I flop down next to her, take the coffee mug from her hands and swig.
‘Do you wanna tell me where you’ve been?’ Helen asks, her eyes still closed.
‘Haven’t got the energy, to be honest, girl.’
‘You alright, though?’
‘Me? Yeah. ’Course. It’s me ma I’m worried about.’
‘How’s she doing?’
I put the mug back onto the table and hang my head over my knees. Helen places her hand on the small of my back, reminding me I’m not alone, that I’ve got a friend.
‘Ah, Hels. I’m sorry, girl. I’m a right mess.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘She’s so frail, Helen. She’s so small and frail, and I wanna help her. But, I can’t. I can’t do fuck all. She’s me ma, and I can’t do anything to fucking help her. Me dad’d be ashamed of me.’
‘Oh, Jimbo, don’t torture yourself. Come here,’ she says, letting my head fall into her lap as she strokes my hair, holds onto me tight. ‘You’re amazing with your mum, the best son she could ever wish for. And your dad’s looking down on you so proud, Jimbo, I promise. Me own mother always says so, you know. She does. She says “Roy Glover’d be so proud of that lad. He’s watching from Heaven”.’
‘Bloody Catholics.’
I break away, stand, stretch out. I can’t sit around moping all afternoon. I’ve got to sort myself out, get back to the hospital, find out when my sisters are arriving in Liverpool. Christ, our Lisa and our Emma are coming home. What will I make of them? Bloody hell, what will they make of me? Exactly the same as when they left, only older and a hell of a lot more broke.
‘It’s not true,’ I say, pretending to read the small-print credits on a framed poster of True Romance. ‘Me dad. He’d never be proud of me. This life, this isn’t what he wanted for me. Or where I saw meself ending up, if I’m honest.’
‘But, you’re a good man, Jimbo.’
‘Am I?’
‘Of course!’
‘Am I?’ I turn around, lock eyes with Helen. ‘Really?’
She looks away, uncurls her feet and starts to loosen the laces of her Doc Martens to make them easier to slip back on.
‘Look at me, Helen.’
‘Jim … The kids are with me mum ’cause Snowy’s at the match, and I only popped in to say sorry. For ringing last night. But, you know what? I think I should go now.’
‘How am I a good man when I kissed me best mate’s girl the other night?’
‘I’m getting out of here—’
‘No, Hels. It’s alright for you to corner me when you’re pissed, to ring me, to pour your bloody heart out when you need it, but where does that leave me? Good ol’ Jimbo. Always here for you. But, it’s not good, is it? It’s fucking toxic.’
‘Stop it, Jimbo.’
‘No, I won’t stop anything. ’Cause all I’ve done is sit in that fucking toll booth for years and feel sorry for meself, waiting for some lucky fucking strike, and you know what? It’s bullshit. There’s no such thing as a lucky strike. I won a BMW, out of the blue, and look where it’s got me. You make your own luck in this world, and I should’ve been clever enough to know that.’
‘Jim, calm down. You’re upset about your ma—’
‘What are you actually doing here, Helen?’
‘Seeing if you were alright!’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Bloody hell, Jim, you never go anywhere and then you disappear? No one can get hold of you? Griffo tells us your car’s been stolen, you needed a minibus to get somewhere? Come on, Jimbo. This isn’t normal behaviour from you.’
I’m about to lash out again, tell Helen to shut up. But, instead, I laugh. Not in a happy way, or a tickled way. No, it’s more of a bitter realisation. I sigh, a “ha” and an “oh”, the words “brilliant” and “of course” tumbling out, too.
‘What’s so funny? So “brilliant”?’ Helen asks.
I can’t contain myself.
‘Jim?!’
‘It’s not normal, is it?’ I manage. ‘For me. It’s not normal. Because I’m so predictable.’
‘Well, yeah. You are.’
I nod and let out a big sigh which not only controls my laughter, but kills it.
‘Derek bloody Higgins was spot on,’ I say. ‘When he said I was going nowhere.’
‘Your boss? When did he say that?’
‘The day I won the car.’
‘You should’ve told him to fuck off,’ she snorts. ‘You’re wasted in that job. We’ve all said it. If I were you, I’d tell your boss where to shove it.’
‘Yeah, the old me, maybe. But I can’t be that person anymore.’