CHAPTER ONE

September 1956.

Read the label, turn the bottle in my hand another couple of times.

Unscrew the lid, change my mind, put it back on again.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing, how long I've been sat here or whether this is even the right thing to do. Tighten up the lid and read the label one more time, the doctor's words from this morning ringing in my ears.

"Well, Mrs Shepard, it's entirely understandable for you to experience these problems, after everything that's happened."

God, even he can't say it.

After the accident.

After my life fell apart overnight, and I was left struggling to bring up three children with no one else in the world who gives a damn about what happens to any of us.

After my husband died.

Just nod, go along with what he's saying. It ain't worth arguing about 'cause no one ever listens to me anyway. "And these pills? They can help me?"

"Yes. They can help you with the anxiety, help you manage work and taking are of your children, get some balance back in your life after a difficult time for you."

Difficult.

Fight the urge to laugh, 'cause difficult don't scrape the surface of how things are, don't come close to how I'm feeling as I listen to him talking at me.

First couple weeks, people were all over us, couldn't barely keep them out the house. Not now though. Aside from Carol from next door popping in everyday, there ain't no one who really cares if I'm coping. People just seem to think I should be moving on, getting on with things, that it's what he would want me to do. Like they even got the first clue what he would think or say. Just want to make it so they don't have to think about it no more, so I ain't their problem.

Trace my fingers over the letters on the label, decide to take a chance,'cause whatever they do it can't make things any worse than than they already are, and anyway I've wasted the very last of my spare cash on them so might as well use them now. Think about moving, getting a glass of water, but before I can do anything a voice breaks through the quiet, rouses me from my daydream.

Daydream. God I hate that word, there ain't nothing pleasant about my thoughts. More like being trapped in my worst nightmare with no way out.

"Happy Birthday, Ma."

Drag my eyes away from the small bottle in my hand, shove it deep into the pocket of my apron out of sight as I look up, see all of my children standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Tim's at the back, behind the other two, even though this group appearance is obviously down to his organising. There's that all too familiar, confident half-smile on his face as he whispers some instruction then shoves Curly a little in shoulder to make him head in my direction.

"We got you this, Mama."

"Thank you, sweetie," I smile, hugging my smallest boy. My favourite boy. But God, Ma always tells me I shouldn't have a favourite and remembering that just sets me to feeling bad again. Not that it takes much for my mother to have that effect on me, resolve every time we speak that the next time I won't let her get to me. Never quite works though. Push down that thought and try to smile as I look at the small gift my son has thrust eagerly into my hands.

Drop it on the table like my hands are burning.

"What's wrong, Mama?"

"Nothing, Curly," I lie.

"Then why d'you drop it?" Tim demands, Angela clinging to his hand while she watches me silently from his side. God, but she loves that boy, would do most anything if he's the one asking. But then surely that's a good thing, I shouldn't be hurt that they got a good relationship. Used to be like that for me and my brothers when they were still around here to take care of me. Should be pleased they get on good, not use it as another reason to make myself feel like even more of a failure than I do already.

"Just slipped out my hand, is all."

Only it's clear from his expression that he don't believe me. Wish he could leave things be this one time, just let it go, not try to constantly second guess me. Look over at him and it may as well be his father standing there. The rest the world might only see me when they look at the three of them, same dark hair, lean build. Not me though. Especially when I look at Tim because all I see right now are his father's dark blue eyes staring right back at me, that same expression on his face, the one that cuts right through me to the heart of things, that don't let me hide anything from him.

"But I thought it was your favourite, ain't it what dad always used to get for you?" Despite his efforts to sound like he don't care, I can hear the hurt in his voice, that yet again he's tried to do something for me and it still ain't quite good enough. But him voicing that reminder of Ted Shepard out loud sends me well and truly over the edge. Need to think about something else, anything else but Ted right now. Before my head fills with all those memories of happier times, different birthdays, all the things we'll never ever get to do again.

"Where did you get the money from to buy this?"

He shrugs, don't say nothing and I can feel the tension growing in me, showing in my voice when I continue to quiz him.

"I asked you a question, Timothy."

Stands there, silently staring at me, like he already knows what's coming, almost as though he wants me to get it over with and just yell at him. And this assumption, that he already knows how I'll react, well it just pushes me even closer to losing the last bit of control I got left.

"Curly, take Angela and go play in your room until bedtime."

"But-"

"Do as I tell you, sweetie."

It seems to take an age for them to leave, Curly trying to take Angela, her resisting until Tim tells her it will all be fine and he'll soon be there too.

Barely manage to hold it together until they've left the room. "I'll ask you again where you got this from, because I know you don't have no money Timothy."

"Then why bother asking me?"

"I'll ask you one last time. Did you steal this?"

He glares at me now, shoves his hands in his pockets, still don't give me an answer to my question, just shrugs. "Was only trying to do something nice, make you happy again."

And he turns and strolls out the room, hear his footsteps gather speed once he's out of my sight and the front door rattle on its hinges as he runs out the house, while I sink back down in my chair, tears falling from my eyes as I wonder why everything I do ends up in such a damn mess.

xxxxxx

"Evening, honey! Sorry I'm late, you ready for work?"

My neighbour, Carol, here to make sure they go to bed, while I go work the evening shift in some bar across town, hope to get enough in tips to pay a little extra off the rent I'm already behind on this week. Funny how quick you can burn through money, that the 'payout' from his employer over at the factory that seemed real generous don't even manage to last me three full months before I'm back to struggling over money again.

Tell her most days she don't need to keep doing this, that Tim is plenty old enough to take care of the other two, but she always dismisses that. Says she likes it, now her own kids are grown and left home, that she enjoys watching them.

Wipe away my tears, grateful she don't mention what a mess I must look, although I guess since it happened, since Ted... since that day...well I guess she's got used to seeing me in a state more often than not.

"Seen Tim outside."

"Yeah? Whereabouts?"

"Down the park at the corner, with a few other boys. What time is he meant to be home?"

Don't answer that, 'cause it ain't like we exactly arranged anything, not that he'd likely listen to me anyway. "He better not be doing anythin-"

"Glory, Jean, the boy is just with his friends. Though I'm surprised he went tonight." She pauses, rummaging in her bag for something. "Here, I got you this." She shoves a small parcel in my hands, watches as I open it. "Sorry it ain't much. So, did you like your other present? What did they get you in the end?"

Wonder exactly what's been going on, realise I'm on the edge again that I've made some terrible mistake, and I'm, close to losing what little control of my emotions that I got left. How the hell is it possible for one person to be shedding this many tears, again?

Carol turns, takes one look at me, and hugs me, "Oh Lord, Jeannie, what's happened?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Tim, last week, said they wanted to get you something and asked me to help them do it. Paid him to do some chores at the weekend. Why?"

Can't bring myself to look at her, but she don't let it lie, continues to push me in my silence, as I do all I can to avoid her gaze.

"Jean, what's wrong? What's happened?"

xxxxxx

Reckon I must officially be the most unfriendly barmaid in the whole of Tulsa.

Get a talking to from my manager tonight, tells me that he appreciates that things have 'been rough' for me. Like he's got the first clue. Tells me he wants to keep me on but if he gets another complaint then he'll be letting me go, that I should go home, sort myself out some, 'cause honestly, I'm losing him more customers by being there like I am right now.

By the time I make it back the house is finally silent, but I don't want to go to bed. Barely go in there anyways, since he's been gone. I'll sleep on the couch most probably, for all the good it'll do me.

Silence don't stop my mind from working overtime, though. Thinking about him. It's always him. Ted Shepard, the love of my life, the man I thought, dreamed, believed that I would spend the rest my days with.

Only maybe I should've listened to my Ma about him. Not got involved in the first place. Not married him. 'Cause here I am all alone with three kids to try to take care of and no one in the world who really gives a damn about what happens to me.

I don't remember when I last had a proper night's sleep.

Not this month anyways, or last month, not at all since he's been gone.

Seventy-three days.

And I miss him more now than ever. Least Angela's not much more than a baby, so pretty soon she'll forget, won't know no different and my baby boy. Well he's only six and he don't ever ask me no awkward questions.

But Tim. Well, ain't no way he's gonna forget him easy, not when he was such a daddy's boy, his father's shadow. Ain't gonna let me forget either. 'Cause he's got that same look about him, that same determination in his manner that makes me almost wish he wasn't here to remind of the man I miss so damn much. And then I shake myself. He's just a kid. A kid who ain't even quite ten yet, who's hurting just as much as me in his own way. And I know I don't really mean that 'cause I couldn't bear to lose him too.

Could do with some sleep right now though. Look at the small jar in front of me. Maybe it's time to stop being so stubborn, take the doctors advice. I mean, he has to know what he's talking about, all them years in college and all.

Take the lid off the jar, tip one the pills in my hand and study it. Small and round, yellow. Decide that something's got to give, 'cause there ain't no way I'm gonna make it if things go on as they are.

A/N: As always 'The Outsiders' and the Shepard family belongs to SE Hinton, title and story inspired by the song of the same name. This is something I've been thinking about doing for quite a while - looking at how the Shepard family became the way they are - so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. Slightly edited re Stefanie's feedback on terminology - thank you, it completely slipped me by :)