I hug her back, her lily perfume unchanged from when I was a kid. ‘Thank you.’
She leaves the room and shouts at Fiona to stop telling Mum where to put her clothes.
I sit on Cormac’s bed. I need to get settled but I don’t want to, not really. I don’t want to live here, but I don’t want to go back to London either, because living in a house full of memories was becoming unbearable. I want everything to change and nothing to change.
Breathe.
Dad is gone, Mum is sad and I’m all she has. She moved us here because she wants to be near family and to give us some security. She’s got a job teaching at a university and she’s promised we’ll have our own place soon. She’s doing her best.
I check my phone. Unsurprisingly, there’s still nothing from Ben. Why did I put that kiss at the end of the message?
He’s already moved on. He wasn’t even into you anyway. You’re ugly, just an easy lay.
A knock on the door. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Sure.’
Mum steps inside and looks around. ‘How’re you doing?’
I shrug. ‘Fine.’
She sits and nudges me with her knee. An old move, which gets a smile. ‘Mad day, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s only for a while.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I do know how big a change this is for you, you know?’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ And I mean that. ‘Sorry I’ve been in a mood. It’s just—’
‘I get it.’ She squeezes my hand.
We sit for a minute, holding hands. There are a million things I want to say, but I can’t find the words. I don’t know how to speak to her in that way any more. My stomach is heavy as I slowly move my hand from hers.
Mum blinks. ‘Lunch?’
‘Yeah.’
Sheila makes the most incredible Irish stew. It’s a bit of a tradition for her to cook it when we first arrive and my mouth waters as the smell pulls me down the stairs. Lamb, carrots, potatoes and a thick warm gravy, served with Belfast baps and loads of butter.
It’s a fairly typical McCutcheon family lunch. We talk about our journey over (though we leave out the fainting), Mum’s new job and how I’m feeling about my GCSE results (a constant low-level panic, but I say I’m fine). Tommy has a new apprentice, ‘Absolutely useless.’ Sheila fills Mum in on which neighbours have died. Cormac throws me endless smirks, like he used to when we were younger before he’d suggest a game that would get us into trouble. And throughout it all, Fiona watches me with the focus of an assassin.
We’re nearly finished our mint Viennetta (classic dessert here) when Tommy asks Mum if we’d seen any trouble on the drive over. I set down my spoon and lean in.
Mum glances at me. ‘No, why? Is there still stuff happening? Thought they’d quietened down?’
Tommy grunts. ‘Some chance. Sure, they were rioting for days.’
‘For days?’ I say.
Sheila nods. ‘Aye, love. Bloody disgrace they are.’
Mum’s cheeks flush. ‘Sorry, been distracted with the move, but I saw it on the news.’
I frown as she didn’t mention anything to me. ‘What’s been happening?’
