Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Gloria had finished the glass of lager and a fresh can sat beside it on the table. The empty one was gone, presumably binned by Matty before she left.
“Has she gone?” Gloria asked, not taking her eyes off the TV. Countdown would be on any minute.
“If you mean Matty, then yes, she’s left for the evening.”
“Good. Bloody hippie.”
Sloan narrowed her eyes and stared at her mother. “I thought you liked her.”
“They’re all the same,” she said, offering no further explanation.
“I’m pretty sure they’re not.” Sloan sat down on the same end of the sofa she’d been perched on earlier. “I don’t recall any of your other carers pushing you round town in your wheelchair while you waved your arm in the air and squealed with delight.”
Gloria’s head swivelled towards her, but there was something in her eyes Sloan hadn’t seen in a long time—a twinkle of life. “As if I had a choice. Girl’s mad. What kind of grown-up wears skates?”
“The kind you want to pretend you don’t like.” Sloan watched her mother closely, and then she saw it—a twitch at the corner of her mouth she still had full control of. “Careful, Mother. You might smile,” she gently teased, smiling as she said it.
“Is she coming back?”
“She is.”
Gloria nodded and turned back to the TV.
“I was thinking I might offer her the job full-time. What do you think?”
Gloria just shrugged. “Don’t make a fuss, Joan. I said she’s better than nothing, didn’t I?”
Sloan smiled. “That’s what I thought.” She stood up to go towards the kitchen and asked, “Are you ready for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” Gloria said quickly, then turned and looked up at Sloan. “Yet... Maybe in an hour?”
“Works for me. I might go up and have a quick bath. Can I get you anything before I go?”
Gloria eyed her suspiciously. “Another beer?”
Sloan was about to launch into all the reasons why she couldn’t have another beer. She stopped herself, then picked up the untouched can Matty had left and set it on the table.
“I’ll be upstairs.”
***
The water was hot, just how she liked it. She'd treated herself to the fancy bath oil—the one she rarely let herself buy—and its vanilla musk hung softly in the steamy air.
Something Matty had said had struck a chord and couldn’t be dismissed. Somewhere over the last few years, Sloan had lost herself, reduced to the odd night at Dominium if she could persuade a carer to stay overnight.
The club had become an escape, not a sanctuary.
She thought back to a time, long ago, when she’d been a fresh-faced kid with no real concerns.
While others her age were sizing up boys, she’d found herself watching the girls with glossy lips and bare shoulders. Fascinated. Drawn. Wanting to pin them down.
Her tastes had refined since then, and now she was far more selective about who she allowed into her space—physical or otherwise.
But back then?
Back then, she’d gone with the flow, letting a few boys try their luck—fumbling hands, awkward kisses—until she met Eleanor King.
A mentor, of sorts, was how Sloan thought of her now.
A woman whose power and competence radiated through everything she did and said.
Eleanor moved with intention, always in her own time—never rushed, never adjusting her pace for anyone else’s comfort.
She exuded control quietly and without fanfare.
Just as Sloan had learned to do.
She'd met others over the years—women deeper in the scene than Sloan ever cared to go.
Louder. Flashier. Always needing to announce themselves, to make the scene their whole personality, every room a performance.
That wasn't Sloan's style. She'd dabbled here and there, enough to know what she did and didn't enjoy—and enough to know she'd never be that.
“That is what exploration is for, Sloan. To discover your wants and needs. How else can you instruct someone how to please you, if you don’t even know yourself?”
Even now, all these years later, Eleanor’s voice echoed in her mind whenever doubt threatened—steady, certain, reminding Sloan exactly who the fuck she was.
It was much like Matty had done earlier. And yet, Eleanor and Matty couldn’t have been more different.
She sank down lower beneath the suds and considered what needed to change for her to find herself again.
Maybe her friend was right. Maybe it was time to find a new Maggie.