The sound of the TV filtered through her thoughts and pulled her mind away from Matty.
When Sloan finished loading the dishwasher she checked the time—not quite nine. She prepared her mother's evening routine of a glass of water for the sleeping tablets and a mug of hot chocolate. She put it all on a tray and carried it through to the lounge, silently placing it on the side table. Gloria barely looked up. Sloan paused, waiting for a thank you that didn’t come.
“I’d appreciate it if you would stop speaking to me like that in front of people and start calling me by the name I’ve asked you to use.”
Gloria scoffed. “I’ll do what I want. It’s my house.”
Sloan clenched her jaw, the anger rising, hot and choking in her throat. “It’smyhouse,” she said defiantly. “I bought it to stop you from having to sell it and move into a care home. This ismyhouse, but it’s yourhome, and while we live here together, you will stop treating me like I’m something on the bottom of your shoe.”
Gloria sniffed at that reminder, adjusted her posture, but said nothing.
“I’ve put my life on hold to make sure you have everything you need, and you have systematically fought me at every step. You’re rude, inconsiderate, selfish, and often...cruel. And I don’t understand why.”
Sloan straightened fully, staring Gloria down and daring her to say otherwise.
“Finally, there is someone in this house who is somehow able to stand you, and I will not let you ruin it.”
The skin around Gloria’s lips wrinkled as she pursed them tighter.
“Because I promise you this—if you scare off Matty, or make her feel uncomfortable in any way… If I hear just a whisper of her wanting to leave because of you...” She held Gloria’s gaze. “I’ll ring St Margaret’s.”
Gloria gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
“Watch me,” Sloan said. She held her mother’s attention just a moment longer, then left the room—and left Gloria to her own thoughts about it all.
The sound of the TV didn’t drown out the echo of the front door closing. Gloria sat back and let her head rest against the softness of the armchair.
“Well,” she said aloud, the corners of her mouth curving up, “it’s about time you joined the world again, Sloan.”
She picked up the cup of hot chocolate and took a sip. The clock on the mantelpiece said it was almost time for bed, and she’d go up as soon as the film was over.
Chapter twenty-five
Matty got back to her flat and found what sounded like a full-on rave taking place in Brandon’s room. Loud electro-pop music blared out, along with the sound of his friends shouting to be heard. The floor was probably bouncing. It was a good job the shop below was shut, otherwise they’d be getting another visit from the landlord about the noise.
She banged on his door.Boom. Boom. Boom.
Of course, nobody heard her. She opened it and almost choked on the weed smoke that hung in the air.
“Brandon!” she shouted at the sprawled figure on the bed. He raised his head and flapped an arm. Someone turned the music down. “Seriously, mate?” She wafted her hand in front of her face. “Open a window and turn it down.”
“Yeah, sorry, Matty, just chilling, ya know.”
“I can see.”
“Alright, Matty.” The lanky one with hair longer than hers grinned at seeing her again.
“Hi, Sean,” she said quickly, not wanting to give him any idea she might be interested. Telling him, “I’m a lesbian,” hadn’t done much to put him off last time.
She turned back to Brandon. “Why don’t you just go down to the pub?”
“Got no cash, innit,” Brandon answered. They were all in the same boat.
“Right, well, can you pack it in before we’ve got no roof over our heads either?”
“Yeah, sorry, Matty,” Brandon said again, sitting up.
“It’s nice out, go sit in the garden.” And by garden, she meant the patch of concrete out the back of the shop, where they were allowed to have a couple of deck chairs when deliveries weren’t being made.
