My mum blocked my number on Tuesday afternoon. One moment I was about to ring her and instead of the usual ringtone, I got this robotic the number you have dialled is unavailable. It wasnt one of those psychological parenting lessons from some self-help book. It was pure desperation. Shed simply had enough of hearing me whinge mum, could you send me a bit, just to tide me over till Monday? every month.
Im twenty-two and always figured life owed me something. Getting an ordinary job felt beneath me, so I waited around for that big opportunity and in the meantime, I lived off mums bank transfers. The money disappeared on all sorts of useless things: games, nights out, takeaways because I couldnt be bothered to cook.
When the landlord realised I wasnt paying, he kicked me out. The only things I had left were my parents old Ford Focus and Oscar my pointer. He was just a mate really, always patiently waiting for me to get home after my latest night out.
The first night in the car, I thought this was just temporary. By the third, Id run out of anything to eat. All I had in my pocket were a few coins. I bought myself a Pot Noodle, and the cheapest dog food for Oscar from the corner shop. In the morning, Oscar couldnt stand up. He was used to a special diet and his body just gave up. He lay there in the back seat, breathing heavily, looking up at me with these sad eyes, like he was saying goodbye. Pointers arent great with their digestive systems, and selfish as I was, Id skimped and bought rubbish food for him instead of proper stuff.
I drove to mums place in our little town, just hoping shed let us in and feed us. But shed changed the locks. I stood outside her window, dialling her number nothing. Messaged her no reply.
I sat on the kerb, feeling utterly lost. Then our neighbour from the ground floor brought me a carrier bag.
Ollie, your mum asked me to give you this.
Inside was Oscars specialised food and medicine. No money, no note. Just that bag a sign that she cared about the dog, but had run out of words for me.
I wanted to get Oscar to the vet, but the car gave up when it mattered most battery completely dead. I had no cash for a taxi, no mates to call. The clinic was a few districts over.
I hoisted Oscar into my arms. Thirty kilos. It wasnt graceful, like in the movies. I was gasping, sweating, stopping several times because my legs nearly buckled under the strain. People gave me a wide berth like I was some homeless bloke. When I finally stumbled into the clinic, I collapsed onto the bench, Oscar on my lap.
The vet who knew dad years ago checked Oscar out, then looked me straight in the eye.
Did you carry him here?
My car wouldnt start, I croaked out.
Need a job? My mate runs a scrap yard and needs lads to shift stuff. Its not great, but its honest pay. If youre up for it, youll manage. If not, Ill take Oscar off you before you ruin him.
I took the job. Not because Id suddenly turned into some hero, but because I was properly scared. I worked the warehouse late into the night, got used to graft, slept in the car until I could save up enough for a room in a hostel.
I changed. That carefree young bloke vanished. Staring in the mirror, I saw a man with tired eyes and rough hands. For the first time, I understood the value of every single pound.
About six months later, I visited mum. Not to ask for anything. I went in, quietly left some money on the side, fixed the kitchen tap and the door Id been meaning to repair for years.
Mum stood nearby. She didnt scold me; just came over and put her hand on my shoulder. For the first time in ages, I felt like a grown man rather than her little boy.
Mum hadnt blocked me because she stopped loving me. She did it because it hurt her to see me struggle. Sometimes, you have to carry your dog across town with your own two arms to realise no one else is going to live your life for you.
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