Chapter Text
Ellis Finley hated English.
The mere mention of the subject caused an instinctual groan to leave the teenagers lips- a scoff and a snarl followed shortly.
He hated it- loathed it, as his English teacher, Mrs Clarke, would correct. His attempts to skip the class were almost always cut short when a teaching assistant or his head of year would round the corner to his hiding place (underneath the science corridor stairs) and tap their foot impatiently as he collected his things. They’d snap at him to ‘fix that tie,’ and ‘tuck that shirt in’ and- God, the dreaded- ‘take that hoodie off, you’re a disgrace to this school, Finley.’
After a while he stopped snapping back. He would shut his mouth and follow diligently behind the huffing teacher as they dragged him back to the blue-toned corridor he saw only in his nightmares. After a while, he learnt to ignore the sniggers and disappointed stares from his classmates. He learnt to suppress the heat in his cheeks and the quiver of his lips as he opened up his books and flipped to whatever page of Romeo and Juliet they were on that week.
Despite all this- the anger, the merits and detentions, and the humiliation, he still managed to pick English for his A-levels.
Something about the class intrigued him- the plays they annotated and dissected invoked a primal kind of interest that, no matter how much a horrible teacher made him despise the subject, he couldn’t shake it off.
His mother explained his father was the same.
“He was the artsy kind.” She drawled one day, patting the counter around her as she searched for her scarf. “Loved music, plays, parties- the whole shebang.” She groaned, throwing her hands up in frustration. Ellis silently slid her heavily patterned scarf towards her- it stunk of perfume and cigarettes, a surprisingly delightful mixture. She mumbled a thank you and padded her way out their half-broken front door.
She hadn’t mentioned Ellis’ father since, and he didn’t care enough to pry.
To him, his father was the owner of their local record store- a man named Charles Kavenon. He had owned that shop since Ellis was born, and had a daughter his age- Mai, his best friend and the closest thing to a sister he had.
Charles- or Baba, as Ellis called him- had a permanent key to the Finley house, and often made visits after a long day of work for ‘a hot meal and good craic’ as Charles put it once. But Ellis thinks it’s because Charles likes Ellis' mum a little too much to be platonic-
(“She’s very- …nice.” Charles blushed, eyes still glued on the older woman’s back, swaying back and forth by the old record player behind the till. Ellis giggled, and Charles scowled at him- bushy eyebrows furrowed and greying moustache covering his pursed lips. Charles pinched his shoulder and Ellis yelped- grabbing his mother’s attention. She whirled around and gazed over in their general direction. She grinned- lopsided and gap-toothed, mirroring Ellis’s own.
“You two having fun?” She chuckled, and Charles blushed bright red- his brown skin turning almost burgundy in the cheeks, bright against his greying hair. He croaks out a squeaky ‘yup’ before turning away from Ellis’s mother. Ellis giggled quietly, poking Charles in the shoulder as he gave the older man a knowing look. Charles glared at him, but there's no real anger to it- just a knowing twinkle and a soft edge to his smile.)
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An unfortunate fact about Ellis’ mother is that when Ellis was 6- no, 7? Around that age- She was blinded. A horrible accident that took her sight away- Ellis remembers hearing the word ‘dad’ thrown around a lot when she was taken to hospital. Shortly after, his mother lost her job, and quickly fell into a deep depression.
That was Ellis' life for a while. They lived off disability and cash from family, all while his mother mourned the loss of her vision- mourned the fact she would never see her son again.
She went to therapy, thankfully, and got back on her feet after a few months. She used her anger and pain to make art- she made pottery, which was much easier without her vision. She struggled, but she pushed on. After a while of practice and experimenting, she found her niche- a highly tactile way of making intricate tiles that she would arrange in various patterns that, in her opinion, felt good. She could tell pieces apart just by running her fingers along them- delicately tracing the twisting lines and shapes that decorated her pieces. She was inspired by the Celtic knots and designs that decorated the walls of the Church she would frequent in her youth.
For colours, she would rely on Ellis. She asked him to pick out all her glazes and their swatches and put braille on them for her, then she spent hours memorising their places in her workshop. She would choose colours based on what she could remember, but after a few years, her grasp on colour theory waned. Her pieces started clashing, they would mix together and create ugly browns or greens, but this only made the critics love her more.
Her pieces started selling faster, and faster, and her carefully crafted tiles started appearing in more and more people’s homes. They weren’t exactly expensive, just enough to pay her and Ellis’ rent, along with bills and groceries for the month.
In just 3 years, Ellis and his mother had gone from near homelessness to being able to buy their own apartment.
His mother was ecstatic- decorating every inch of her home with bright colours and tactile decorations. If something was bright, with an odd or unusual texture, it's probably in their home- Brightly coloured walls with detailed and intertwining photo frames on the walls, mismatching furniture covered in books and oddly shaped trinkets, paired with maximalist rugs in odd areas is a very overstimulating sight for many. Not for Ellis, he’s sure he would go mad without the bright colours and obscene amount of posters covering his walls.
His mother’s eclectic style is partially a reason Ellis gets in trouble so much.
Growing up in a vibrant, loud home, Ellis found it hard to focus in a sterile, blank space. He found it hard to dull down his style and fit into the same black trousers, white shirt, and ugly coloured tie that everyone else was wearing.
He got in trouble countless times for adding pins or badges to his blazer or bag, he always gets told to take them off. Then he gets detention.
Sometimes, Ellis feels like school was built to punish kids like him- they make it as slow as possible for kids who like to move fast, they make it as beige as possible for kids who bleed rainbow, and they make it as quiet as possible for the kids who like it ear-bleedingly loud.
Ellis, for a while, thought he was the only kid like that in his school- the only kid who saw sitting still as a punishment.
Then he met Mai.
Mai- the aforementioned daughter of his future step-dad Charles- shared the same problem.
Mai shows up to school everyday with a bright pink hijab, decorated with clips and pins that were always glittery. Her bag was burgundy and had keychains and pins dragging it down, and she was never seen without the most gorgeous bracelets. The first time Ellis saw her, he knew he needed to be her friend. They met back in primary school, when they were still allowed to have bright bags and light-up shoes, but Mai always stood out. She was tall for her age, and Ellis was embarrassingly short for his, and they both found solace in the other’s kindness and lack of malice. They became fast friends.
Their childhood was quiet, tucked between a radio and a stack of books to tear through in the warm afternoon while their parents watched trash TV in the living room. The occasional days spent in the dry British heat were just them, chasing each other around in the cramped garden in the back of Mai’s house. The pair were inseparable, and when they were sent to secondary school, Ellis’ and Mai’s parents send them with a note saying-
"Please, God, do not separate them.”
-and nothing more.
Mai was his sister, his best friend, his twin, the only person to root around in his soul and return with a snide comment about how messy it was. Mai was his everything.
When Charles' obvious feelings for Ellis’ mother became apparent to Mai and Ellis, they both quietly squealed and prayed to whatever God was out there to make it happen- when Mai did her nightly prayer and read the Quran, she would put a silent prayer for her father’s feelings to be reciprocated.
She’s done that every night for 6 whole years, and she wasn’t going to stop till Ellis’ mum caught on.
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“Ellis!” A voice broke through his thick door. He groaned into his pillow, shoving his face into the pleasantly warm sheets that encased him.
“Ellis!” The voice repeated, cutting through the lull of sleep Ellis had fallen back into. It was closer now, more high pitched, and irritating. Ellis mustered all his energy and picked his head up from his soft pillow- “Wha’?” He yelled back, before dropping his head back onto his pillow with a sigh and a yawn.
“Get up!” The voice yelled back, now right outside his door. Ellis suddenly recognised the voice as his mum and groaned. “Why~” He whined, rolling onto his back. “Because you have school!” She groaned, banging on his door.
Ellis huffed and slowly peeled his eyes open, squinting at the golden sunlight that poured into his room. He huffed and begrudgingly crawled out of bed.
The cold air practically slapped him- assaulting his thoroughly warmed bones with a biting breeze. He shuddered and padded towards his wardrobe- he picked out his clothes and quickly went for a shower.
His routine was quick but strict- he didn’t dare deviate from his routine, and carefully followed every step he did the day before. When he was done, he would waddle downstairs and devour the bowl of cereal his mum had set out for him, before shoving his shoes on, brushing his teeth, and dragging his feet out the door.
It was almost painful- the trek from his terrace house to the bus stop not even 5 minutes away. Everyday he debated going to the one across from his school’s designated pick up stop and taking the later bus into the nearest town. He could get coffee, go shopping, or meet up with some friends and waltz in an hour late. He could.
Every day he debated doing it, and every day the bus would pull in in front of him before he could decide.
Mai, living near the stop just before his, would have already claimed her seat by the fogged up window 2 rows from the back. Her bag would be at her feet and she would be playing with her beaded bracelets.
Every day was the same, she would say hello and ask him if he did his homework. Ellis would say no. Mai would say, “Me neither” and they would pull out their notebooks and copy someone else's- usually Darragh, a boy who was more freckles than skin, who sat on the row beside them.
It was the same song and dance every, single, day.
Until one day, something shifted.
Ellis woke up in mid- February, an early Tuesday morning that was bitterly cold. However, something felt wrong- like he had knocked something out of place. Like he forgot something out of his routine, like something was deeply, and horribly wrong.
His alarm hadn’t gone off, despite changing the batteries a few nights before, and his mum hadn’t come to rap on his door yet. He pushed himself up, reaching over unread books to grab his small, green alarm clock.
‘7:15 am’
Huh, weird.
Ellis’ alarm went off at 7:10 am every day, and he usually woke up at 7:00 and would rot in bed until it went off, maybe later if he had a late night.
Ellis had never slept through his alarm. Ellis never woke up this late, and if he did- his mum would have shaken him awake by now. Something was wrong. Had he gotten the day wrong? Was it Saturday? Was he all mixed up? Fuck.
He pushed himself out of his bed, throwing his thick covers off him and sliding towards his old, wooden door. It was decorated by a heavy metal band poster that his mum had given him. He threw it open.
“Mum?” He called out, the halls were the same bitter cold as his room. Odd. His mum always had the heating on in the winter, especially during school weeks- Ellis found it easier to crawl out of his cave if he was coaxed by gentle warmth of their radiators.
No response.
“Mum?” Ellis called out a little louder, now extremely worried. He looked back and forth down the hall- both ends were illuminated by the warm light of the sunrise peeking over the rundown houses across from them, but no Mum.
He stepped out into the hall, the floor unusually cold against his half falling off socks. Everything was where it was just 12 hours ago- not a single book, magazine, candle, or knick knack out of place. Not even a speck of dust was somewhere it wasn’t the day before.
A pit grew in Ellis' stomach.
Looking back and forth again, Ellis headed to the left- to his Mum’s bedroom.
The short walk to her room was tortuous. Ellis couldn’t hear anything from the rest of the house, and his Mum’s room was just as silent.
The previously bright walls look damp and dark. The books piled on bookshelves seemed to sag under their weight for the first time in Ellis’ life. The bright photo frames now looked tacky and childish. Ellis swallowed.
As he approached the wooden door, he saw light.
The dark wood door was left ajar, and he could see the hunched figure of his Mum on her perfectly made bed. Her sheets were green, which clashed with the dark blue pillows and off-white bed sheet, but Ellis found it endearing. He tried to tell his Mum that they clashed, but his Mum simply replied- ‘Good.’
He chuckled out loud. His Mum didn’t move. Her posture was tense and she was still in her pyjamas- a simple, pink striped shirt and trousers set.
Ellis cleared his throat- “Mum?” He croaked. She didn’t move. He took a few daring steps towards his Mum’s side of the bed- her front illuminated by golden light, her face twisted in pain.
“Mum?” He said quietly, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder- she jumped. “Ah!” She gasped, moving back slightly. Ellis squeaked out a sorry, and she sighed. “Sorry sweetheart, I’m-” Her lips pursed, and tears pricked her eyes. Ellis quickly sat beside her and held her close.
His mother closed her eyes and dropped her head- Ellis followed the motion, noticing her phone gripped tightly in her hands. The screen was still on, showing a now ended call with a foreign number. Ellis scrunched up his nose, frowning. “Who’s that?” He mumbled, reaching for her phone.
His mum snatched her phone away, eyes wide and fearful. Ellis’ heart sank.
“Mum.” He said softly, watching as his mum’s breathing became quicker and more panicked. “Mum,” He repeated, firm and stressed, “What's wrong?”
Suddenly, she slumped. Her tense arm now flaccid beside her side, her phone slipping out of her sweaty hand. She abandoned her phone and moved to cover her face with her hands, and between the brightly coloured acrylics, Ellis could see tears slipping from her brown eyes.
Ellis gasped, his cold hand rushing to grab his mum’s warm arm. She flinches, the difference in heat causing a sob to spill from her mouth. “Mum-” Ellis squeaks, and she starts sobbing freely. She pointed blearily to her phone and incoherently ranted about something. Ellis made fruitless attempts to calm her, but her sobbing only became more intense.
“Mum!” Ellis yelled, grabbing his mum’s arms. He was frustrated. His mother was crying aggressively first thing in the morning, and couldn’t understand what she was saying. He was angry- he hadn’t seen his mother that upset since her… incident. He couldn’t bare to see his mum shed more tears than the ones she shed that day.
The day Ellis saw his mother claw at her eyes in pain, the day he saw blood- unfathomable amounts of blood- flow from his mother’s eyes as his father disappeared into the crowds of people surrounding their home. The day he held his mother’s hand as she was carted away to the local hospital, the day his mother lost her sight forever.
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Mum.” Ellis whispered, tears pricking her eyes. “What's wrong?”
His mother shook with anger, her glossed-over eyes barely looking at him.
“He called.” She whispered, voice raw and painful. “He fucking called me.”
Ellis was rightfully confused- “Who? Who called you, Ma’?” His grip tightened, his mother’s tears slowly stopped, turning into sniffles and occasional coughs.
“Your dad. He wants to see you.”