Tired

It was just noise.

Loud noise that did nothing.

Loud noise that sounded around me

then                        vanished.

So why did I shake when he shouted?

Allison! Allison?

How many times have I told you

not to leave your shoes lying around?

I knew my school shoes were next to the couch

cos I kicked them off to read,

and my trainers were still in the bathroom

where I’d left them after my shower.

It was before Kelly-Anne came to live with us

and taught me how to keep out of his way.

I was seven maybe.

I wet the bed sometimes.

Allison? Do your shoes need their own place?

Allison? Where are you?

Not clearing up, that’s for sure.

He was clomping up the stairs,

heavy-footed.

I don’t ask much, do I?

I mean, do I ask for much?

A tidy house isn’t a lot to ask for.

Is it?

Is it?

The walls rattled.

The ceilings came closer.

I stepped on to the landing.

I’m sorry, Daddy.

I’ll do it now.

I was crying.

There was snot.

Choking sounds came from my throat.

And he relented,

just like that,

head tilted like he was working me out.

Jesus, Al, I’m so tired.

That’s all it is.

Don’t blub. Come on, gimme a break.

We’re mates, aren’t we?

He could have hugged me then

to show he hadn’t meant to shout,

to show what love felt like,

but he didn’t.

He opened his own bedroom door,

kicked his shoes and clothes across the floor

and fell down on to his bed to sleep.

And that’s the thing.

He hadn’t lied.

He really had been very tired.