Love Ladders

Love is like a ladder; you climb up to the top and reach the height to see the beautiful view, but you can also fall off and injure yourself.

The thing about ladders, though, is that you can always go up or down. Despite falling or climbing, you can always have a way out. Love isn’t like that. You’re either in love or not, you love unconditionally, or not at all. There’s no way out once you fall; you’re stuck in that deep pit forever no matter how hard you try. You might fall out of love with someone, but there will always be something about them you love; memories, the way they smile, the way they touch you.

I’ve climbed the ladder, once. I’m still stuck in that mid-section of it. Unlike a real ladder, I can’t seem to unstick myself from the rung. My legs just don’t trust that there’ll be something there to cushion my fall.

I have a constant, tiny reminder of being at the top of the love ladder, too. As Oliver waves me off at the school gate, I internally curse everything that he was even born. I love him unconditionally, and would do anything for him, but I wish he’d been saved from a world without two parents who love and cherish both him and the other.

Love is also like a ladder in a pair of tights; when your heart breaks, it snags and ruins the whole pair. In turn, it looks awful, lets the cold air in and doesn’t stop until the tights are completely ruined.

My phone buzzes with a call as I climb into the car.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hey, it’s me,” Dallas says on the other end of the line. “Just got home from work.”

“Hold on, let me put you on Bluetooth.” I turn the car on, hook up the phone quickly, and continue the conversation. “How was your shift? Save many cats today?”

He chuckles. “No cats today, much to Ollie’s dismay. I’ll have to disappoint him later, but I fought three fires, so he’ll be pleased. How’d he get on this morning?”

“Yeah, he was excited. Second full day of school, I’m scared more than he is. Are you sure you’re okay to pick him up? I feel bad asking—”

“Skye, I promise you it’s fine. We’re best friends, it’s what I’m here for. Well, I’m also Ollie’s godfather so, he’s stuck with me for life. You excited about work?”

I scoff. “Oh, yeah, enthralled. I mean, it’s not too bad. I get paid to sit around someone’s house and watch films with them all day. They say caring is hard!”

Dallas laughs. “I’m jealous. I should’ve done that instead of going in to fight fires and save cats all day.”

“Dallas, are you sure you want to come tomorrow? I can go on my own, you’ve just done a ton of long shifts in a row. It’s already been two years since Dad died,” I say.

He just snorts. “All the times you’ve been there for me since Mum died, even with a newborn baby and every year since? Skye, don’t be stupid. I can come and visit your mum in the morning and go to your dad’s grave. He’d be annoyed with me if I didn’t. Poor bugger loved me in the end.”

I chuckle, remembering my dad’s sly grin even when his Alzheimer’s was at its worst. “He did love you. Probably the only new person he loved. Apart from when Oliver was born. He loved him.”

“Can’t believe it’s been two years.”

“Probably a small mercy to him,” I say as I park the car. “I better go, I’ve just parked outside work. Have a good sleep.”

“I’ll pick him up and do you want me to bring him to yours or mine?” Dallas asks.

“You live next door, you idiot, it doesn’t matter. Just text me and let me know,” I say. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s what best friends are for. See you later,” he says.

“Bye!” I hang up and sigh before turning the car off and grabbing my bag. The envelope from the post yesterday is still in my bag. I forgot to remove it yesterday and this morning in my rush to get myself and Ollie ready.

I hold it, inmate mail, not responsible for contents is stamped on in black over the handwritten address. I’ve not responded to one in five years, I don’t know why he still bothers. I don’t even know if he knows my address anymore, the address is written in different and more formal handwriting.

His handwriting hasn’t changed since he left.

I put the envelope in the glove compartment of the car. I pull out my notebook and pen I keep in there for moments like this.

He never gets sent these notes, but maybe one day, I might bring myself to send him the whole stack I’ve written since he left along with the photos of years gone by that he missed because of some idiotic mistake.

A mistake that not only he’s paying for. A mistake that he probably didn’t think about.

’Scotty,

It’s his second full day of school today. He was nervous yesterday, but today he ran in with a big smile on his face. A smile that looks the same as yours when you were his age. The same smile that used to make me smile.

One day, you’ll find out you have a son. You’ll find out that the next morning, I did take a test despite you not wanting me to. One day, you might get to meet him and see how alike you both are.

I don’t regret not telling you, because you left me, betrayed me and, without knowing it; you betrayed Ollie. You said you didn’t want him if I was pregnant, but one day when you see him, you’ll see how amazing he is and want him. I hope.

I’ve kept him safe.

Maybe one day.

Skye.’

One day, I’ll open these letters. There was a time I used to open every single one and write a reply but never send it. Then Ollie was born, and I felt even more betrayed than before. I got tired of reading excuses and apologies. If he was honestly sorry, he wouldn’t have pled guilty.

No, if he was truly sorry, he wouldn’t have done it. He would have thought before he acted, and come home to me, to the potential family we were having – and turned out to have.

But he swears he didn’t do it. In those first letters, he would promise me he was innocent. He would phone me and tell me how he pled guilty because it would’ve meant a lesser sentence, and apparently, it did.

His mum pled with me for years. I don’t know if she still goes to see him, but I know she stopped trying to contact me soon after my dad’s funeral when she turned up. Luckily, Dallas’ dad had Ollie that day because a funeral isn’t a place for a then-three-year-old.

“It’s messy, Scotty. Why’d you do it?” I whisper.

Part of me will always regret not telling him about Ollie, but it is what it is, and I’ve made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.

I close the glove compartment and breathe. That’s enough wallowing for one day.

There’s suspicious giggling coming from the kitchen and a deeper chuckle that comes afterwards when I open the front door to home that evening.

I smell… cake.

They’ve been baking.

“Mummy can smell food! I smell cake, and I can hear a sugar rush!” I call.

Dallas appears in the doorway as I take my shoes off. He’s wearing a blue shirt and black jeans. His blonde hair is ruffled, and he has cake batter in his stubble. He hands out a spoon filled with what looks like chocolate icing.

“I swear I’m innocent, but to keep you sweet, I was told to give you this as a peace offering. There’s also pizza,” he says.

I take the spoon, keeping a straight face on purpose while I eat the icing. Behind him, Ollie appears in his favourite Spiderman pyjamas with ketchup stains around his face and chocolate icing on his forehead.

“What flavour pizza?” I ask.

Ollie grins. He knows why. “Meat feast. The only flavour!”

I high-five him and laugh. “Then the sugar rush is forgiven. I’m starving.”

“How was your day?” Dallas asks.

“All right. Today I had to endure five episodes of Friends, and then I had to watch Finding Nemo. So, it was a long, hard day.” I’m joking, and he knows it. “But I didn’t save any cats, so it was even worse.”

He laughs. “Well, to cheer you up, we bought pizza and made cake, so winner, winner.”

Ollie grabs the TV remote and continues watching Spiderman on TV while I sit at the kitchen table. The pile of post glares at me.

I groan before taking a bite of my dinner. “Bills, bills—oh, for fuck’s sake. I asked them to remove me from his list. I had one yesterday and again today?”

Dallas sighs. “I didn’t know whether to tear it up or leave it.”

“No, it’s not your fault. I’ve asked the prison five times this year alone to get him to stop sending me letters. Each time they promise me it’s a fault with the system and they’ve done it this time.”

“Does he know your dad died?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. I haven’t opened one of his letters since just before Ollie was born.”

“Do you not think you should? I know I don’t know Scott, but you told me he was your best friend—”

“I knew him since I was two. Then he was my everything at sixteen. And then he broke it by going to prison.”

“Maybe he’s been trying to reach out. I mean, Skye, he doesn’t even know he has a son. All he knew was that you thought you were pregnant,” he whispers. “I’m not sticking up for him, but maybe he really didn’t do it, and was trying to get a lesser time in prison so he could come back to you.”

“If he wanted to come back to me, he wouldn’t have been there that night, let alone take a bargain,” I say. “If I meant anything to him, he would’ve fought it. I didn’t have time to tell him the morning after that I had a positive test.”

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dallas asks. “You always avoid the question.”

I side-eye him and put the letter from the prison on the side. We both know that deep down, the regret still stings like a damn thorn, but I’ll never admit it. “Because he betrayed me. I was eighteen, my dad was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and I had to stay behind while everyone else around me got to go out and get drunk. Because Scott promised me he would come back every weekend—”

“He’s only half an hour down the road, Skye. It’s easy to tell him, to see him.”

I roll my eyes. Deep down, I know he’s right, but I hate admitting that. “Yet, the first thing he did was get into a fight with a knife, Dallas. He clearly didn’t care. I was just a childhood fling; I was just something in the way. That night he said he didn’t want kids yet, and if I was pregnant, he didn’t want it. Yet he left me behind with evidence because he was too immature to walk away.”

He sighs. “I don’t know, I just think it’s been five years, he’s due for parole soon, right? Maybe now is the time to tell him, or at least see what he has to say. The man is persistent.”

“Don’t stick up for a man you’ve never met. You’re practically raising his son—”

“I don’t see it like that,” Dallas says. “He’s my godson. I look after him and help you because I love you both.”

I groan and eat another bite of pizza. God this stuff is good.

“All right, all right. I’m sorry, I just—it makes me angry.”

“I know, but just think about it. If not for you, then for Ollie. He’s already asking questions.”

I cock my head. “Like what?”

“While we were making cake, he was asking what his dad is like, and why he’s never met him. He asked again if I was his dad. Like he did last year, and when he was four.”

“What’d you say to that?”

“I said I wasn’t his dad, but I love him so much. I told him I’m his godfather which means I’m mummy’s best friend, and because I love her a lot, she asked me to help look out for him all the time, which is why I do. He seemed okay with that answer. I managed to avoid the question about his dad with that answer, but he’ll start asking you soon, Skye. You need to come up with something. Especially now he’s at school and he can see other kids with dads.”

“I know.”

“You might decide not to involve Scott, which is up to you as his mum, but if it doesn’t involve him, you need to tell him something. If Scott gets parole and gets out of prison like they said he might, you’ll need to consider the fact he might come back and find out he has a son.”

“Mummy? Uncle Dallas?” Ollie calls from the lounge.

“Yeah, sweetie?” I ask.

“Can I have some milk?”

I grin and get him some. He takes it with the obligatory thank you before going back to watch his precious Spiderman cartoon.

I think of Dad, and how I asked him what to do one afternoon. He was having a good day, and he knew a lot of things. I told him I found out I was pregnant, and he told me to do whatever it took to keep my baby safe.

He then told me he didn’t believe Scott would be such an idiot, but if he pled guilty, he must have thought that was the best of a crappy situation.

I agree. But the longer I think about what he did, or at least, what he pled guilty to, the more I wonder why the hell he didn’t just fight it to come back to me.

“It’s a shitty situation, but you know Scott more than anyone else. Only you can make this decision, but if he’s got a chance of parole, he will take it. It might be the time to start building bridges, Skye. If he meant everything to you for eighteen years of your life, don’t you think he deserves a second chance?”

“Why do you always say that?”

“Because it’s what best friends do; play devil’s advocate. I’ve always found it weird that you just cut him off. Don’t you believe him?”

I glare at him. “The guy promised me he would be there for me with my dad. My mum died when I was a kid, I was the only person my dad had. He promised me he wouldn’t go to university and get a job while I looked after my dad.”

“He did, though, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and then he fell into the wrong crowd, got into a knife fight and got sent to prison for manslaughter. The victim was paralysed and blinded, Dallas. Scott pled guilty to manslaughter; he admitted doing that to someone.”

“He swore wasn’t him. It was either plead guilty and get a lenient sentence or go to trial and face getting found guilty with up to twenty years, Skye. From what I’ve read and seen, it was probably the wrong place, wrong time. Do you truly think he’d lie to you after so many years of friendship and a relationship?”

Dallas is right; he always is. It’s a gut punch every time I say something like that because it’s Scotty. He’d never hurt a fly. Part of me wonders if it’s a defence mechanism for my head and for Ollie, but at the same time, being angry at him comes naturally.

I scoff. “You don’t know him. He was always getting into trouble, Dallas. If it wasn’t getting high in the park at fifteen, it was stealing from the corner shop by my nan’s house. If not that, it’s fucking knife crime. I want to believe him. He changed when we turned sixteen and got together. He promised me he’d changed, and he did. But then this? He was always gullible. I thought he’d think of me looking after my dad and fight it, or getting someone else done for it so he could be found innocent and come home and live the life we were meant to. But he pleaded guilty. I just don’t know with him whether he means what he says anymore. He left me pregnant, caring for my sick dad and I lost everything because he was a tool.”

He just folds me into his arms and kisses my hair. “Whatever happens, you have me, all right?”

“I know. It’s just a sore subject.”

“You’re angry at yourself for not telling him and not angry with him anymore. You’ve been avoiding him for five years because he was your best friend. He made a mistake, and you were — rightfully — angry, so you lashed out by not telling him he had a son. Now you’re regretting that decision so you’re disguising it with anger and ignorance towards his existence.”

“I hate you.”

He doesn’t say anything more as I cling to him for dear life, just like I have for five years now. He does chuckle at my response, though.

The unsaid swirls between us: we both know he’s right. I need to make a decision about Scott, and fast.