The sun was shining, heat already building outside and creeping in through the windows.
A pulse of need moved through her; a quiet reminder of what she meant to deny a little longer. She pulled on her robe, tied it, and opened the door. Gloria’s bedroom door stood open and the stairlift sat at the bottom.
Gloria was already up.
“Mum?” she called out as she made her way down the stairs.
Voices drifted from the kitchen. Radio 4 murmured,Saturday Live with Adrian Chilesplaying, guests discussing whichever crisis was currently demanding attention.
“Mum?” Sloan tried again.
She walked into the kitchen and found Gloria at the table. The bread bag was open, crumbs all over the place. The butter dish sat open, and Gloria was pressing a jam jar to her chest with her weak arm, twisting the lid with her good hand.
“Do you want—”
“Nope, I’ve got it,” Gloria said, just as the seal gave with a hiss and the lid popped. “See? Just needed some oomph.”
“Indeed.” Sloan picked up the kettle. “Tea?”
“Please,” Gloria said. “Toast?”
Sloan turned back to find Gloria holding two more slices of bread. “Yes…why not. Thank you.”
She filled the kettle and flicked the switch, then turned back to watch as Gloria, now upright, shuffled over to the toaster, dropped each slice into it, and set it to cook.
“I thought it might be nice to go out for lunch today?” Sloan said when Gloria sat back down again.
“With the hippie?”
“Well, if you want Matty to come, I’m fine with that.”
Gloria smirked. “I bet you are.”
“Mum, do you have to make everything sound so…vulgar?”
Gloria pursed her lips, thinking, then said, “You like her, don’t you?”
“I do,” Sloan said. “She’s nice.”
“No.” Gloria leaned back slightly. “You like her. Like Maggie.”
Sloan’s hand stilled.
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened with Maggie?”
The kettle hissed and gurgled. Sloan turned her attention back to it and the pot of tea she was making.
“One minute she was around and then the next she was gone,” Gloria continued. “You’ve never told me why.”
The toast popped. Gloria scraped her chair back and went to retrieve Sloan’s breakfast.
Sloan used the moment to think. She had spent years treating Maggie as something finished. But that old choice was sitting here now, at her kitchen table.
She filled the pot and stirred.
A plate landed gently on the table, then slid across. Gloria was back in her chair, waiting.
“Fine. Keep your secrets, then—”
