“Go,” I urged, shooing him out the kitchen. I heard the front door slam a few moments later.
Because of the new social distancing measures, only one person was allowed to go into the hospital, so I’d had to make peace with the notion of staying here. Waiting.
Suddenly, I understood why Dad had moved through the house like a bee in a hive, constantly on the move. Being still made it easier for the intrusive thoughts to settle, so I searched for things to do.
Once I finished putting away the shopping, I busied myself by tidying up things that really didn’t need it, trying to do anything rather than face the reality of my mum’s illness. Up until this point, it had been theoretical in my mind.
Schrödinger’s breast cancer. Because until I saw her with my own eyes, touched her with my own hands, it was just a story. Hearsay. Absurd as that was, the idea of seeing her now made me anxious. I made myself sit down to try and calm down.
Without even meaning to, I pulled out my phone, scrolled down to the familiar face and hit video call.
“Hey babes.”
Her voice filled me with the kind of relief that cut my anxiety off short.
“Hey, you,” I grinned.
“How’s tricks?”
“Oh, you know,” I said wryly, “same old, same old.”
Becka snorted
“How’s things with you?” I asked, watching as she got up from her bed and moved over to the dressing table where she propped her phone up. She was still in her dressing gown. I tried to peer into the background.
“Is he there with you?” I stage-whispered.
Becka rolled her eyes. “Why are you whispering? And no, Ben–” she stressed, “is not here.”
“Mmm hmm. I thought you two were, y’know, going to give it a go?”
I tried not to sound desperate for anything to talk about that wasn’t either Joon, or my mum.
“Sure,” Becka dragged out the word, “but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump back into bed with him.”
“Babes, you already jumped onto the sofa with him.” I waggled my eyebrows, reminding us both of the time I’d walked in on them going at it on our sofa last year. God, had it already been that long ago?
Becka groaned. “Why did you choose violence today?”
I laughed, allowing my body to slump into the thickly padded sofa cushions as I felt my shoulders easing back down, muscles unclenching.
“Sorry,” I said after a moment, “I’m in a weird mood.”
I pulled a hand down my face, trying to hold onto the fizzy feeling of laughter, but it dissolved on my tongue like candyfloss.
Becka’s face coalesced into a more sedate expression, and she said, “Is Valerie home yet?”
“Not yet. Dad went to collect her, a little while ago.”
Becka nodded. “Is it weird? Being home?”
“I haven’t been home in…” I stopped to think. More than a year.
“Last February,” Becka supplied, obviously seeing my struggle.
“Fuck,” I said, dully. Because yeah, it had been that long.
When Becka had gotten me the job at Pisces, I’d still been living in London, working in a shitty part-time job after graduating from University. I’d had no idea what to do next. But then, I suddenly had a job offer in LA. I had packed up my crappy flat-share and come back to Cumbria on the next train, dumped my few possessions and flown out a few days later.
