The phraseget your act togetherlodged itself in her brain. If their roles had been reversed, with Lottie arriving home late, Greta would have been frantic with worry, scooping her daughter into her arms the moment she found her safe.
But before she could stop herself, her words spilled out. ‘Your dad’s living it up in a penthouse, surrounded by luxury and landing plum roles, while I’m stuck here, trying to hold everything together,’ Greta said. ‘He can go out whenever he wants, do whatever he likes. Meanwhile, I’m chasing work, juggling bills, and dealing with your moods. You want me to get my act together? Fine. But it feels like I’m the only one here putting in any effort.’
‘Ahem.’
The sound of a throat clearing made Greta freeze. She slowly turned, her dread thickening.
Jim stood in the doorway behind her, leaning stiffly against the frame. ‘Good morning,’ he said, his voice unreadable. ‘Glad to see you’re safe and well.’
Lottie set down her toast crust. ‘Dad stayed here last night,’ she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
A cannon ball seemed to drop in Greta’s stomach. ‘I can see that,’ was all she could manage to say.
Jim stepped forward, placing his hands on his hips like he was some kind of hero. ‘I told Lottie that you must be tied up somewhere, and not to worry,’ he said, shooting Greta a pointed glance. ‘We kept busy, writing our Christmas cards together, and chatting about Lottie’s talent show . . .’
‘Thanks,’ Greta murmured.
Jim patted Lottie’s arm. ‘I’ll run you to school when you’re ready,’ he said.
Lottie nodded. She grabbed her bag from under the table and stood up without looking at her mum.
Greta opened her mouth, desperate to explain, to apologise. But nothing came out. What could she say?
Jim and Lottie left the flat, the front door clicking firmly behind them, leaving Greta alone in the still silence.
Christmas cards? She hadn’t even thought about them. And it sounded like Jim was sending his separately.
‘Have a good day,’ she whispered, pressing her palms to her face. When Greta eventually lowered her hands, she noticed an envelope with her name on it sitting next to the milk carton. It took her a moment to muster the energy to tear it open.
The red capital letters at the top of the letter felt like a final kick to her gut, the cherry on the top of a terrible day.
It was from her landlord.
Dear Ms. Perks,
The lease on the property is due for renewal. You can extend the contract for six months, but we’ll need your decision by December 31st. If we don’t hear from you by then, we’ll assume you’re moving out . . .
Greta stopped reading. She swallowed hard, the stale, acrid taste of Iris’s coffee lingering on her tongue. An ulcer had formed on the inside of her cheek.
She had three weeks.
Seeing the date in black and white felt like a punch to her ribs.
Three weeks to figure out her future. Three weeks to sort things out with Jim.
It felt impossible.
And now, she couldn’t even drink Iris’s coffee to escape to the comforts of Mapleville.
Greta set the letter down, the quietness of the flat closing in on her, as if she was being suffocated.
‘Happy Christmas to you, too,’ she muttered.
Chapter 25
GRETA WRAPPED HERarms around herself to ward off a phantom chill. Everything in her flat appeared dull again, smaller. Her flowers were all dying, their petals browning, curling and dropping off. Her only company was the buzz of her fridge, the muffled arguing of her neighbours in the flat opposite, and distant laughter in the streets drifting in through the kitchen window. The warmth and brightness of Mapleville felt misty and faded. The shark’s dark eyes kept flashing in her mind, as if glitching on Iris’s TV.
Greta switched on the kettle, needing something to warm her up. She opened the cupboard, but was met with a row of empty jars where the tea, coffee, and sugar should have been, and she slammed the door shut with a groan.
