The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📗

but I’m so pleased to see him, and so relieved he’s safe, that I just want to grab him and hold him tight. I’m not stupid enough to do that in front of his peers though. Instead I just shrug.

“Don’t worry. It happens.”

My miserable-looking son and his equally miserable-looking friends work in silence under Michael’s supervision, throwing bottles into bin bags, uprighting furniture, wiping up spillages. The coffee table is singed and scratched, the curtain rail’s hanging down, the money from the cash jar is gone, there are burn marks all over the sofa and stains on the carpet I can’t imagine will ever come out. The stains on my sheets don’t even bear contemplating and I can’t tear them off my mattress fast enough.

“Jesus Christ, what a mess,” I sigh, throwing the bedding into a pile on the floor and sitting down on my bed next to Chloe. She has a headache and feels queasy.

“It was all my fault,” she says, teary. “I was the one who talked Josh into having a party. It was just meant to be, like, ten people from our year and I told them not to put anything on social media. I’m so, so sorry. I just wanted to cheer Josh up. He’s been so down and I hate seeing him unhappy like that.”

She puts her head in her hands and cries, her long, blonde hair falling around her face.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, “we all mess up. I know I have lately.”

She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. She’s wearing a pink, strappy top and her bare arms are covered in goosebumps. I go to my wardrobe and pull out a black hoodie.

“Here, put this on,” I tell her.

She pulls it on. It’s huge on her.

“So, how do you think Josh is doing?” I ask, sitting down beside her again.

She wipes at her eyes with the sleeves of my top.

“I think he’s stressed out and confused,” she says. “And I think he’s scared.”

“Scared?”

“I think he’s scared of meeting his mum. And also scared of not meeting her, like, if she just drops contact again. And I think he’s scared of upsetting you.”

“Me?”

“I think he feels like it would be, like, sort of disloyal to meet up with her? Like, he’d be betraying you or something?”

I close my eyes and shake my head. It had never crossed my mind he might feel that way. But I suddenly realise that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling: that even acknowledging that Jack’s my biological father would be somehow betraying my dad, let alone meeting with him.

“I’ve been trying to talk things through with him and be supportive,” sniffs Chloe. “He’s always there for me when I’m down, you know? He’s always, just, like, really sweet and kind.”

“He is?”

“Yeah. I just wanted to try to make him feel better, like he does with me.”

I try to imagine my son in this role, providing a comforting shoulder to cry on, knowing just what to say to make an unhappy girl feel better. I’ve always known he has that empathy in him, but most of the time it’s hidden under the swagger and backchat, the cockiness and jokes. I feel proud that he’s able to show such sensitivity.

“You’re a good friend to him,” I tell Chloe, gratefully.

She smiles at me, her make-up smudged around her eyes.

“He’s a good friend to me.”

I know it’s not my place, but I would hate to see these two lose their chance. One of them needs to make the first move.

“Are you sure friends is all you want to be?”

She looks at me, confused.

“Me and Josh?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe…”

“No,” she laughs, “I don’t feel that way about him. And he’s not interested in me like that, either.”

You’re wrong, I want to tell her, Josh’s words coming back to me clearly.

We’re already friends and I don’t want to put my feelings out there and risk ruining our friendship.

His secret’s safe with me, but whatever he feels for Chloe it clearly isn’t reciprocated, and my heart aches for him.

“Come on,” I sigh, wearily, “let’s get you home.”

As we stand up, Chloe sways on her feet and leans into me. I put my arm around her narrow shoulders to steady her, and feel a warmth spreading down my side. At first I think it’s the heat of her body, but then I realise what’s just happened.

“Oh, come on, give me a break,” I groan, looking up to the merciless heavens.

She’s just thrown up all over me.

“We’re majorly pissed off with you,” Michael tells Josh, sternly. “You told us you were going out to the cinema with some friends and you came here, threw a party, didn’t return my calls… I was just about to call your dad—”

“I know, I know,” says Josh, miserably, looking at his socks.

“We trusted you. That was part of the deal about you staying with us, to tell us where you are at all times. We can’t have responsibility for you if you’re going to lie to us. What if something had happened to you? How the heck would I ever square that with your dad?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You damn well should be.”

It’s two in the morning and the three of us are standing in the hallway under the too-bright lights, surrounded by black bin bags. Josh’s friends have been picked up by weary, disgruntled parents.

“So, you coming with me, staying here or what?” Michael asks more gently.

I wait for Josh’s answer with trepidation. He looks at me from under his fringe.

“Maybe… I’ll just stay here?” he says almost shyly.

I shrug, making it clear it’s entirely his choice, but my heart soars.

The next day, Josh walks to Michael’s to pick up his belongings, and then spends the afternoon in his bedroom either napping or glued to his phone. Normally I’d be telling him to do something more productive, but today I’m too exhausted to worry about it. I lie on the sofa, my laptop on my stomach, watching