By the time Viviana ushers me out the door, it’s close to midnight. We’ve made a serious dent in her collections and I’ve agreed to return next week. I struggle to accept her praise. My mind is hundreds of miles away, in a gloomy castle perched atop a rocky crag, sitting in front of a cosy fire across from a man whose fathomless eyes still haunt my dreams.
With the jewellery box under my arm, I return to the motel, my skin already crawling with invisible bugs – bugs that I cannot seem to banish. I slide my key into the lock but can’t quite convince myself to turn it, to walk back into the living nightmare that is my life.
But as I’m debating heading out to drink myself into a stupor, I hear my mother’s voice inside … and another voice as well.
She’s arguing with the telly.
But I can’t shake the timbre of that other voice. Even through the door, it courses through my body, curling my toes and waking the butterflies from their deep slumber.
It’s a voice that absolutelyshouldn’t be here.
It’s Alaric.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
WINNIE
What’s he doing here?
He’s supposed to be in Argleton.
Why is he in this shitty hotel talking to my mother?
My hand trembles as I shove the key in the lock and turn the handle as quietly as possible, slipping inside without announcing myself. My heart leaps into my throat as I huddle in the kitchen, careful not to stand on the pile of crinkly papers Mum has acquired since I left, and strain my ears to the bedroom.
Ineedto know what they’re saying.
“—I don’t even know why I’m like this,” Mum sniffs. “I try so hard to be normal, but then I see something and I tell myself, ‘That’s it. That’s what I need. That thing will change my life.’ Part of me knows that’s not true, but another part of medoesn’t. But I can’t make both sides of me agree.”
From where I’m standing, I see them both. Mum’s lying on the bed, her filthy bunny slippers that she refuses to get rid of perched on the TV cabinet. She has a box of tissues beside her and a whole row of teacups on the bedside table. Alaric sits across from her, one leg tucked beneath him, his aristocratic clothes allrumpled and his head bent toward her, listening with that intense expression of his. He has a mug in his hands, but he doesn’t drink from it.
Seeing him winds me. I can’t breathe.
Alaric ishere, in my hotel room, talking to my mother.
“—Winnie hates me,” my mother is saying. “I don’t blame her. I tried so hard to give her a good life after her father left, but everything I tried was a failure. I don’t blame her for moving away.”
What?
The slightest breeze could knock me over. My mother has never,everspoken like that before. She brushes off my father leaving as no big deal. She says that she was going to kick him out anyway. She claims that if she had “more free time” or a “better system”, then she’d get on top of her hoarding.
I thought she loved her stuff more than she loves me.
“I understand. I too built a wall of things around me,” Alaric says. “A fortification so high and deep that no one could break through and hurt me. But someonedidbreak through. Your daughter. And she showed me the joy that comes with tearing down the walls.”
“It’s too late for me.” Mum honks into her tissue.
“You are still breathing. It is not too late. You still have your daughter, who made her whole career out of helping people just like you, all because she feels as though she failed you. I’ve been reading a book about our condition. We are not doomed to live like this, driving away the people we love. We can change, but only if we have someone called a therapist, and also support and empathy, and Winnie is ready to give you both, you have only to ask.”
The tears burst, running in silent rivers down my cheeks.
“Your daughter is decisive,” Alaric continues. “She’s like a modern automobile. She tells herself she wants to do something and she does it. It’s one of the many qualities that I most adore about her. But you and I are more like my butler’s car. We need a lot of love and coaxing to get revved up for such a task, and even then, we never do exactly whatwe’re supposed to do.”
Mum smiles over her tissue. “And sometimes I think the devil’s behind the wheel.”
“Exactly.” Alaric smiles back, and it’s so soft and sad that my chest can’t take the pain of it. “All the world sees when they look in on our lives is chaos and junk. But Winnie sees our creativity and our pain and ourhope. She’s the first person who ever truly saw me, and she found me worthy of her trust and her love, which some might argue was a foolish thing to do. Winnie has so much love and grace to give that I didn’t appreciate her gift until I had broken it beyond repair. But you’re her mother. She loves you unconditionally, and she wants so badly to help you. She’s waiting in the kitchen, and I’d love it if we could tell her that you’ll try therapy and you’ll try loving her the way she deserves. Because she’s worth it.”
I let out a loud sob.
