Ready to leave, perhaps.
Except my surprise stopped him dead.
I watched him understand the scene before him. The quiet room. The tension holding me tight. The urn in the centre of the table.
There was no mistaking the type of vessel that held human ashes. Bigger than most other ornaments, classically shaped and unadorned with any frill. The one I’d chosen for Mum was dark purple and had faint flowers around the lid, along with her name,Rose Wells, but otherwise was made in that serious, sober design that drew the eye.
For a long moment, while he didn’t move, I didn’t breathe. All the times I’d told him I needed to call home. All the times I’d chatted about my mother. He could accuse me of lying by omission, and he’d be right.
Even a year later, it was still too hard to open my mouth and tell people that she’d died. Whoever said time healed old wounds was wrong.
None of my new friends at the warehouse knew about my mother’s death. I hadn’t told Dixie or Mila. Confiding in the skeleton girls would undoubtedly be comforting, but I hadn’t been ready. Though enough time had passed to reach an anniversary, condensing my thoughts into an easy explanation felt impossible. Sickness, diagnosis, hospital, hope. Then a funeral home. I’d been at the side of my beloved, kind mother, trusting that the battle would be won, and I’d been left alone to handle the emptiness of all that came after.
No matter how practical a woman I was, her loss had nearly broken me.
What Kane did next had the power to break me all over again.
I forced the smallest explanation to form. “I’m not crazy. A grief therapist suggested I talk to Mum every day. Just like I would if she was still here. Hence the phone calls because my voice plays out over the house answerphone.”
He leaned his uninjured shoulder on the wall.
I took a shaky breath. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’m waiting for you to leave.”
A flash of emotion crossed his face. He straightened and dropped my gaze. “Didn’t realise ye wanted me gone. I’ll get out.”
“No, that isn’t what I meant.”
It was a repeat of the same line he’d used on me in Manchester. Our roles had reversed. My damn heart hurt, the strain on me too much.
The house phone rang in the hall, shrill, and feet from where we were sitting. I jumped and Kane swore, but I didn’t get up to answer it. Whoever it was could go away. After five rings, the answerphone kicked in.
“Lovelyn,” my father’s voice called out.
I groaned. “Of all the times for him to remember what day it is.”
He continued. “What the fuck are you doing hanging around Arran Daniels’ warehouse? Lyle saw you there. He thinks you’re with one of the gangbangers. What the fuck is wrong with you? Pick up.”
“Or not.” I stood, Kane rocking back on his heels to give me space, and collected the phone from the cradle, interrupting the call. “Did you get any further investigating the person who threatened me?”
I’d messaged him to ask after confiding in Kane.
“What’s the point? You’re still walking, aren’t you?”
“Julian, do you know what today is?”
Silence met my words. “I, er…”
I gripped the plastic phone tighter so it crackled. “On the anniversary of my mother’s death, your ex-girlfriend who you once liked enough to make a baby with, you decide now would be a great time to play dad and berate me over a rumour? How about you help me instead and give me the number of who sent those messages? Or, if you’re feeling particularly paternal, come with me to Mum’s grave.”
He swore a couple of times and fumbled for an excuse. “I’ll get the number. Too busy this afternoon for anything else. Got another dead hooker on my hands.”
My irritation seized. “Another woman has been killed?”
Kane stood taller.
