Stretching my arms up tall and then wide, I let the early morning breeze pass through my hair. Slowly, the stretch helps loosen taut muscles. I take in the craggy coastline, the foam of the sea and the seagulls circling overhead one more time. Then I make my way back from the moors, walking through the village so I can grab a pint of milk.
Exhaustion washes over me like cold water when I reach Summer Lane, the site of my first episode. Images of me disorientated and tearful flash through my mind. I’m not even sure if they’re all real. They could be from my imagination. But the emotion feels real. The fear, the confusion.
I pull in a deep breath and head home. Completely and utterly simple. There’s really nothing to it. All I do is put one foot in front of the other. But I can tell I’m frazzled by the time I get back, from the sweat across my forehead. I put the milk away, take my medication and then sit down on the sofa to tune out the anxiety with sitcom re-runs on TV.
I put my feet up and bundle the cushion under my cheek.
Then I fall asleep.
When I wake, I’m in my bed, and my phone is ringing. I grab the clock on my bedside table and stare at it. It’s lunchtime.
What the fuck?
I answer the phone, croaking down the line.
“Mum?”
“Who else would it be?” I quip.
“Were you asleep?” she asks.
It feels like some sort of accusation but before I answer, I check myself. That’s the pride speaking. “Yes, sweetheart. The insomnia was bad last night so I took a nap. How are you?”
“Good,” she says. “I’m just on my lunch break. It’s so cold today, it doesn’t feel like summer, does it? I miss London.”
I rub sleep from my eyes. “You do? I thought you liked it up here. How’s work going? Do you like this one?”
“The hours are good,” she says. “And it’s in Malton so I don’t have to go far. But the office is kind of boring, you know?”
I make a non-committal sound. Penny leaving her apprenticeship didn’t bother me at all. But I just wish she could find something that fulfils her and actually involves using her brain. I know she has one.
But the subject is a tricky one to tread around. I can’t help but worry about Penny at times, but she’s still young and has plenty of time to figure things out. The last thing she needs is judgement from me.
“What do they do again?” I ask.
“Mum, I told you,” she says impatiently. “They supply schools with those plastic chairs. You know, the ones with the bendy backs.”
“Right,” I say.
“Anyway…” I hear Penny chewing on something. When she speaks again it’s with a mouthful. “Can we come for Sunday dinner? I’ll help cook.”
“We?” I ask.
“Me and Nathan,” she clarifies.
I hesitate for a moment. “Nathan wants to come? All the way up from London?”
“He hasn’t seen you since the divorce,” she says. “I think he misses you. Mum, I know things between you and him can be a bit tense at times, but he found that guy on Twitter. He wanted to help.”
“I know,” I say. I think about the insensitive way he sent me the photo in the first place. And everything that went on before. Pretty much our entire relationship as stepmother and stepson has been difficult.
“So, can he come?”
I force myself to smile. “Of course he can come.”
“Good,” she says. “Oh, and do you mind if I bring Tim?”
“Tim?”
