Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Dosed up on painkillers and with a borrowed walking cane, Gloria was in her element in the front seat of the second taxi Sloan had booked that night—or was it morning by now? She’d lost all track of time hours ago.
Matty yawned, her head dropping onto Sloan’s shoulder. “What time is it?”
“Don’t know—gone two, though,” Sloan said.
The car turned a corner and Matty jolted, realising where they were. “My flat’s just around the corner, if you want to—”
“I don’t want to,” Sloan said. Then, a fraction softer, “But if you do...”
Matty lowered her voice, “No. I just didn’t want to assume.”
“I’d say if I’d changed my mind.” Sloan turned to face her, expression settled, gaze fixed on Matty.
Matty nodded.
“What are you two whispering about in the back?” Gloria said. She tipped her head towards the driver and added in a whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “They’re at it.”
“We are not...at it,” Sloan said.
“They are. That’s why the scruffy one is looking after me. They think I’m stupid.”
The taxi driver’s eyes flicked to the mirror, amusement plain on his face.
Sloan was just about to launch to Matty’s defence, when Matty’s palm landed on her thigh.
“It’s true, Mrs S. At it like rabbits. Frankly, I’m amazed you’ve managed any sleep.” She leaned against Sloan. “That sofa’s a lot more comfortable when there’s someone to share it with.”
Gloria huffed and turned to the window.
“You’d better make a good breakfast in the morning,” Matty whispered.
Sloan didn’t look at her, but the smirk at the corner of her mouth said everything.
***
Gloria shuffled into the house. Sloan stood at the bottom of the stairs and pushed the button to send the chair down. It whirred into life and slid effortlessly on the rails.
“Into bed, Mrs S. Get some sleep,” Matty suggested. “I’ll bring you up a glass of juice, okay?”
The older woman grumbled, but got herself seated in the chair under Sloan’s watchful gaze. She pressed the button on the arm, and the chair moved an inch before Sloan pressed the stop button on her remote.
“That’s why you fell out. Put the seatbelt on.”
Gloria glared at her. “I’m not a child.”
“You’re behaving like one,” Sloan retorted. She stepped up and found the end of one half of the belt. Gloria slapped her hands away.
“I can do it.”
Sloan took a deep breath but stepped back and continued to watch as Gloria reached across with her right hand and pulled the belt into place, lifting her useless left arm to rest on top and hold it.
Matty returned, carrying a small tray with three glasses—one juice, two waters. “Everything alright?” Matty asked with a tired smile.
“Mother is just adjusting her seatbelt,” Sloan said, irritation and frustration fighting to win out.
The chair began to move, this time with Gloria staring at Sloan. “Satisfied?” She pulled the cane over her lap like a jouster ready for a fight.
“Not really,” Sloan answered, slowly following the chair up the stairs. Matty waited a moment before taking a step.
At the top, Gloria unbuckled the belt and used the cane to lean on. This time, she didn’t slip as she shuffled her way forward onto her good foot.
Sloan appeared behind her. “Let me help you,” she said, quieter now, placing a guiding hand under Gloria’s elbow. Whether it was the drugs, exhaustion, or just giving up, Gloria allowed it.
Gloria’s bedroom was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp Sloan had switched on with a practised hand. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something older—powder, polish, the lingering trace of a life that had once been busy.
“Sit,” Sloan said, steering her to the edge of the bed.
“What else am I going to do? The Tango?” Gloria muttered, but she did it anyway, lowering herself with a wince she tried to hide behind a scowl.
Sloan crouched in front of her. “Shoes off first.”
Gloria lifted her cane like she might swat her. “Don’t start ordering me about.”
Sloan’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t rise to it. Being careful, she simply reached for Gloria’s foot and eased one shoe off, then the other. Gloria’s toes curled against the carpet.
Matty hovered in the doorway, tray still in her hands. Sloan glanced up at her. “Could you put that on the dresser?” she asked, voice softer than it had been downstairs.
Matty nodded and did as she was told, quiet as a shadow.
Sloan straightened and reached for the hem of Gloria’s dress. “Arm up.”
Gloria’s eyes flashed. “I’m not helpless.”
“No,” Sloan said, and the word came out rougher than she meant. She took a breath. “You’re not. But you’re hurt, and you’re tired, and you’re not doing this alone tonight.”
For a moment, Gloria looked like she might argue just on principle. Then her gaze dropped, and she lifted her right arm. The left hung awkwardly, as if it belonged to someone else. Gloria lifted it with her good arm and let Sloan help.
Sloan worked carefully, easing the fabric up and over Gloria’s head, mindful of the way Gloria’s face pinched when she moved her hip. Sloan didn’t comment. She didn’t fuss. She simply got it done.
The nightwear lay folded on the bed—soft, familiar. Sloan picked it up and held it open.
Gloria’s chin lifted again. “I can put my own nightdress on.”
Sloan met her gaze. “Go on, then.”
Gloria huffed, but she took it, tugging it down over her head with one hand. Sloan stayed close, ready to catch her if she faltered.
When Gloria stood up, swaying a little, Sloan’s hand went under her elbow again—steadying, not coddling. She helped bring the left arm through the hole.
“There,” Gloria snapped, as if she’d won something.
Sloan didn’t smile. She just guided her back down onto the mattress. “You need to rest.”
Gloria caught her breath, but the pain was there, written into the tightness around her mouth and the way her fingers gripped the sheet as she adjusted herself.
Sloan pulled up the duvet and tucked it around her, then reached for the glass of juice Matty had brought, holding it out.
Gloria eyed it like it was an insult, then took it and drank small sips, as if she didn’t want anyone to see how dry her throat was.
Matty lingered in the doorway, uncertain.
Sloan glanced over her shoulder. “You can go on,” she said quietly. “I’ll follow in a minute.”
Matty hesitated, then nodded, and slipped away with the tray and their glasses of water.
With Matty gone, the room seemed sharper somehow. Sloan stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, looking at her mother as though she were trying to decide what to say and finding nothing safe enough. “You can have some more painkillers in the morning.”
Gloria stared back, eyes narrowed, her face still pinched with pain and pride.
Sloan turned towards the door.
“Joan.”
Sloan stopped. Her shoulders went rigid.
Gloria’s voice softened. “Thank you.”
Sloan didn’t turn around. Her hand stayed on the doorframe, fingers curled tight. “You’re welcome.”
***