I jumped in. “He’s gone. Maybe he was fired. Maybe the studio found out it was him, and they’re just trying to hush it up.”
“Maybe,” she said, frowning. “I just… it doesn’t make sense. I know he’s a grade-A asshole, but much as it pains me to say this, he isn’t a complete idiot. Leaking confidential footage of a client he knowingly filmed without consent is career-ending if it got out. Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t here when the leak happened in January.”
“That doesn’t prove it wasn’t him.”
“Maybe not,” she said, fairly, “but someone in this building did.”
I opened my mouth, but just then the gravel outside crunched with the passage of tyres.
My head snapped around.
“Becka, I’ll speak to you later.”
“Tell Valerie I lo-”
I ended the call and tossed my phone on the table as I shot to my feet, double-timing it to the front door. I pulled it open just intime to see my dad hurrying around from the driver’s side of the car to where my mum sat in the passenger seat.
He opened the door and held out his hand. Gingerly, Mum accepted the aid, and allowed him to help her out. It was clear from the way she moved that she was in pain, though she smiled up at my dad as though he was being a gentleman, helping her out of the car as if they were on a date.
She got to her feet, and even from here, I could see the weird shape of her torso. Padded and boxlike. She moved stiffly, taking one step, an then another with a dragging gait. A marionette with tangled strings.
That’s when she saw me. Her eyes flicked up to where I stood, outlined in the front door. Her eyes went wide, and then softened as she smiled at me. I knew Dad would have told her I was home, but she looked at me as if she hadn’t been sure she’d ever see me again. She pushed my Dad aside and reached for me, as though she could close the distance between us with the length of her arms, while I felt rooted to the spot.
Despite the obvious pain she was in, she moved towards me and I met her halfway until I was cradled within the familiar feel of her arms. Almost familiar, anyway. One of her arms was clamped close to her side, like a bird with a broken wing. I didn’t miss the way she sharply inhaled as she pressed her fingers into me, pulling me as close as she could bear. I held her gently, burying my face into her neck.
She smelt like disinfectant, but underneath was the smell of the baby lotion she’d used on her skin for as long as I could remember.
I took a deep, shuddering breath.
“Mama,” I sighed.
“My baby.” Her voice hitched. She clutched at me, fingers digging into me as she clung to me tighter. It couldn’t have been comfortable for her.
I could feel the thick bandaging on her torso, and I tried not to press against her, until eventually she pulled back to look me over, her eyes roaming over me as though checking for injuries.
“You came home.”
I just nodded, because what was there to say? I looked over at Dad, who was pretending to inspect the guttering as he swiped a finger beneath his eye.
Mum refused to be babied.
She shook off Dad’s attempt to help her into the house.
“My legs work just fine, Ernie,” she grumbled, shaking off his hand, “but you can get the bag.”
Dad smiled as though he was delighted to be given a task he could adequately complete. I followed Mum into the kitchen,where she proceeded to start to make herself a cup of tea, despite my protest that she sit down.
“Kaiya Thompson, the day I can no longer make myself a brew, you call the doctor. Until then, sit your butt down and tell me everything.” She pointed to one of the stools, and I dutifully sat my butt down.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, watching anxiously as she moved around the kitchen. My gaze snagged on the bandage on her hand, the only outwardly visible sign of the trauma she was trying to hide.
It was as she was reaching for the kettle that Dad strode into the kitchen.
“Abso-bloody-lutely not!” he cried, striding across the kitchen, and snatching the appliance out of her hand before she’d lifted it an inch.
“Sit down, woman, and stop making yourself a nuisance!”
“I can make myself a cup, Ernest!” She protested.
