‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow, we’ll talk, we’ll try and work something out.’ His mind raced for solutions, and there was but one he could think of and that required deeper thought. ‘Tomorrow,’ Nick said, ‘I’ll pick you up.’
‘I don’t want to paint.’
‘We’re not going to paint,’ Nick said. ‘We’re going to work something out. You just be ready at ten.’
‘For what?’
‘Eight letters,’ Nick smiled. ‘Starts with S, ends with E.’
‘I hate surprises.’
He cupped her face with his hand and looked over to her, as if reading her for the very first time. ‘You really do, don’t you?’
And she pulled away, stepped out of the car and headed into her house—just a touch shaken by what he’d said, a touch unsure what he’d meant.
A touch worried that he’d stepped on a truth.
‘HI, MUM.’ She was tired and confused and all Alison wanted was bed, but Rose seemed determined to chat.
‘How was it?’
‘Lovely,’ Alison said.
‘You’re early.’
‘I’m just tired.’
‘You didn’t go for a walk afterwards?’ Rose asked. ‘Or back to his place for coffee?’
‘I told you…’ Alison frowned, unsure what Rose was getting at, but she found out a split second later when her mother’s hand slapped her cheek, and furious words erupted from her.
‘You tell me nothing!’ Rose snarled, and then she tossed a handful of little packages at Alison, like confetti to a bride. ‘Strawberry flavoured…’ Rose sneered. ‘Banana flavoured—you tart!’
‘Mum, please…’ Shamed, embarrassed, shocked, still she tried to calm things down, but Rose would not let her speak.
‘How could you, Alison?’
‘I’m twenty-four!’ She spelt it out, repeated it, said it again, but Rose would not relent.
‘How could you?’
She was seventeen again, only there wasn’t her dad or Tim to deflect her mother. It was ridiculous and they both knew it—and for the first time Alison told her mother so.
‘You turned a blind eye with Paul.’
‘Paul was serious about you!’ came Rose’s savage reply.
‘So’s Nick. He’s not using me.’ Alison’s voice was rising, but she wasn’t just arguing with Rose, she was arguing with herself. ‘It’s not some fling…’
‘It’s exactly what it is,’ Rose responded. ‘What? Do you think he’s going to give it all up? You heard him tonight. He’s got a promotion. It couldn’t possibly work. And you’re sleeping with him.’ It was all too close to the bone for Alison and she sat there and tried to take it, but Rose would not stop. ‘You were always trouble, always the one we worried about, always wild, and yet it was poor…’ She stopped, but not in time. The words might just as well have been said—Alison had lived, Tim had died. It stung and it burnt and tears shot from her eyes, not just at her mother’s thoughts but what she had done to her brother’s memory.
‘Tim was fun, Tim knew how to laugh. You’ve canonised him, Mum, you’ve turned him into some sort of saint. No matter what I do, I can never live up to him.’
‘Alison…’ Rose maybe realised she had gone too far. ‘This isn’t about Tim, it’s about this man.’
‘This man,’ Alison said, ‘is called Nick, and he makes me laugh and he makes me happy. And…’ she threw the condoms on the floor ‘…you have no right to go through my things. I can’t wait to move out!’ In fact, she didn’t have to wait now. ‘I’m going.’
‘With him?’
And Rose broke down then, just melted onto the chair. And Alison wanted to storm out, to go to bed, to curl up in a ball, but instead she sat with her arms around her mum, her own tears not helping her stinging cheek. Yes, it was a row that had needed to be had, but Alison knew what it was really all about.
‘I was talking about the flat. I’m not going to England, Mum.’ She stroked her mum’s shoulders. ‘He’s not going to ask, and if by some miracle he did, I wouldn’t go.’
She wouldn’t.
She couldn’t.
She’d had it confirmed now.
It wasn’t about Nick, it wasn’t about England. It could be Thailand, or a bungee jump, or a car, or a wave, and the row would have been the same. Even if cruel words had been spoken, she knew she was loved—it just stifled her.
‘I’m not going to England,’ Alison repeated. ‘I may be moving into a flat, but I’m not going to leave you—I never would, Mum. But—’ she was firm, really firm with her mum for the first time ‘—I do have to live.’
IT WAS horribly awkward the next morning.
‘Yes, please’ to tea, and ‘No, thanks’ to toast.
And ‘You should eat something.’
‘I’m honestly not hungry.’ Alison wasn’t—she felt sick when she thought of the condoms, and just all churned up from their row. She had no idea what was happening today either. She had a bikini on beneath her denim skirt and halter neck and something a little more dressy laid out on her bed, in case…well, just in case Nick’s plans were upmarket.
‘Mum,’ Alison tried, ‘about last night…’
‘Let’s forget about that,’ Rose said. ‘It’s sorted now.’
Except it wasn’t, Alison knew that. She looked at her mum’s strained face, at the panic that was always in her eyes, and it was more than Alison could deal with, more than she could help with, and she broached what she had once or twice before.
‘Have you thought about talking to someone?’ Alison swallowed. ‘That grief counsellor you saw…’
‘Can they bring them back?’ Rose shook her head. ‘Anyway, I’m fine. I am sorry about last night, I had no right to go through your things.’
‘Mum,’ Alison attempted, but the conversation was closed.
