Chapter 12
“I can’t believe how late I am,” Dana complained, flouncing about Alfie’s bedroom whilst getting ready. Alfie felt this had turned into her favourite pastime – making him feel like crap. Her train down from Manchester had been severely delayed, meaning she’d arrived at his two hours later than planned. She’d said numerous times how dire the transport was to Cornwall and how much easier things would be if he was up there with her. Her usual argument, but this insistence on developing their relationship didn’t match up with the fact she hadn’t messaged him for nearly a week whilst she was up there.
He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. Prior to her arriving today, he’d rehearsed words to say to her to break things off but from the minute she’d arrived, she’d been a whirlwind of stress and frustration and panic, and it just hadn’t felt like the right time. Much like all the other “wrong times” before.
He watched her as she struggled to pull her corset tight around herself, wriggling around.
“A little help would be appreciated,” she muttered with annoyance, and he took a deep breath, moving to help her. Her hair tumbled down her back in intricate curls, brushing his fingertips and with each yank he gave on the corset ties, her waist became tinier. He glanced up to the mirror in-front of them both, taking in her outfit. She would certainly impress in this, yet it made him realise their differences even more – she was happy to stand out from the crowd and be recognised. But for him, he was quite happy keeping a low profile in this little village, selling his paintings and living slowly. Which was another on his long list of reasons he didn’t want to move to Manchester with her and why she had this constant, underlying annoyance towards him.
“What do you think?!” she pronounced, turning around, hands on hips and giving a little bob. She was wearing a tight, black corset, black hot pants and fishnet tights. Teamed with rabbit ears and drawn on whiskers.
“Very cute,” he offered. Her face dropped.
“ Cute?! Is that all you can say?” Alfie stayed quiet for fear of saying anything else that may annoy her. She rolled her eyes.
“Fine, whatever. Come on, I need a BIG drink.” She tottered into his kitchen, where numerous drinks were laid out ready for the guests. A small gathering at his flat for a few hours max, then onto the pub. He could get through this night. He could.
* * *
“Gosh, you look…hot!” Millie declared in shock when she opened the door to Amy just before eight. She was a “zombie Dorothy” and, despite the scary make-up and neon contact lenses, she looked seriously attractive. She’d let her hair hang straight and loose and the gingham dress and apron clung to her body. She was going to get some serious attention tonight.
“Thanks doll. You don’t look so bad yourself, considering you got ready in less than an hour.” She winked and Millie rolled her eyes. She’d gone for a last-minute homemade zombie look: she’d torn an old grey shirt dress and smeared it with red food colouring, ripped some holes in an old pair of tights and added her battered old Doc Martens. Teamed with wildly backcombed hair, some seriously smoky eye make-up and a red lip she thought it was a pretty good effort!
There was a serious chill in the air as they made their way, arms linked, down the cobbled lane towards Alfie’s beachside apartment. The turn of the season was clearly visible; where pots of charming flowers once sat on doorsteps, there were now glowing pumpkins, carved with a variety of designs and faces. Frilly bunting in windows had been replaced by cobweb netting and fake, oversized spiders. These cottages were primed and ready for trick or treaters tonight. Millie had made sure to leave a little bucket of sweets outside on her step for any late arrivals.
She felt a flutter of nerves as his house came into view: she had never actually been inside, and she’d only seen him in passing once since the incident in the pub when he’d saved her skin from Dana’s insistent inquisition. It was in the village shop: she’d been buying a few standard essentials (mainly wine) and they’d met in front of the alcohol fridge.
“Buying a pint of wine?” he’d asked drily, giving her a sideways glance. She reddened, surprised he’d even remembered her first night in the pub when she’d got inexplicably slaughtered and used the same expression.
“Maybe,” she’d replied, trying to sound mystical and aloof, but just sounding pathetic. A smile tugged at his lips (his full lips, she noticed without thinking).
“I’d better get a few more bottles of this for the party then,” he said, reaching for two more bottles of Merlot. He brushed her arm as he reached across, and she felt a little fizzle. No, just static. It must be static. Back in the present, they’d reached his door, which she’d seen from the outside many times on her way to the beach. She could hear laughter from inside and the thrum of music. She felt herself take a large exhale. Pull yourself together Millie.
The door opened and the music became instantly louder, a surge of warm air hitting her. It was Ryan, dressed as a mummy, thick bandages around every part of his body. On the rare gaps between bandages, there were flashes of skin.
“Not naked under there are you Ry?” Amy cooed suggestively.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he winked, leaning in for a hug. “Wow, Millie you look great!” he said, reaching in and putting his arms around her too. She could feel flesh beneath her fingers. He was definitely naked under there.
“Thanks Ryan. I look better as a zombie than anything else.”
He ushered them inside, shutting the door. They headed up the narrow stairs to the first floor and into the living room which was surprisingly spacious. There was a definite buzz in the air, and you could tell people were up for a party tonight. She went straight into the kitchen to pop her bottle of wine into the fridge but also to pour herself a large glass. She suddenly felt like she’d need it. She couldn’t help admiring Alfie’s kitchen whilst in there: small but spotless and minimalist, everything following a black and white colour scheme. Interestingly, his fridge door was the only thing in the room that was in any way cluttered. On closer inspection, she could see an array of paper tagged to the fridge with magnets, an old shopping list, a football ticket stub for the local team, a business card for a plumber. All mundane things. It was the slightly blurred photograph which caught her eye. It featured a beautiful lady with a beaming smile, wearing a pretty tea dress. In her arms, she held a gorgeous little boy, all dark hair and eyes and a cheeky grin. Behind them was a building in a very familiar pastel colour. Squinting even further, she could see a wooden, carved sign on it. Rosemary Cottage.
“His mum,” she breathed, somehow recognising her instantly, remembering the conversation with Mr Slee the shopkeeper about Alfie’s mum. She felt compelled to touch the photograph gently, subconsciously drawing comparisons with her own situation with her mother.
“It’s a shame I couldn’t stay that cute,” a voice behind her said and she jumped out her skin, snatching her hand back from the photograph. Turning round, she came face to face with Alfie. He was really rather close due to the small proximity of the kitchen, and she could feel his presence. The delicious, woody smell of his aftershave was prominent. He was dressed as Count Dracula and the dark liner he’d put under his eyes looked surprisingly striking.
“I’m so sorry, I was just looking...”
“It’s OK,” he frowned, and he sounded like he really meant it. “It’s there to be looked at.”
“I didn’t realise you’d lost your mum,” she continued, unsure if she was overstepping the mark but carrying on anyway. “I met Eleanor when I worked for your dad and I just presumed…” she trailed off, realising she may be acting disrespectfully, talking so personally about his family when she barely knew him.
“That Eleanor may be my real mum? No. She’s OK as a person, she’s nice enough. I guess I’m just a bit old now for all that ‘step-mum’ stuff. I don’t need another mother figure.” Their eyes stayed interlocked, and a moment passed before she blurted out:
“I lost my mum too. About nine months ago.” His face instantly changed, registering shock mixed with sadness. He learned against the counter, placing his can on the worktop.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” he replied quietly. “From experience, I know there’s nothing else I can really say to you except that it really fucking sucks.” She let out a sharp laugh, not expecting those words to come from his mouth and he smiled back. It was like she could sense him defrosting from his usual icy manner.
“That’s definitely one way of putting it,” she replied finally. “Although our relationship wasn’t the rosiest, so…”
“I’m not trying to brag but I can’t relate that time. My mum was just the best,” he said quietly, warmth radiating through his voice, edged with vulnerability. She watched him stare at the photograph.
“My cottage is named after her, isn’t it?” she asked. He nodded and swallowed.
“It is. Please look after it.”
Unspoken words hung in the air like a thick fog. She swallowed hard, not able to take her eyes off the photograph. A weird cocktail of emotions writhed through her: sadness, empathy, jealousy. She had no photos of her and her mother. Any that may have existed were clearly lost or misplaced because when she’d had the gut-wrenching job of clearing out her mother’s flat after she’d died, there were no albums, photo frames or loose photos to be found. It was as though no-one else existed in her mum’s life. Certainly, there was no trace of anyone. Alfie speaking snapped her back to the present.
“Did you want some of your wine or some of this?” he asked, producing a bottle of champagne from the fridge with a flourish, acting as though the sincerely intimate and sensitive conversation hadn’t just happened between them.
“Ooh, some of that definitely,” Millie replied, pointing to the latter, the intensity gone. But it felt like something had shifted between them, a wall broken down possibly.
He started to pour and then paused: “I warn you; it’s strong stuff.”
“I can handle it!” she declared confidently, chin jutting out.
Famous last words.
* * *
The rain hammered deafeningly on Millie’s car windscreen. It was the type of day where you couldn’t go outside, even for a moment, without getting soaked through. The clouds were an ominous blanket across the sky and the humidity almost unbearable. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel and her leg jigged up and down in a nervous twitch. Staring out the window, she could see the soulless tower block where her mother lived, where she used to live. Since she could remember, this had been her childhood home. Back then, it hadn’t seemed as scary or threatening as it did now. It was just home. When she was tiny, she’d actually found it quite cool that she lived in an “extra tall house”, with a lift that whizzed you right up to the top and where you could see right out over everyone else from the windows. It was much more interesting than the three-bed semis her friends lived in anyway.
The outside space was still exactly the same from back then; multiple signs stating: “no ball games allowed” (which she noted with a snort had numerous footballs next to them now), a fenced off park which looked like it hadn’t received a lick of paint in years and many walkways leading off to the rabbit warren of tower blocks. Back then, she’d remembered spending hours in the park, either alone or with friends, and loved pointing up at her bedroom window, right up on the sixteenth floor.
Until she turned around ten years old and started going round to friends’ houses more often. It wasn’t the difference in the physical buildings in which they lived, that still didn’t bother her, but she started to notice stark contrasts between her home and theirs. There were no empty drinks cans and bottles piled up on the draining board or overflowing from bins in their houses. There was no lingering smell of stale alcohol in the living room and kitchen. There was no “Do not Disturb” sign on their parent’s bedroom doors. The whole atmosphere seemed lighter, less on edge.
She’d found herself wanting to visit her friends’ houses more and more, mainly Jenny’s who was now her best friend. A couple of hours of playing would turn into a whole afternoon. Afternoons turned into staying for dinner, until eventually, she found herself staying the night most weekends. She didn’t know why Jenny’s parents were so welcoming of her being round all the time. She knew now it was because they knew what her mum was like and wanted to protect her.
The rain continued to hammer down and it was clear there would be no pause in it for a while so, with all the courage and energy she could muster, pushed open the car door and made a dash for the entrance. It had been years since she’d been there, choosing now to only meet her mum in neutral spaces. Not there had been many meetings. She’d seen her dentist more times than her mum in the last five years.
The lift to her floor seemed to take forever (why had it felt so quick as a child?) and her nervous jig continued as she waited. What sort of headspace would mum be in today? She’d left a message on her landline to say she was coming as it was the only way to contact her, so it wouldn’t be totally unexpected. But maybe that was worse. Knowing her mum, she’d have purposely gone out.
Finally, the number sixteen flashed in digital red on the screen and the doors opened. The familiarity of the hallway to her flat was almost frightening. To think, she’d walked up and down here thousands of times in her life. The last time was many years ago, when she’d made the decision to move out for the sake of saving any shreds of relationship which still remained between them. She’d vowed never to go back; yet here she was.
She’d recently found out her mum was very ill. Exactly how ill, she wasn’t sure but Sam’s sister Tasha, who worked at the hospital, had contacted Millie a week previously, stating that she knew she was breaking all confidentiality protocol by telling her, but her mum had been in for several visits because she had liver cancer, and the prognosis wasn’t looking good at all. Mum had stated she didn’t want Millie to know but something in Tasha had compelled her to tell Millie, as her gut feeling was that she didn’t have long left at all. Despite their differences and the heartbreak her mum had put her through, she knew she needed to see her. She’d regret it eternally if she didn’t. Besides, maybe her mum had changed…
Nervously, she knocked, feeling uneasy at the quietness around her. It had never been particularly noisy in the corridors, but now it felt like everyone had moved out. She knocked again, feeling impatient now. Her mum had obviously gone out. It was so infuriating. It was always her putting the effort in, always her making the first moves…
Footsteps sounded the other side of the door and a scratching noise, like a chain being slid off a catch sounded. Slowly, the door opened a crack and Millie peered closely.
“Who is it?” came a weak voice.
“It’s Millie,” she replied, shocked at the voice. Surely that couldn’t be her mum. The door opened wider to reveal a gaunt woman stood there, in a grey, washed-out tracksuit. Her hair was lank and balding in places and her face was so sunken in it looked almost skeletal. The tracksuit was far too big for her, making it clear she’d either been gravely ill for a long time, or she’d purposely bought one five sizes too big.
“Mum?!” Millie breathed, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
“Yes, it’s me. And yes, I know I look like shit. You don’t have to look so shocked,” she snapped.
“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Her mum waved her hand in annoyance, as though flapping at an irritating fly.
“Spare me. Just come in and say what you need to say.” Millie swallowed hard. Every inch of her logical brain was screaming at her to run away as it was clear this was going to end in hurt. But still, she followed her shell of a mother inside and closed the door.
“So, who told you then?” her mum called snidely from the living room. As she walked down the narrow hallway of her childhood home, Millie’s curiosity got the better of her and she peeked into her mum’s room as she walked. A bed with a single sheet covering it was in the middle of the room. The ceiling was stained brown from cigarette smoke and the air was thick with it. This was a new thing; she had never smoked when Millie lived here. She wouldn’t have been able to tolerate it. Her old bedroom door was closed.
“I just found out through the grapevine,” Millie replied vaguely, not wanting to get Tasha in trouble.
“Hmm, sure. Someone sticking their nose in where it’s not wanted, more like it.” Her mum was moving unbearably slowly and when she lowered herself into an armchair, she winced. Millie perched on the edge of the sofa. Looking around, not much had changed. If anything, there was less furniture and less evidence that this had once housed two people. There were no photo frames on the walls anymore, only an armchair and a small sofa filled the space, with a tiny television in the corner. It looked bleak, uninviting, stagnant. The only familiar sight from her childhood was the empty spirit bottles lined up on the fireplace. Her mum must have spotted her looking because she snapped.
“Going to tell me off, are you? Tell me you ‘told me so’ about my drinking?” Millie swallowed. She was spitting her words like venom.
“I only came here to see how you are mum,” she replied, honestly.
“See how I am? Well, I’m wonderful, as you can see.” She indicated her appearance. Furiously, she scrabbled in her pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, lighting it up then inhaling rapidly on it.
“How long have you smoked?”
“Not long enough for it to kill me. The liver cancer is doing that. So I thought I might as well do it now.” She continued to suck on the cigarette like a lollipop.
“And the drinking…”
“Still going. What’s the point in stopping now?” There was a minute or so of silence, as her mum finished the cigarette and immediately lit up another. The smell was overpowering but she couldn’t leave yet.
“How’s that boss of yours?” her mum asked, and Millie felt her heart leap a little. As Millie’s previous boss and a friend of her mum’s, it felt touching she was asking after him. They had met at an Alcoholics Anonymous group – Alan was a recovered alcoholic of fifteen years who now ran sessions for others and her mum was attending.
“He’s good! He asks after you all the time.” She snorted.
“Never comes to see me though, does he.”
“He has offered you counselling many times though, mum. You can’t forget that.” She rolled her eyes.
“Counselling doesn’t work. Talking to someone for half an hour about why you desperately need a drink makes you just think about drinking more. Pointless.” She desperately wanted to point out that Alan had successfully stopped his alcohol abuse with the help of counselling, but she bit her tongue. There was no point. Her mum was clearly past the point of helping and the effects of years of drinking were irreversible.
Another few awkward minutes of silence passed, her mum finishing the second cigarette and, much to Millie’s relief, not lighting up a third. She was already having to fight back spluttering.
“Sam’s doing well,” Millie spoke suddenly, wanting to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Is he?” her mum answered, her voice sounding uninterested. She’d only met him once and hadn’t been hugely welcoming then. Millie had decided afterwards there was no value in them meeting again after that. Another few pauses.
“I know why you’re really here, Melissa,” her mum croaked finally. Millie’s eyes looked into her mum’s. She frowned, not knowing what she meant. “You’re just here because you’ve heard I’m about to snuff it and you want my inheritance. Well, I’m telling you now, it won’t be yours. You think you can just rock up after years of lecturing me, making me feel like the worst mum in the world and then practically ignoring me, and then get everything I own? I know I’ve never been exactly rolling in money, but I have this flat and a little tucked away from when I worked. And I feel like you know that and you’re wanting to take it!”
“Mum, that’s completely untrue. I’ve come round just to see how you are!” Her mum snorted.
“That’s rubbish. You need to at least admit to being a sneak if you’re going to be one! Everyone thinks you’re so perfect and well behaved but I know the real you, Melissa Jones, and you can be crafty when you want to be!” Millie blinked back tears, unable to process what her own mother was saying to her. She’d said some hurtful things in the past, but this had to top it. She opened her mouth to reply but her mum started screeching at her.
“Just leave Millie. I know what you want and you’re not getting it!” She started to splutter and cough, either due to the strain of shouting or the cigarettes she had just chain-smoked but Millie found herself standing abruptly and pacing quickly down the hallway. She heard her mum’s coughs continue, hoarse and rough but getting fainter as she passed her childhood room. She wanted to go in but was afraid of what she’d find so left it. She needed to get out. Now.
What she didn’t realise at the time, was that was the last time she would ever see her mother alive.