I nodded, sucking in a breath. “Yeah.” My eyes cast to the building, all white stone and vines climbing up the side of it. And for a moment I thought of today like I was painting again.
I just had to let go of the fear.
I looked back to Marcus. “Keep the seat warmer on for when I’m back?”
Marcus lifted my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss. “Don’t I always?”
I scrunched my face up at him, and before I let myself sink into the leather seat, I cracked open the door and stepped out. I made my way up the steps and found myself in the lobby. The whole place was a renovated stately home, to the point where if you told me this place was actually a hospital, I’d have never believed you.
There was another girl in the waiting area of the lobby; she kind of looked like Harriet. I knew it wasn’t. Harriet took Mum’s health even worse than I did, and I knew it would kill her just thinking about being here right now.
For sisters, we had a weird relationship, but it worked. I suppose growing up as precocious as we did made us this way. We had matured mindsets before we’d reached Key Stage 2, and it was all thanks to Dad. When he left Mum, she never recovered and never learnt to live life on her own. And with no grandparents to hand us over to, it was up to Harriet to raise me.
She didn’t resent Mum for it, but I knew it still hurt her, the way her childhood was ripped from her without giving her a choice. And so I don’t blame her for living the quiet life she does. She’s a single mum, entirely on her own, raising her daughter because that’s what mums are supposed to do.
Maybe it was actually time to visit her again.
“Cora Holland?” A woman’s voice called, and I looked up, finding a nurse in business casual with a sleek auburn bob. “We’re ready for you.”
I rose on shaky legs, nodded, and followed her down a corridor. The further we walked into the home, the more I felt like I was on the set of a Regency drama. Everything was ornate ceilings and gold picture frames displaying oil paintings that inspired me a little, if I was honest. Looking at them distracted me enough from where I knew I was heading, but soon enough the lady stopped and held out her arm.
“If you need us, there’s a white cord you can pull, but Susannah seems to be doing well today.” She paused to place her palm on my back. “I’m sure she’ll be even happier once she sees you, dear. Have a nice visit.”
And with that, she disappeared down the corridor, leaving me.
My hand hovered over the handle, a thousand questions about whether I should actually go in or not racing through my mind. But I couldn’t turn back now. I’d made it this far and I didn’t want that effort to mean nothing. So, I closed my eyes and twisted the handle, the door creaking open.
A sun-washed room revealed itself, but that wasn’t the first thing that hit me. The first thing was the smell. I knew it instantly. Vanilla Orchid. One whiff and I was running through the hallway of our council house, tripping over toys and barreling towards the backs of Mum’s legs as she made dinner.
I lifted my head slowly from my feet, taking in the room as best as I could. But all my eyes wanted to do was find her, and find her they did. She was curled up on the bay window bench, a blue cable-knit blanket over her legs, and a book wedged in her grip.
While her head was in another universe, I took the time to study her. And even after all these years she hadn’t truly aged. A few lines on her forehead and around the corners of her mouth, but that was it. Her jet-black hair was still that classic midnight shade, longer now though, all the way past her shoulders. Her eyes, from what I could see, were still as green as the fields that surrounded this place.
The whole moment felt like it was moving in slow motion, and I wasn’t sure how to react. My eyes almost stung with tears, and my chest ached with grief, which was crazy because she wasn’t dead—she was here, right in front of me and breathing. My breath hitched as I took a step, and the noise must have caught her attention. She slapped her book closed, and those still-green eyes pinged to me as her hair whipped around.
“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 waslooking 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.
