Someone has taken my soul and put it through one of those old-fashioned clothes manglers.
Mum strokes the frame, peering up at me with childlike innocence. I try to remember when our relationship did this one-eighty and I became the grown-up and her the child, but it’s too long ago now to recall.
“It’s going to be okay, Mum.” I force my lips into a smile. “I’m here. I’ll look after you.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
WINNIE
ONE MONTH LATER
Faye: Winnie, I got a job through this morning and they asked for you specifically. That’s a bit rude – I hope you’re not telling clients to do that. We are supposed to be partners. But I suppose it’s okay just this once since I have some promo for the TV show to shoot today. I’ll also need you to brainstorm some ideas for a new clutter anagram. People are going to be confused by Winnie Wins because my name isn’t Winnie! Ta, doll!
“You better not be getting rid of any of my stuff,” Mum calls out as I drag four heavy tote bags filled with Savemart purchases into the hallway, where the hotel manager waits to whisk them away to the tip.
Clack-clack-clackgo the keys on the typewriter she rescued from someone’s skip bin the other day, burrowing into my skull.
“Of course not.” I shut the door as quietly as possible and start shifting cups around our small kitchenette. “I’m making a cup oftea. Do you want one?”
Clack-clackity-clack.She’s in the middle of writing her memoir.
“Sure, thank you, honey. You’re always so considerate.”Clack-clack-clack.“I’ve had such an interesting life. When I publish this, I’ll be rich and famous and we won’t even need to wait on the silly insurance to get a new house. It’s going to be amazing.”
Clack-clack-clackity-CLACK-CLACK.
Stab me with a rusty spoon.
I push a bunch of half-empty cereal cartons off the bench I cleaned two hours ago and unearth the kettle. As I lift the lid on the jar containing the tea bags, a little mouse pokes his head out and wiggles his whiskers at me.
I wish I could say that mouse made me scream, but the truth is that I’m now used to seeing them again and hearing their little rodent feet scurrying around at night. The hotel isn’t exactly top-of-the-line, but it’s all I can afford.
I replace the lid of the tea tin and hunt out another stash of teabags in the cupboard that bear no signs of teeth marks, while Mum clacks away in the bedroom. As I bring her tea through to her, she flips on the telly. An ad for theClutter Queenshow blares from the screen, Faye’s grinning face mocking me.
“Turn that off before I pull a Keith Moon and toss the telly out the window.”
“But this place doesn’t have a swimming pool. All you’d do is drop it on the cafe awning downstairs.” Mum flips the channels. “I don’t understand why you’re not on the show. I thought you and Faye were business partners.”
I thought so, too.
Another mouse scurries along the skirting board behind the tallboy. I yelp and dart into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.
I can’t live like this anymore.
I’ve been sharing this small hotel suite with Mum for the last month. The rebuild on her and Ken and Barry’s places can’t begin until the insurance pays out, and they’re dragging their heels. So, fornow, she’s homeless.
At least I managed to drag her to a doctor after she wouldn’t stop coughing, and she’s been diagnosed with a severe respiratory illness from the dust and mould that accumulated in her old place. She also hasn’t cooked for herself for nearly two decades, since her hoarding put the kitchen out of commission, so she’s severely malnourished and can barely fend for herself. This means that when I’m not working, I’m nurse, chef, maid, and amateur psychologist. She needs my help, and I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.
Being busy is good. I’m helping Mum and it keeps my mind off a forlorn castle and a certain grumpy, beautiful vampire …
But some days, I can’t see how I’ll ever dig us out of this hole. Like today.
I sit on the closed lid of the loo and try to sob into my hands so Mum doesn’t hear me.
I miss Alaric. I miss him so badly that the pain is physical – a constant tightness in my chest, like the butterflies are being stretched on a rack. I miss his wry humour and his rare laugh and the way he made me feel safe … until he didn’t.
I miss having friends like the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven. I miss being able to sink into a comfy beanbag and unload my problems on empathetic women.
I miss laughing.
