The Green Light

Jack Summers stood temporarily frozen in the bitter wind. Harsh winter rain whipped at his face as he gazed upon what used to be his family home. He had been stood there for some time, lost in the depths of trepidation, barely aware as the day turned to dusk and street lights flickered to life.

It was Christmas eve and he hadn't laid eyes on the house where he'd been raised in nearly three years. He watched silently as the glow from Christmas decorations reflected off the green wallpaper inside the living room, discreetly filling the bay window with soft green light, before descending into darkness once again, only to be illuminated once more seconds later.

His chest swelled with a heavy sense of longing as he pictured his family inside, excitement heavy in the air, as they prepared for the festivities of the coming morning.

Matthew had loved Christmas. When Jack had left his little brother had been a child of only five, who found the excitement of Santa Claus and reindeer all too real. The perfect age for magic.

A lump appeared in his throat as he wondered how much his brother had grown. He struggled to swallow as he tried his best to muster up the courage he needed to approach the front door. Once he was there, he would have no choice but to knock. Then it would be up to fate.

He took his time taking in the heavily decorated, picturesque house.

Evidently, Christmas was still a big deal in this household and Jack was grateful for that. He didn't want to be the reason that it had become tainted with loss.

Sorrow weighed heavily on his heart as he remembered his mother's face like it was yesterday, tears streaming, frustration evident in every syllable she had screamed at him. Jack bowed his head in shame. He had been young himself - just a boy when he had run away from home. Fifteen years old and full of resentment for the world, he had begun to spiral.

'It's going to be fine,' he whispered to himself, his voice meek against the bitter wind. He had missed his family dearly and prayed they had missed him too.

He couldn't help but think about the day he'd left. Emotions had been running high, and he himself had said some things he wasn't sure he could ever take back. At the time, however, the world had seemed against him. Hindsight is bitter-sweet.

The real problems at home had started about two years prior to Jack's departure, when his dad had died in a car crash. He had come to terms with that word now - death. But for a long time, he had refused to accept it.

He'd been twelve when they'd received the phone call. It was landlines back then and he remembered his mum’s face as she rushed to pick up the handheld, while juggling cooking dinner and tending to the toddler version of Matthew. There’d been an atmosphere in the air already that day. His dad had been away working, as usual, but had forgotten to check-in for the last two nights, and Jack's mother had bitten her nails down to the quick by the time the phone had started ringing.

Jack had watched her expression change from relief to disbelief. He remembered that feeling like it was yesterday, fear had seemed to glue his shoes to the floor freezing him in place, as he watched the colour drain from his mother's face she had crumbled into a heap of heartache onto the kitchen floor.

The police officer had been courteous but blunt. An R.T.A they had called it. A road traffic accident. His father had been traveling back from work when he had lost control of his car, swerving off an embankment into a river. The driver behind him had stopped to call for help but could only watch helplessly as the car filled with water and disappeared from view. The car itself had been recovered, but it had been empty. The seat belt had snapped and most of the windows were missing. It had been one hell of a crash and despite the efforts from the local police, his body had never been recovered.

During the following weeks Jack had joined the search and rescue party as they walked the river banks and surrounding fields, looking for any trace of life. Soon enough hope had turned to doubt and the search party gradually grew fewer in numbers. Nevertheless, to the despair of his mum, Jack had refused to give up, eventually walking the embankments alone.

He’d never felt pain like it and doubted he ever would again.

The next six months had been a blur. Jack experienced problems at school, his schoolwork gradually declined despite his best efforts and he couldn’t seem to control his temper. He couldn’t get his head around the fact that life just went on, that things continued as usual and the world continued to turn with a hole in it. Lashing out and causing fights had seemed to make it hurt less, for a few minutes, at least.

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he remembered how much of a tearaway he had become. How difficult he must have made it for his mum, as she tried to navigate the next couple of years, as a widowed single parent. That was until she had met Steve, anyway.

Almost a year had passed since the funeral and Jack had been playing with Matthew in the garden. His little brother looked on in awe as Jack showed him the rickety old tree house mounted in the birch tree out back. He explained how he and their dad had spent many a summer day working on it, and how it was strictly no girls allowed. Just before noon their mum had called them inside for lunch. Whilst they had been eating she had explained, as best she could, that she had been lonely, so very lonely in fact, since their father passed, and ergo had started dating someone new.

Being a young boy, he hadn’t been able to understand why his mother would need a companion, why the memory of his loving father wasn’t enough to keep her sated. Over the coming months, Jack had watched as Steve was introduced into the family. Jack had hated him. Eventually, he had moved in and Jack had been livid, as he gradually watched pictures of his father disappear from the mantlepiece and various other places around their home, only to be replaced by pictures of the new happy couple. Resentment for the intruder had grown fierce in his belly.

It was a joke. This man coming into their home, sleeping on dad's side of the bed, sitting in his spot when he was watching tv. Putting his feet up on the sofa with his muddy shoes on, when everyone knew you were NOT allowed your shoes on dad's prized three-piece leather suit. It was like his father had never lived there, and soon enough it would be like he had never existed, Jack remembered thinking.

The punchline had come one Saturday evening, as they were finishing up after supper. Jack had been clearing the table while his mum washed the dishes and Steve dried up. Matthew had been pottering around in the kitchen, excitedly waiting for promised biscuits as he’d eaten all his dinner. He had become impatient and asked, in the sweetest little voice, if his daddy could pass him the biscuit barrel.

Jack stopped, instantly frozen in disbelief as he looked over at the unknowing innocence on his little brother’s face as he gazed up hopefully at the impersonator.

'Please Daddy?’ Matthew had repeated, with his hands outstretched. Time seemed to slow down as Jack screamed across the room that Steve was not their father but, in fact, an intruder. A dirty imposter who had weaseled his way into a family that was already complete, and now enjoyed the life of a manipulative leach who possessed no more value than that of a stray dog. And he was certainly NOT their father.

Jack could remember that moment with crystal clear clarity; his mum as she turned from the sink in slow motion, encumbered with panic and disbelief, Matthew shocked by the unexpected outburst burst into tears, embarrassment and anger bled its way onto Steve's face.

‘You ungrateful little sod,’ he had barked as he started across the room towards Jack, who had lost all fear of the towering man, ‘who do you think keeps this roof over your head?’ he had bellowed, ‘you think your mum can afford this place, alone? I am the reason you all still live here, in the family home you insist I am not a part of. How fucking dare you.’

Jack, heart thundering, hadn’t cared. Instead, he launched a glass across the room missing Steve’s head by inches where it smashed against a kitchen cabinet. His mum had screamed as she grabbed Matthew, saving him from the flying shards of glass. Steve started barking orders for Jack to calm down, but he wouldn't listen.

His mother turned to him holding Matthew protectively in her arms. ‘Jack we are a family whether you like it or not.’ She had hissed through gritted teeth, 'if you can’t accept that, then leave.’

The words had cut Jack like a knife. He'd staggered backwards as though he had been struck, the betrayal cutting him deep.

‘That’s how it is, IS IT MUM?’ he had screamed back at her. ‘You’re choosing him over me?’’ he had shrieked.

‘That’s how it is, Jack. Like it or lump it.’ She'd confirmed, firmly, as she'd looked her eldest son dead in the eye.

He'd stormed off down the hall, grabbed his coat, and swung open the front door as his mother raced after him. Overcome by anger, Jack had left a parting gift for his mother.

‘Dad would be ashamed of you.’ He'd spat as the door slammed behind him.

The same door that he now stood silently in front of, feeling ashamed of himself.

The wind had picked up along with the rain, and he could feel the chill getting under his winter coat and running its icy fingers along his back as the rain began to sting his face. He watched the Christmas lights as they hung from the roof, whipping in the wind like they were dancing to music that Jack could not hear.

He felt weak. Anxiety gripped his chest as he struggled to inhale against the weather. Bravely, he took a step forward... and then another... and then another. Before he knew it his nose was nearly touching the holly on the wreath. He stood inches from the door. Suddenly, Jack was very aware of his senses, realising he could hear music and laughter coming from inside the house and the smell of home-cooked food was faint but unmistakable. The yearning to belong and be home became so strong it was almost painful. He looked across at the bay window again. The green light was still blinking on and off warming the front windows, as he wondered who would answer.

As he took another strained breath, a tear silently betrayed him.

He knocked...