“Of course I miss you. I think about you every day. It’s just…” I close my eyes, too many thoughts crowding my head. “You left. I thought you didn’t want to hear from me any longer.”
Her breathing fades, like she’s holding the phone farther away. “If you need money, ask Bryan. God knows I send him enough each month, and with your expensive school…”
Prepaid from a trust and Regency High doesn’t allow refunds. It’s the first thing we tried when my support payments dipped.
“I appreciate all you do for me, Mum. I really do. It’s just… things are so expensive now… with inflation, and—”
“Is Bryan there?” Her tone sharpens.
“No, Mum. He’s working overtime tonight.”
“Right. So, he just wrote out what he wanted you to say, did he? Because it may’ve been a while since I was a teenage girl, but I know that worrying aboutinflationwasn’t part of it.”
“It’s all over the news—”
“You know, it’s bad here, too.” Like flicking a switch, all the animation comes back into her voice. “I’m based in New York now, and it’s a hell of a lot more expensive here than in Christchurch. I found the cutest little apartment above a decommissioned church. It’s amazing. There are leadlight windows and—oh! Have I told you about Max?”
I’d forgotten her torrential outpour of words. Forgotten how much fun and excitement she brings to everything and everyone until they bore her, when all her enthusiasm abruptly ceases.
“It’s sounds great. I’m really glad things are going well for you, but I just need—”
“Darling, you’re eighteen now. If you really need money, don’t you think it’s time you found your own job? Honestly, the amount I’ve spent when you won’t even call me like a normal daughter. Max says, he’s my new boyfriend”—she giggles—“although he’s in his sixties, so boy is stretching it. He works in finance, you know, and he says if you want to get on the property ladder, then you should start at your age. Don’t leave it too late.”
“I won’t, but—”
“I don’t know why it’s suddenly my fault Bryan can’t afford his mortgage payments.”
The bouncing from one tangent to another is exhausting. I can barely track what she’s trying to tell me.
“If you won’t send money, can I come and live with you?”
The silence that follows is so complete I think the line disconnects. Finally, “Stay with me?” She laughs again, but it’s different now. Sharp. “Phee, honey, that’s not really practical. It’s a one-bedroom, and Max is here most nights, and I’m travelling constantly—”
“Please.” I hate how small my voice sounds. “I’m really struggling, Mum.”
“Stop it.” A long sigh. “You’ve always been like this, you know. Dramatic. Bryan is well paid for taking care of you, and if there are issues, see your therapist more often. I might miss a month or two here and there, but you’re not neglected.”
“I wasn’t saying—”
“I have to go.” Her voice softens the way it always does when she’s exiting a conversation she doesn’t want to have. “Love you, sweetie. Bye!”
The line goes dead.
I drop into a dining chair, staring blankly at the floor. Nothing but emptiness inside.
When I trust my voice will come out smooth, I dictate a quick text message: a man knocked on the door and left you an envelope. It’s on the bench.
After a moment’s pause, I add: I’ve called Mum. She doesn’t think she’ll be able to help.
I’m about to press send, when I think of Damien’s questions yesterday. He’d promised cash if I answered him, then didn’t mention it again.
I delete the last line and press send. I’ll remind Damien tomorrow.
A thousand won’t be enough, but anything helps.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
OPHELIA
