Tom

One of the doctors had said to her kindly, unknowingly touching her on part of her wrist where she’ accidentally scalded herself, that it might be a good idea if she considered her options. He didn’t say to forget Tom. He wasn’t that callous. He said how she could visit him quite frequently; if she was to find him a hospital close enough.
Tom’s mum boxed up her tears and fears in her head as stood up and headed for the door; away from the curtains with the ripples and stripes that strolled in the cold breeze. Away from the box of tissues half used and away from the chair with drips of paint trapped in the spells. She felt trapped with no direction to go in or map to follow. She walked past a middle aged couple in the hall; they were approaching the door she had left. At least they were together; salt and pepper together or bread and butter together….whilst she was alone.
She dragged her feet down the corridor and into the Avenue of trees and blue-bells and oil on the road with the bus she needed to catch pass the stop. Another hour to wait; another hour to keep her tears in her head- until she got home. She would go to her council house in the street where, mostly at weekends, men would return from the pub…..whistling or singing….ready for a cuddle. Ready to explode like the gas in a fizzy bottle and to hit anyone in the way. No-one would be doing that to her anymore.