I enter the kitchen, trying to piece it all together. I know I had every right to be furious at Maggie. Whether lashing out at me was premeditated or not, she crossed the line. More than two years after she woke up to find herself in there, it appears I’m no closer to making her understand that the time she took away from memustbe repaid. There are no two ways about it. She owes me another nineteen years.
I’ve always managed to maintain a tight rein over my emotions, even when Maggie has pushed me to the brink. Not once have I ever lost it like I did tonight. I’m covered in goosebumps as I replay the moment I held that bottle of bleach above her head, fighting the voice inside me telling me to squeeze hard and burn her. It was as if someone else had crept inside me and was pulling my strings.
I lean over the kitchen sink, turn the tap on and throw some cold water over my face, then pat it dry with a tea towel. I rinse my mouth out with water and wince at the sharp pain of the damaged tooth. I’m supposed to be making dinner; instead, I’m now replaying what I thought I saw in the bathroom. The blood in the bath, the red-stained towels on the floor ... it’s all so vivid.
I cannot stop picturing Maggie’s terrified face and fight the urge to check on her well-being. Through all of our battles and skirmishes, this is the first time I’ve felt something akin to guilt. It’s also the first time in years I’ve thought of her as my mum and not as Maggie. Something in my head has shifted and I don’t know how to push it back into place.
I am supposed to be seeing the one who centres me tonight, but as much as it pains me to cancel, I reach for my phone and text him my apologies. Once a fortnight we meet for dinner, drinks or days out; although he has postponed a couple of times recently, which has concerned me. I have never pulled out of our get-togethers, but I am in no fit state to see anyone. I can’t explain the bruise and lump that’s already rising on my cheek. He’s too perceptive to believe I simply fell over. Besides, my broken tooth must have exposed nerve endings because it’s absolutely killing me. I take some cotton wool from the first-floor bathroom to use as padding and I bite down upon it to stem the bleeding.
I smell burning from downstairs and remember I’ve left the chilli too long in the pan. By the time I reach the kitchen, it’s hard around the edges. The water in the rice has boiled away and some of it is black. I can’t be bothered to start anything new now.
I take another look at my reflection in the glass and struggle to recognise myself. How did I becomethiswoman?
CHAPTER 25
MAGGIE
When I hear Nina’s footsteps coming back up the stairs to get me for dinner, I recoil. I hurry into the corner of the bedroom, picking up the bedside lamp before positioning myself. If she is returning for round two, I am not going out without a fight, no matter how much this chain restricts my movements.
When she reaches my closed door, I hear the clatter on the tray as she places it upon the floor. I wait until I hear her head back downstairs before I let out a breath. I’m glad she changed her mind about making us eat together; I’d rather have no company at all than be at the mercy of her fury again.
I wait a few moments until I hear the downstairs door lock before I open mine and see what she has left me. There are three home-made turkey sandwiches, a bowl of crisps, two apples, a packet of Mr Kipling cakes and a single-serving plastic bottle of red wine. It’s the first time she’s given me alcohol. Is this her way of apologising? Does she know she went too far and perhaps even frightened herself?
Nevertheless, I remain on my guard and barely get a wink of sleep. I’m too afraid to take a sleeping tablet and become a sitting duck if Nina is ready to go into battle again. It’s happened in the past – we have argued, she has stormed out, and then much later that evening, she has appeared over my bed, hurling abuse at me after continuing the dispute in her head.
At some point in the night, I must have drifted off because I awake in the morning with a start, disorientated and sure that she is in the room with me. I open my eyes, relieved to see she’s not. Then I wait with my ear pressed against the bedroom door, just in case she is lurking outside it. But I don’t hear anything to indicate that she is. I am alone. I urinate into my bucket and then make my way to the window just in time to spy Nina walking away from the house. I spot the milkman and I try and work out what day it is; he’s knocking on doors to collect his money, so it must be Saturday.
Nina never works weekends so I wonder where she’s going. It doesn’t really matter because when she’s not under this roof, I am safe. I can’t help but wonder, though. Is she off to meet someone? Has she made a friend? Has she found a boyfriend? Or perhaps it’s not a man she’s seeing but a woman. Maybe she’s gay and doesn’t want to tell me because she thinks I’m too old-fashioned to accept it. But I wouldn’t care if she were, I really wouldn’t. I used to own several Dusty Springfield albums, so I’ve always been quite open-minded.
I’d like her to know how it feels to be loved in a romantic sense, at least once in her lifetime. Despite everything, she deserves that. We all do. I thought that having a baby meant that I would always be loved by someone until the day I died. I was wrong. Being a mother is no guarantee of anything.
CHAPTER 26
MAGGIE
TWENTY-THREE YEARS EARLIER
‘Good morning.’ I smile, and note that her pregnant belly is now poking out from beneath her white T-shirt.
‘Hi there,’ she says, then emits a long sigh.
‘Are you feeling it today?’
‘Oh yes,’ she replies and nods her head. ‘I’ve been up with heartburn most of the night and a stomach ache I can’t shift.’
‘I used to get exactly the same thing when I was carrying Nina,’ I reply, hoping to reassure her that it’s perfectly normal to feel awful in the last few weeks.
It hasn’t been the easiest time for her and she’s been a frequent visitor to the surgery throughout the duration of her pregnancy. She is only eighteen years old and far too young to be a mother if you ask me. She’s a pretty girl with elfin features and she reminds me a lot of Nina. She wears a silver nose piercing that my eyes are drawn to each time I look at her face. Her chestnut-brown, shoulder-length hair is scraped back into a ponytail and held in place with a scrunchie. No matter how crummy the baby is making her feel, I’ve yet to see her without make-up on.
‘Are you here to see Janet the midwife?’ I ask.
‘Yes, but I haven’t got an appointment. Could you squeeze me in?’
I look at the register and spot a cancellation. The surgery is only just starting to transfer all its patients’ paper files alphabetically on to a computer system and I don’t think we have reached hers yet. ‘Can you remind me of your surname, Sally Ann?’
‘It’s Mitchell.’
I nod. ‘Janet’s free in half an hour. You’ll be upstairs in room eight.’
