tightened with the weight of my emotions. 'He says  … ' I struggled, flexing my shaking fingers. 'He says she hit you.'



       
         
       
        

'It was nothing.' Cole shrugged.

He shrugged and my entire world tilted dangerously. 'Mum hit you? Has she hit you before?' I felt the angry tears prick the corner of my eyes and Cole caught sight of them.

This time when he answered me, his mouth quivered a little. 'Just slaps, Jo. It's nothing I can't handle.'

I clutched my stomach, feeling sick, and the tears spilled over my lids.

No. No! NO!

I sobbed and fell back against the door.

I thought I'd done everything that was in my power to protect him from the physical and emotional pain of a parent's abusive hands. And it seemed I hadn't done nearly enough.

'Jo.' I felt Cole approach me tentatively. 'This is why I didn't say anything.'

'You should.' I tried to breathe through my tears. 'You should ha-have told me.'

His arms came around me and as so often of late, I found myself being comforted by my baby brother instead of the other way around.

Eventually the tears stopped and I moved to the living room, where Cole brought me a cup of tea. As the hot drink spilled into my stomach, it seemed to stoke the flames of my seething rage against my mother.

It had been one thing to neglect Cole.

It was another thing entirely to have physically abused him.

'How many times?'

'Jo  … '

'Cole, how many times?'

'It's just been the past year. A few slaps here and there. She says I look like Dad. I haven't hit her back, though, Jo, I promise.'

I remembered the muttered comments of late about Cole's resemblance to Dad  –  the bitterness in those comments, the blame, the resentment. I should have seen it. Worse, I remembered a bruise he'd had around his right eye and cheekbone months ago. He'd told me Jamie had clipped him when they'd got overly exuberant during a video game fight. I stared at his cheek. 'The bruise?'

He knew what I was talking about. His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders hunched. 'She was hysterical. She kept hitting at me and I was trying to get away without hurting her back, but I fell against the corner of the kitchen unit.'

Growing up with an aggressive father had made me skittish of confrontation, of arguments, of anger. I became passive. I didn't anger easily. Until I met Cam.

Even then, I didn't think I'd ever felt the kind of rage I was feeling now.

Cole had always felt like my kid. He was my kid.

And I hadn't protected him.

'I'm going to watch some TV for a while,' I told him quietly, trying to deal with this new information.

'Jo, I'm really okay.' 

'Yeah.'

He sighed and got up. 'I take it we're not going to the Nicholses' today.'

'Nope.'

'Okay. Well  …  I'll be in my room if you need me.'

I don't know how long I sat there staring blankly at the television, vacillating between walking into my mother's room and smothering her with a pillow and just packing Cole's and my bags and running for it, hoping that Mum's threats were empty. At a sound behind me, I blinked and turned around. Nothing was there.

I thought I'd heard the front door open.

Now I was going crazy.

Exhausted by the tumult of emotions I'd gone through in the last twenty-four hours, I flopped back against the couch and closed my eyes. I needed to shower and change, but I was afraid to move towards my mum's room. I was afraid that passive old me was about to lose my cool  –  big time.

A while later, the worst happened.

Mum's door creaked open and I sat up, my muscles growing taut as I watched her appear in the hall. Her hair was all over the place and she was clutching her fuzzy pink robe around her as she shuffled into the kitchen holding an empty bottle and a mug.

Blood whooshed in my ears as my body stood up with no command from me to do so. It was as if I was stuck inside my head but no longer in control of what my limbs did. With my heart slamming against my ribs, I followed her into the kitchen.