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Mar 23, 2021

small foreign faction | emily oliver

Emily Wilson was 17 when she started dating Robbie Oliver. They met at college - Emily was shy and sheltered, and had never had a boyfriend, but Robbie was charming and stubborn and persistent in convincing her to give him a chance. He was one of the popular boys at school, confident and charismatic, so she was instantly taken by him. Ignoring the warnings of her friends about Robbie’s true intentions and the whispers at school about his wild side, Emily allowed herself to get caught up in the whirlwind of promises and attention that Robbie showed her. The more time passed, the more she fell in love with him and the more confident she felt in him and their relationship.

Emily was freshly 18 and a little under a year into her relationship with Robbie when she found out she was pregnant. She had never thought much about being a Mum, but now that it was happening with Robbie, it felt like the most logical step in their relationship - to become a family. He, however, had reservations.

“A baby? Shit, Emily. Parents... Really? Are we ready for that? What about University?”

She’d already thought of that, of course, and offered a hesitant smile. “Well, I was thinking I could take some time away from school... That way, I could move with you to Uni, so you’d go to classes and I could stay home with the baby. I’ll work until it’s born so we can have some money saved up. I can always go back to school in a few years when it’s older.”

Emily watched cautiously as Robbie fell silent, pensive, rubbing his face with his hands. “But we’ll need space for the baby… And help… Birmingham is far from here, what if something happens when we’re so far from home? Wouldn’t your family want us closer?”

“I’m sure we can find a flat or something in Birmingham. We’ll be each other’s home. We love each other and we’ll love this baby. Everything else will fall into place.” She held her breath as she watched Robbie, and finally, he sighed and looked up at her. “Okay, I guess... Okay, we’re going to be parents. A baby. Shit, Em…” Emily thought she caught a slight deflation in Robbie and he shook his head. “Okay. Uh, if you really think we can do this, then we should do it the right way. Our parents will want us married before we do anything else.”

Emily nodded, throwing her arms around Robbie and kissing him, choosing to ignore how rigid he felt in her arms, and instead imagining the family that they were becoming.

They were married by Summer and moved into a cramped and dated flat in Birmingham by Fall. Emily began a job as a waitress at a restaurant near the city centre, and Robbie began classes for his first semester of University.

Emily was a few months shy of 19 when she became a mother. She’d spent a large portion of the labour by herself - Robbie had been in an exam when the contractions started, and didn’t arrive until right before their daughter, Robin, was born. She had dark hair, like her dad.

“We could always call her Robbie,” She mused, looking over at Robbie, who was stiffly holding their daughter. “Yeah,” He said, looking up at Emily with a smile. “Just like her dad.” He looked back down at the baby in his arms then glanced to the clock, standing up as quickly as he could without disturbing her. “I’ve got to go, Em. I have another exam in 30 minutes. Just one more tomorrow and then it’ll be done. Promise.” Emily nodded disappointedly, but quickly turned her attention back to her daughter and the small whistling noise leaving her tiny nose as she slept. “My sweet Robin’s egg. My very own little handheld Robbie.” She smiled sadly and kissed the baby’s head.

Robin was 4 months old when Robbie stumbled into the flat one night, absolutely plastered. Emily had fallen asleep on the couch with her in an attempt to stop her cries, but woke up in a pitch black room to the sound of whispered swears and fumbling around. “Robbie? Where have you been?” He mumbled something about a small party. “S’not a big deal... Going to sleep.” She watched as he staggered into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed without doing so much as changing.

Emily slept on the couch that night.

Emily was 20, exhausted, lonely, and constantly haunted by the lingering smell of baby powder. It felt like Robbie was never around, he was either working late or when he was home, he was sleeping or studying. She’d lost touch with most of her friends back home after moving and having a baby, and had no time or energy to go out and make new ones.

Motherhood was nothing like she’d expected. This family didn’t even feel like a family at all.

Robin was 18 months old when Robbie got kicked out of University and they were forced to move back to Spenningdale. She sat in her carseat, babbling to herself as her Dad grumbled to himself and her Mum stared out the passenger window, secretly grateful that they were going home. Birmingham had been bad for Robbie. His first semester of school had been great - he’d been diligent with classes, aced every exam, and seemed to have made some friends in his classes. After Robin was born though, everything began going downhill. Robbie stayed out more, always telling Emily he was going to study, but would then crawl into bed after midnight smelling of booze and cigarettes. In those moments, she thought back to the whispers at college, the jokes and rumours of Robbie Oliver’s antics, the warnings she’d ignored until they were presented on a tray to her, every weekday evening and sometimes as early as noon on the weekends. His getting kicked out felt like a blessing, like a fresh start for them as a family. He’d find a job, she would have her family close by to help with Robin, and they could focus on each other and their daughter.

Everything fell apart in Spenningdale.

Emily was 21 the first time she admitted her resentment for the life she was living. She was sitting on her parents’ couch with Robin playing at her feet as her Mum made dinner in the kitchen. “I could have been so much more - I could have seen so much more and done so much more…” “What darling?” Her Mum called from the kitchen. Emily sighed, looking down at Robin who was talking to herself as she played with the ring stack on the floor. She frowned slightly and shook her head. “Nothing.”

Robin was 4 when the shouting started. It would always happen at night when she was in bed, hugging her stuffed bunny close and staring up at the ceiling in fear. It started as arguments over the cleaning and washing up, until it felt to Emily like everything was crumbling around her. Robbie was never around to help around the house or to help feed Robin, or give her a bath, or put her to sleep. He got to be the fun parent, who came home late from work and played tickle monster or hide and seek, whilst Emily did the washing up and made sure Robin was properly taken care of. She wasn’t allowed the luxury of being the fun parent. She had to be the caretaker, the disciplinarian, the bill-payer, the maid, all after getting off of work and picking Robin up from daycare.

Emily was 23 when she found out she was pregnant again. She’d locked herself in the toilets at work and sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest, sobbing. She and Robbie rarely even kissed anymore, let alone slept together. But one night he’d come home from the pub smelling of liquor and slid into bed, kissing her neck and whispering how beautiful she was. She’d felt invisible to him until that moment, and felt a raw desperation deep inside her, aching for his attention. Now, as she sat on the cold tile floor thinking back to that night, she felt like she was going to be sick.

Robin was 5 when she became a big sister. She was placed in her Mum’s lap by her Dad, as her baby sister was balanced in her arms. “Robbie, this is your little sister, Jane.” Emily smiled down at her two little girls, as Robin took Jane’s little hand in hers and gently shook it around. “I love her, Mummy.” Emily looked down at Robin with a smile and then over at Robbie, but it faltered as she saw him sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, fiddling with the telly remote.

Emily was 24 when she began suspecting that Robbie was having an affair. He was spending less and less time at home, and even less time with the girls, then would slide into bed past midnight carrying the softest aroma of women’s perfume. She was always awake when he got home, rolling over onto her side right before he walked into the bedroom, waiting until she heard snores before rolling onto her back again to stare up at the ceiling. These were the moments she found herself questioning how she ended up in a loveless marriage with two daughters, feeling completely alone before she’d even reached her mid-twenties. These were the nights she allowed herself to cry, to mourn the naive girl she had been and the interesting woman she would never get to be, because Robbie Oliver had stolen that chance from her. Her daughters had stolen that chance from her. She’d stolen that chance from herself.

Robin was 7 when her dad left. There was screaming and a slammed door followed by deafening silence and then Jane’s cries. Her Mum was on the sofa when she crept downstairs. “Mum, where’s dad gone?” Emily didn’t look up from the spot she was staring at on the front door. “He left.” Robin’s head tilted and she followed her Mum’s gaze to the front door. “Left? But he didn’t say bye to me or Jane.” Silent tears were angrily streaking down Emily’s cheeks. How could she tell her daughter, Robbie Oliver’s biggest fan, his namesake, that he was gone and wouldn’t be coming back? She couldn’t answer that, she didn’t have an answer. But she knew she couldn’t bear to see Robin’s face at the moment. “Go to your room, Robin.” Her full name felt foreign leaving Emily’s mouth. She’d called Robin, Robbie for as long as she could remember, but now that version of herself, that Mum that she had been, couldn't exist anymore. Not when everything about Robin reminded Emily of Robbie. Not when everything about her daughter reminded her of every bad decision she’d made to end up right where she was now - miserable and alone. She finally pulled her wet eyes from their spot on the door, to find Robin no longer standing there. Jane was still crying though, so Emily stood wearily and moved up the stairs towards her nursery.

Her illusion of their happy family had shattered, and all that was left now was the harsh reality - a screaming toddler, an inquisitive 7 year old, an exhausted mother, and the incessant smell of baby powder.

Robin was 8 when she realized her dad wasn’t coming home. She was playing outside with Matt in his garden, creating imaginary scenarios where they were pirates searching for hidden treasure, prince and princess ruling over a kingdom, or superheroes trying to save the city from attack. Robin paused when the back door opened and Matt’s dad stepped out, whistling to himself as he watered some of the plants in the garden. She watched him for a moment longer before turning back to Matt, who hadn’t even blinked an eye at his dad’s presence.

“Has your dad ever left, Matty? Like for a long time?” He looked up at her in confusion and laughed. “He goes to work everyday, but anytime he leaves to go somewhere, like on holiday, we always go with him. Except for when Alice was born. Mum and Dad left me with Nan, but he came back to bring me to see her.” Robin nodded solemnly. Her dad had never taken their family on holiday, even when it’d felt like he hadn’t been home for two or three days at a time, like he might be lounging on the beach himself. After the first month of her Dad being away, Robin learnt to stop asking her Mum when he’d be back. Whether it was at dinner as Robin pushed around the peas on her plate, and Jane sat in her high chair smacking the tray whilst Mum cut up food for her, or in the mornings on the way to school - the answer was always the same. “Your Dad chose to leave, and he’ll choose if he wants to come back.”

It was in that moment, glancing back at Matt’s dad smiling over at them and chuckling, that Robin realized her Dad must not want to come back.

Robin was 10 when she fully understood the power of escaping. Whether it was in the games she’d play with Matt, Jack and Leo after school, or full-fledged daydreams she’d create on the quiet rides to school, or the books she read in her room at night when she was meant to be sleeping. These worlds she’d create, she allowed herself to get lost in, because they felt better, happier, more reliable, than the one she actually lived in. In these daydreams, her dad never left their family - he took them on holiday, he came home from work early every evening and played tickle monster or hide and seek with them. In these daydreams, her Mum was happy and gave hugs and kisses and answered questions and asked about school. In these daydreams, Robin didn’t get an ache in her stomach when someone referred to her as Robbie. But eventually, these dreams couldn’t sustain Robin’s need to be anyone other than who she was, or to go anywhere other than where she was, with anyone other than her Mum and baby sister. Soon, the books she read and the games she made up with her friends weren’t enough.

Robin was 12 when she tried alcohol for the first time. She coughed and gagged slightly the moment the vodka Matt snuck from his parents’ liquor cabinet hit the back of her throat. They passed the bottle between the four of them - Matt, then Robin, then Leo, then Jack and back to Matt again, until a third of the bottle was gone and they couldn’t stop giggling, sprawled on the floor staring up at the ceiling. She felt free in that moment, as if all of her sadness seeped out with each passing giggle.

Robin was 13 when she snuck out for the first time. She slipped out the front door and ran to the road, where Matt, Jack, and Leo were waiting for her. When she returned late that night, creeping through the front door, she was startled by her Mum, sitting in the warm dim glow of the living room lamp. She froze, expecting her Mum to be livid, to scream at her about sneaking out. She didn’t scream though, and she wasn’t livid. Instead, she stood to hug Robin as soon as they made eye contact. Robin remained rigid in her Mum’s arms, not used to this sudden softness. “I’m so glad you’re home safe. Please don’t scare me like that, again.” She sank into her Mum’s touch for a moment and nodded. It was the warmest her Mum had been since her Dad left. “I’m really tired, Mum…” Robin pulled away then, suddenly uncomfortable in her own Mum’s touch, and walked up the stairs to her room, without another word.

She snuck out again the next weekend.

Robin was 14 when she lost her virginity. Her Mum had never talked to her about sex, or what to expect. In fact, her Mum didn’t talk to her about anything much at all. As she’d gotten older though, she’d figured out that she had been an accident - it didn’t take much to work that out. Her Mum was 18, only a few years older than her when she was born, so Robin knew what to do to keep the same thing from happening to her. Everything she knew about sex, she’d learnt from discussions with Matt, Jack, and Leo, or from porn and movies and books and the internet. It happened at a party, with a boy called Adam who was in her Biology class. It didn’t last very long and didn’t feel great, but she liked that it made her feel wanted, important. Like for a moment in time, Robin was the most important person to the person she was with, and that was a feeling she wanted to maintain.

Robin was 15 when she came home to her Mum, sat at the kitchen table, a half empty bottle of vodka, a crumpled pack of cigarettes, a small plastic container of weed, and some pills Matt had shared with Robin spread in front of her. “I was cleaning the house this afternoon, and found all of this in your room. For the love of God, Robin -” “It’s nothing, Mum… Everyone at school does it -” “It is a big deal, Robin. What is your goal with all of this? Do you think the more rebellious you are, the more you act like your deadbeat father did, that somehow he’ll come back into our lives? If he wanted to be here, he would. If he wanted to see you, he would. But he’s not here, is he? So what is this all for?” Robin froze at the mention of her Dad, it was the first time her Mum had spoken of him since she last asked about him when she was 8. Emily shook her head in disgust and threw her hands up in frustration. “What do you want from me, Robin? Why do you do everything in your power to make it so… So goddamn difficult to love you.”

Robin could feel her bottom lip quivering as tears threatened to pool over. How could she explain that these were the things that comforted her, that helped her numb the pain in the pit of her stomach that had settled there since her Dad walked out on her? That helped her escape this dysfunctional life she’d been born into. She couldn’t, so she deflected instead. She bit the inside of her mouth until she could feel it bleed before she finally spoke. “I hate you. I hate it here. I hate that you pushed Dad away and that you have to make me miserable because you’re bitter that you’re alone. I hate that nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Fuck. I make good grades, I have best friends, I’m a good sister. But it doesn’t fucking matter, does it? I’ll always remind you of him, so nothing I do will ever matter to you.” Robin stepped away from the table and turned toward the stairs as tears fully escaped her eyes. “Throw the fucking drugs away and pour the vodka down the sink. I don’t fucking care anymore. None of it makes living in this Hell hole any easier.”

This was the conversation that broke Robin - that sent her down a spiral of self-destructive rebellion and perpetually burying her feelings. If her own mother couldn’t understand her deep-rooted pain, the abandonment she felt by her Dad leaving, the gap it left in her life, why should she pretend to be the perfect child her Mum wanted? She had Jane for that.

It was then that Robin decided that University would be her way out, so she never had to see Spenningdale again. She would focus on school and getting good marks, and could just use alcohol and weed and the pills Matt gave her to numb everything else until she could actually escape.

Robin was 16 the first time she didn’t come home at all after a party. She walked through the front door the next morning as her Mum and Jane sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Robin walked past them toward the stairs as her Mum’s gaze bore holes into her. “Robin Oliver, get back here. Now.” Robin rolled her eyes, still slightly buzzed from the night before. “Where the hell have you been?” “I slept over at Matt’s, it’s not a big deal.” “You can’t just disappear without telling me, Robin. What if something had happened to you? You’re being reckless. It’s going to get you killed.” Emily was shouting and Robin just narrowed her eyes. “Please. Stop acting like you’d miss me if I was gone. Just admit it, you wish that you never had to deal with me again - you hate how much I’m like Dad. It drives you fucking crazy that I loved him and he loved me. God, no wonder he left, he was probably fed up with all of this bullshit.” She threw her arms up in the air as her shout nearly matched her Mum’s, and she held her stare until Emily looked away. “Go to your room,” Her Mum said sternly. Robin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever.” A door slammed from upstairs and Emily sat back down across from Jane at the kitchen table, picking up her half-eaten toast without another word.

Robin was 17 when she first felt envious of Jane. Until that point, Jane had felt like her partner in crime - anything they faced at home, they’d faced together. She always wanted to be the person her little sister could come to if she needed advice or wanted to vent or had gossip to share. Now, Robin sat silently at the dinner table, still high from a brownie she’d shared with Jack earlier that evening, pushing the food around on her plate and waiting until her Mum was satisfied enough with this self-indulgent display of “family time” to dismiss them from the table. She was watching Jane quietly, observing her lovingly interact with their Mum as she shared details from her day and retold a joke she’d heard at school. It was then that it hit Robin - they had not had the same upbringing - not really, anyway. Jane had the ability to remain so effortlessly untouched by their father’s absence, and was placed on a pedestal by their Mum because of that. Jane didn’t remind their Mum of their Dad, because Jane couldn’t remember a time before he was out of their lives. With Jane, their Mum could pretend that part of her life never happened, whilst Robin was the big, disappointing, reminder - she had his eyes, his hair, his laugh, his fucking name. It felt like a curse, like she could never escape his shadow as hard as she tried - she was either hung up on losing him, or reminded by her Mum of all the negative qualities he’d passed down to her. As if sensing her stare, Jane’s eyes suddenly met hers, so Robin simply stuck out her tongue and smirked, quickly turning back to her food.

Robin was 18 when she found out she was pregnant. It was the end of her first month away at Uni when the nausea hit, a week later when her period hadn’t come, and another week after that before she was brave enough to take a test. She’d felt so stupid, so pathetic - the one thing she’d worked so hard to avoid, becoming like her Mum, and now it was unavoidable. Well, it could have been avoidable, but the doctor’s appointment she’d made had sealed her fate. The moment she saw her little baby and heard it’s muffled heartbeat, a small seedling of hope planted itself in Robin’s brain. This could be her chance to make up for all the bad in her life, to be the Mum she felt like she’d never had.

Now, a month later, she sat in front of her Mum at the dinner table on a rare visit home from Uni. “Mum,” Robin started, taking a hesitant breath. “I’m pregnant. It’s Jack’s and -.” Emily’s jaw clenched and she dropped her fork, causing a loud clang as it hit the plate. “Jane, love, go to your room.” Robin rolled her eyes and stared at the wall behind her Mum as Jane left the table. “I’m keeping it, Mum, I -” “How could you be so careless, Robin?” Robin watched as her Mum’s head dropped into her hands and she shook her head. “After everything this family has been through… You’ve constantly shown how irresponsible you are, how reckless you are, and now you expect me to believe you can handle being a mother? You’re a child.”

“I can do it, Mum. I promise. I’ll have the baby and then I can take classes while I take care of it -”

“I did everything for you, I gave up everything for you. And now you’re throwing your life away on a baby you’re not ready for? How could you be so stupid?” Emily was screaming until her voice gave way to tears and she shook her head in disgust at her own daughter. “I thought you’d be smart enough to see what happened to me and do better, but you’re just like your father… you only think about yourself.” She sighed and turned away from Robin. “Get out of my house.” “But, Mum…” Robin’s voice was soft, sad almost, and Emily recognized someone other than Robbie in it for once - she recognized herself, the naive 18 year old that was convinced that love was all she needed to have a happy family, to be a good mum. But love wasn’t enough, and soon Robin would see that too. “Get out, Robin. I’ve had enough of this, you’ll always be like your father - a selfish, reckless, disappointment. You can kiss any chance at Uni goodbye, unless you do it yourself. I’m done.” Robin shook her head desperately, her eyes watering up. “But, Mum I promise - “ “No. Why should I believe you now when all you’ve ever done is make things difficult for everyone around you? I don’t want to hear it, Robin. Just go.” Robin looked at her Mum for a moment longer, her damp eyes wide in fear. Emily bowed her head and refused to look up again until she heard the front door close.

Emily was 36 when she lost her daughter.

Robin was 19 when she became a mother. By her 19th birthday, she had finished her first semester of Uni with high marks, and subsequently dropped out indefinitely. She returned to Spenningdale, where a job in the cafe and a tiny old flat were waiting for her, whilst her best friends and the father of her unborn child were away at Uni, or travelling the world. She had felt alone, exhausted, and terrified of her future. Now though, in hospital, Robin was once again surrounded by her best friends, her chosen family, and felt the love and support she’d been craving. Leo had driven her to hospital when her contractions started and waited with her until Jack arrived, and then he and Matt were there waiting to meet Jack and Robin’s daughter, Hazel, when she arrived.

Now, as Jack laid across the chair in the corner of the room, snoring, and Robin sat quietly with Hazel, staring down into her daughter’s eyes - she felt that every sacrifice, every ounce of pain that led her to this moment, to being the Mum of this perfect little girl, was completely worth it. In this moment, when it really was just her and Hazel looking at one another, she felt the deepest, most intrinsic connection with her little girl, and vowed to always protect her - to support her, to listen to her, and to love her unconditionally for the rest of her life. Robin smiled to herself as the tiny eyes looking back at her finally closed, and a small whistling snore escaped her nose.

Hazel would be her fresh start.

#small foreign faction #self para #flashback para #info #Emily Oliver #jane #robbie oliver

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