FIFTEEN
My nervous system was jittery as hell, and I blamed that sharp intake of caffeine.
The coffee machine in the women’s centre was free, and holding the paper cup gave me something to do with my hands.
I was so nervous. I still couldn’t believe that we were about to see our mother again after such a long time.
Eventually, we were called up to the front desk and asked to sign in.
I straightened my dress, very aware of my appearance.
Why I’d dressed up to see my mother was anyone’s guess.
Maybe to show her I was fixed in some way and better off without her.
I was wearing a short black formal dress, it was strapless, tight at the waist and fell above my knee.
The weather was surprisingly warm that day for October, and so I didn’t bother with a cardigan.
Adam looked good, too, in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back, showing his tattooed arms and crisp blue jeans. He hadn’t shaved, though. There must have been at least a week’s growth on there.
The pen hovered over the Visitor’s Book. There, just three lines above, was a signature that made my blood run cold: Vanessa Rook.
So, our aunt had been to visit her sister and hadn’t told us? Why?
A sharp prickle of betrayal stung my chest. Why had she kept that a secret? From both Adam and me. I quickly shifted my posture, desperate to block the page from Adam's view. He already disliked Vanessa and Cameron, and the idea that they may have lied to us would only reinforce that.
But was it a lie? Vanessa had every right to see her sister. Maybe she didn’t want to upset us?
That extra knowledge added to my headache, and as we sat back down in the waiting area, I checked my phone.
I had a message from Kieran asking where I was, and then a couple from Jessa with pictures of the hotel they were staying in.
I had been invited but declined when I found out Kieran wasn’t going.
I needed to talk to him and clear the air, and I didn’t want to leave Adam at the pool house alone when he’d only just moved in.
When a uniformed officer with a stern face came to collect us, I felt a mixture of relief and anxiety. As Adam and I followed the officer through several doors and winding corridors, my heart thundered in my chest. I was terrified of our mother saying something horrible and making me hate her more.
Every time the officer’s lanyard beeped against a door scanner, my knees threatened to buckle.
Adam caught my hand. His palm was sweaty, but he squeezed tight, flashing me a quick, sharp ‘we got this’ smile.
I didn’t know what to expect, and on the drive over, I half-wished I had read the letter she had written me.
Maybe it would have prepared us and given me an idea of what to expect.
My mind was a chaotic loop of her potential first words.
Would she say sorry? Could things go back to normal? Foolish thoughts.
In the car, Adam and I had tried to block out the looming dread of seeing her by trading mundane life updates.
It turned out he was seeing a girl who worked in a sandwich van near his garage.
I didn’t say much about my friendships. My situation with Kieran was actively imploding.
But both Adam and I seemed desperate to talk about anything other than our mom.
As we rounded the corner, following the uniformed officer, we arrived at the room we would be using.
"Interview Room 2," the officer announced. The heavy metal lock clicked open.
“Are you good?” Adam whispered.
“I think so,” I lied, my throat tight.
The room was a windowless concrete box, smelling of cleaning products.
Yellowing strip lights hummed overhead, and in the centre sat a scarred wooden desk—two chairs on our side and one on the other; a spot where my mother would soon be sitting.
When we saw my father later that day, at least he would be behind glass.
A massive mirror dominated the left wall.
I stared at my own pale reflection, wondering who was watching us from the other side.
I’d seen enough cop movies to know it was a two-way system.
“If either of you needs to step out, just nod at me,” the guard said quietly.
“And just so you’re prepared… your mother has lost a significant amount of weight.
Don’t be shocked. She’s being treated well, and her health is acceptable under the circumstances.
Awaiting trial can be stressful, as you can imagine. But she is receiving the best care.”
“Why would we be worried after what she put us through?” Adam snapped, ripping his hand from mine and stepping towards his seat. He now appeared prepared to face anything.
The officer pursed her lips but kept her voice level. “I understand how you feel, son. But it’s my job to keep this transition smooth.”
“Thank you,” I intervened, shooting Adam a warning glare as a sharp tic pulsed in his jaw.
“Alright, she’s coming in,” the other guard muttered, eyes darting to the frosted glass door at the other end of the room.
My heart battered against my ribs. I had never been so terrified.
And then the door swung slowly open. And there she was, Louise Thorn. Just shy of forty, but she looked around sixty.
The air left my lungs like I’d been struck in the throat. A sharp, involuntary sob cut through my lips, and I slapped a hand over my mouth.
She looked skeletal. The woman who had destroyed our childhoods stood before us, shrunken and hollow.
Her skin was a sallow, bruised grey, hanging loosely over the sharp bones of her neck.
Her roots had grown out snowy white, a stark reminder that hair dye clearly wasn’t allowed there, and she wore a pale blue tunic and matching trousers.
The croc-type shoes on her feet squeaked as she walked, the only sound in that room apart from a slight buzz from one of the lights.
Despite everything, a primal, aching part of me wanted to leap across the table and bury my face in her shoulder.
Louise Thorn had flinched at my sob, her face softening for a split second before the guard behind her motioned for her to take the other chair.
She looked at us, her eyes sunken and rimmed with red. “You both look so different,” she whispered. The words felt like a slap. That was her opening line? No apology. No tears. Just a hollow observation.
Adam leaned his massive frame forward, crowding the desk. “So do you.”
Louise smoothed her messy hair, unsure how to handle his frosty tone. The two guards stood flanking the doors, watching us like hawks in the suffocating silence.
“Did you get my letters?” Louise asked, her voice trembling.
I nodded quickly, but Adam let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
“I got mine from my case worker,” I offered, trying to keep the peace. “I haven't read it yet.”
“I see. And you, Adam?”
“No idea,” he spat. “The kids' home gave me a box of your shit. I don’t even know where it is.”
Louise flinched again, her eyes darting to the table. “How is Sophie?”
Adam slammed his hands flat on the wood. “You’re really going to ask us that now? Why do you even give a shit?”
“Calm down, son,” one of the cards said, which forced Adam to shoot them both a glare and then lean back in his chair.
“I was a victim too, Adam, please believe that,” Louise suddenly whimpered, her voice cracking as she leaned across the desk.
“Your father did this! He controlled everything. I haven't seen him, I’ve filed for divorce—he ruined us, Adam, all of us. Please understand. You know what he was capable of.”
As she said those words, she glanced towards the mirrored glass. It almost felt like she was putting on a show. Disappointment oozed from me like a sliced artery.
For the next thirty minutes, the room grew hotter, suffocating under the weight of her excuses.
She paced through her victimhood, painting our childhood nightmare as someone else's fault. She traded her guilt for blame, her eyes begging us to believe her, and during those last five minutes, I realised that I didn’t care.
She wasn’t my mother. And as I sat there listening to the frantic tone of her voice, the trembling in my limbs stopped, and my earlier panic faded into a cold, heavy clarity.
She hadn't once said 'I'm sorry'.
Not everyone was born to be a mother, I get that. But I now knew that Louise Thorn was just a person who had given birth to us. Looking at her face, I realised she didn't feel a shred of real remorse. And in that moment, the anger left me, replaced by a quiet, liberating finality.
I was ready to walk away, and I wasn't going to look back.
As Adam and I walked out of there, neither of us would. We had each other, and that was all that mattered and the desire to see Sophie powered through me.
When we got back to the waiting room, there was a message at the desk from the remand centre where our father was being held. Jacob Thorn had changed his mind about seeing us. I felt a surge of relief, but I could see from his expression that Adam was angry about not being able to face him.
The mood was sombre in the car on the drive back to the Rook’s estate. Adam dropped me off at the end of the street and said he was going to see Laura. The girl I assumed he was seeing. I could tell from how agitated he was. Maybe ‘Laura’ was a good listener. I felt a twinge of jealousy.
My brother asked if I was going to be OK, and I said yes, mentioning that I would probably call Sophie and then go to bed. We had agreed that we wouldn’t tell her about our visit just yet.
In all honesty, I had every intention of finding Kieran so we could talk alone.
I needed to smooth things over with the Adam thing, reiterate that I didn’t know he had his heart set on staying in the pool house.
The thought of him resenting my brother the way he had me when I’d first arrived wasn’t a thought I relished.
And then my plans for that night changed radically.