“I’m so sorry, Em.”
My voice is barely audible as I whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”
His face nuzzles into me as he plants an enormous kiss on my neck. “You don’t have to know right now. We can talk about it and think about it. Mum can tell you her collection of horrible reminiscences of me as a baby. She loves telling embarrassing stories about me.”
“I’d like to hear those.”
He gives a soft laugh, the vibrations twisting into my ear. “I’m sure you’ll get your wish. We can also talk to the counsellor at school”—when I stiffen, his arms squeeze me in acknowledgement—“together if you like. Then there’s the family planning clinic and our GP.”
The list has already grown so long, I give a sniffly laugh. “Are you sure you’re not missing anyone out?”
“Probably. Oh, Zach and Lily could have an opinion. They’re the newest parents we know.”
“Now, you’re just making fun.”
“A bit,” he admits, groaning as he shifts into a slightly less uncomfortable position. “But taking on Sierra is an enormous responsibility and they’re managing.” His voice drops lower, “And they’re even more fucked up than us.”
“Yeah, they are.” Oddly enough, that thought’s the one that makes me feel the most hopeful.
“Mm,” he agrees on the verge of sleep again already. “We’ll need to start a list of all the things we need to talk about in the morning.”
“Not tomorrow morning. We have school.”
Caylon burst out laughing, a short-lived state that soon descends into a long groan. “Don’t know about you, but I’m taking a sick day.”
I try to think of a smart aleck quip. The perfect comeback.
While it’s thinking, my brain seizes the opportunity and wrestles me into the wasteland of sleep. A place where it doesn’t get to dwell long before someone knocks at the door.
I sit up, blearily glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Just after four in the morning. No one else is going to be knocking.
Caylon stirs but I tell him to go back to sleep and he does, an automatic response that makes me smile. The expression drops away as I walk out of the room, hanging near the door while Effie talks to the men on the porch.
“Is something wrong?” I call out when I can’t stand another moment without knowing for sure. Given the trajectory of the night, it suddenly seems entirely possible that the police have arrived to give us a completely different set of horrible news than we’re expecting.
I inch closer while waiting for someone to answer. Close enough to see the uniform and raise a hand to pick at the skin at the base of my throat.
“Em, come over here, love,” Effie says, her face twisted with anguish. “It’s your mother.”
I start crying before I reach her and even though I know this is part pantomime, staged so the police see exactly the reaction they expect to, another part is cruelly real. The grief pouring forth before he’s even got halfway through his fumbling explanation.
“Did you know Mr Braxen?”
“He was her employer,” I say between gasps for breath, the tears streaming down my face. “A few years ago. He might have hired her again. We don’t talk often enough to be sure.”
“The men at your mother’s address couldn’t think why she’d be there.”
I stare at the officer with the blankest face I can manage. “They’re not always too aware of what’s happening,” I say, feeling a pinch of betrayal at the lie. “Is there… Can I see her?”
The wince makes my tears turn up a notch and I retreat to the sofa while the officers continue to ask and answer questions with Effie. Eventually they go. Eventually she walks over and sits next to me, patting my knee. Eventually we retire to our rooms for however many hours the night has left.
Caylon stirs, seeking me in his sleep, only settling when I snuggle within the comforting circle of his arm.
I close my eyes, imagining myself swinging back and forth, underneath a tree overlooking the city. Feel the soft breeze in my hair and hear the strange cries as the animals of the night call out to each other, reassuring themselves that even in the middle of the night in the depths of winter, they’re not alone.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
EM
