Chapter 28 #2
“Christ, scare a woman half to death, why don’t you.” Giggles laced her words, and that proper East London accent made me feel more at home than a cup of tea ever could.
I smiled instantly. “Sorry,” I rushed, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Force of habit, the not knocking.”
She tilted her head as she set her book down, curling herself further. “You’re okay, love.” Her eyes swept over me. “Can’t remember the last time someone visited me, so for all I care you could’ve broken down the door.”
Her laugh was exactly how I remembered it. Warm, sweet, like honey drizzled over pastries.
“Come, sit. My cushion is blue today which means it's okay to gossip.” She nodded her head to the side, making space for me on the window seat.
On shaky legs and with a wavering smile, I walked over, dropping my bag to the floor and perching opposite her. My eyes traced the view outside, and I could feel her eyes on me. I don’t know why I couldn’t meet them, but I just couldn’t—perhaps it was the emotions of everything catching up to me.
“You’re sad.” Mum told me, and without thinking I looked at her. And for a moment it was like she knew me—she was looking at me the way she did when I’d grazed my knee or fallen out with my best friend in primary school.
I nodded, leaning my head against the window. “Just a little.”
She shrugged, her eyes turning to the window. “I don’t really get sad any more.”
“Really?” I asked, my voice breaking a little.
She nodded, shrugging like it was nothing.
“If I can choose to be happy, then I can choose not to be sad.” She shuffled before she carried on.
“I did the same when my girls were sad one year. For some reason, they were crying about Christmas being so far away, and so instead of telling them they had to wait, while they were sleeping I went to the loft and brought down the tree, the lights, put them all up running on a bottle of Chardonnay and even wrapped up some of their toys. And when they woke up, they were happy as anything.”
My heart had stopped the second she said “my girls.” The rest of the story I knew.
Harriet and I really were screaming about Christmas being so far away, all because I found the Argos catalogue and went a bit mad circling things I wanted—only for us to realise it was still July and I’d have to wait another five months for my Chocolate Coin Maker.
What had me fighting back tears was that she remembered who she’d done it all for.
I swallowed, unconsciously smiling. “Christmas in July.”
She smiled, nodding like I was the only person to realise how genius that was. “Exactly. We did it every year after that.”
My head sunk. Every year until this disease took over her and we became figments of her imagination.
Or so I thought.
I wanted to ask her, but I didn’t want anything to tip her over the edge. So I started simple, locking my hands and leaning forward. “You said ‘my girls.’ Did you have daughters?”
She reached for her tea on a small table next to her, clasping the pink mug in her hands. She nodded as she took a sip. “Two. Right beautiful things they were. I lost them though.”
You didn’t lose me, Mum. I’m right here.
I wanted so badly to tell her that. To tell her that her baby was right in front of her.
But I knew that was probably the worst thing I could have done.
From the reports the nurses sent me every month, her condition was worsening, meaning that thinking anything different than what she did at this very moment in time could trigger her—and I’d never forgive myself if I had a hand in making her life that little bit worse.
So I flicked my undereyes as quick as I could and cleared my throat. “What were they like?”
She didn’t pick up on the way my voice cracked, and I was glad about that. Instead, she hugged her knees at her chest, leaning her head on the window pane. “Funny, I know that much. So funny, and mirrors of me according to my mum. They got their height from their Dad though, short thing he was.”
That took me back. The Mum I knew allowed us to live in a household where Dad wasn’t mentioned.
And I could understand why now. He broke her heart and left her for a business that eventually did take over his life, which was what Harriet told me.
I never bothered looking him up. Didn’t see the point.
If he wanted nothing to do with us then I wouldn’t waste my time trying to find him. And he made that choice for me.
Mum cleared her throat, taking another swig of her tea and resting it atop her knees. “Broke his heart though I did. Classic case of falling out of love.”
My eyes shot to hers. “Really?”
She nodded, so giddily, like she was gossiping with one of her friends.
“Really!” She scooted closer. “My mum used to tell me that to be loved is to be known, and that man knew nothing about me. Not my favourite flower. Favourite dinner. Nothing.” Her dainty shoulders lifted.
“He stopped trying and I didn’t let myself settle for someone who wasn’t going to give me the world. ”
My heart ached.
That wasn’t the story Harriet spun for me.
Her version mentioned that Mum spent her mornings crying in the bathroom and the afternoons crying on the kitchen floor.
Dad left abruptly, and from what I saw in the years after, she was still head over heels, probably for the man that she thought she loved.
But Mum’s version, the one she was telling me now, like she truly believed that was her history… part of me couldn’t help but be thankful that that was how she remembered it.
“That was powerful of you.” I nodded.
She shrugged with one shoulder. “I am powerful.” She leaned back, her eyes raking over me. “I can tell you are too.”
My breath hitched. “Me?”
“Oh yeah, it’s in your eyes.” She leaned forward, staring deeper. “You’ve known hell, it’s right there.” She pointed at my right eye. “It’s clear as anything.”
I smiled bashfully, not knowing what to say, or think.
Her head bobbed. “My girls had it. They were born powerful too.” Her eyes squinted. “And I can see it in you. You have the same fire my youngest had.”
I nodded, swallowing the sting behind my ribs. “Maybe she has yours.”
Mum awed her head, pouting at me. “You know you don’t have to be afraid to use it, you know?” I squinted my eyes, and she smiled. “Your eyes are shields. Steel things. You’re protecting yourself from something, like you’ve been hurt over and over.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get how you can see me so well.”
She shrugged. “Practice. It’s rather boring here.” She smiled softly. “And I get the feeling that I’ve known you. Am I right?”
I felt a tear slide down my cheek. “A little.”
Her hands covered mine as she leaned forward.
“Well, if I knew you then I’ll tell you to go live your life before it’s taken from you.
Why be afraid when you can just trust, and love, and be happy.
” Her head fell back against the window.
“I lost half my time by trying to figure out if I was brave enough to do something I never did in the end.”
The truth came blurting out of my mouth. “I don’t know if I’m brave enough for anything anymore.”
Her smile thinned. “Darlin’, if you’re brave enough to visit me, then you’re brave enough for anything.
” Before I could so much as take in her words, she smiled.
“I might not be all here, but I know that if you’re here it means you knew me, before this.
” Her arms floated round the room. “So whatever it is you’re afraid of, don’t be.
You’re so much stronger than you realise. ”
I stayed long after her words stopped echoing through the room.
The light had shifted by the time I moved, casting her in gold. She looked peaceful again, adrift somewhere between memory and make-believe. And yet, somehow, she’d still seen right through me.
Maybe that’s what scared me the most: that even without knowing who I was, she’d reached in and touched the part of me I keep buried the deepest. The part that’s tired of being afraid. Tired of holding back. Tired of giving everyone else the pen and letting them write my story.
All this time, I thought strength was silence. Survival. Playing along so the world wouldn’t spit me out.
But she’d said it so simply: Why be afraid when you can just trust, and love, and be happy?
It wasn’t na?ve. It was brave.
Brave like painting something I thought I wouldn’t tell another soul about.
Brave like kissing Marcus again and letting myself fall, even if I don’t know where I’d land.
Brave like believing there was a life for me outside the screen. One where my Mum still gets care, where I still get to create, where I’m more than the version the internet picked apart.
I stood up slowly, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, even though I knew she wouldn’t remember it.
I turned back just before I left. “Susannah?”
She turned, smiling, like she’d never seen me before. “Yes?”
I smiled right back at her. “Merry Christmas.”