Page 90 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

In a way that I’ve never felt before.

I drive down a familiar street and pull up to a small two-bed mid-terrace.

The house I grew up in.

I’m just climbing out of the car when Trevor emerges from the house next door and ambles to greet me, his round face breaking into a sweet smile. His grey hair is neatly parted and he’s wearing his favourite sweatshirt, which bears the name of the local hiking club he’s belonged to for years.

Trev watched me grow up, was there for me long after Dad was gone. Taught me how to change a tyre and fix a leaky tap and introduced me to Pink Floyd. He’s the best man I’ve ever known.

A better man than my dad, that’s for sure.

“Sam.” He pulls me into a hug, and I breathe in the familiar scent of his washing powder and aftershave. “How was the journey?”

“Pretty clear all the way through,” I mutter, glancing at the house.

Trevor follows my gaze and the smile on his lips fades. “I’m sorry to call you. I know you didn’t particularly want to come back, and I can’t blame you, but I was so worried. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“No, it’s fine,” I assure him. “I’m glad you called. I wish I’d known sooner.”

“I’m ashamed I didn’t put two and two together for so long. I should’ve seen the signs, should’ve done something to help.”

“She always was good at hiding it,” I say softly. “You have nothing to be ashamed for.”

“I don’t know how to help her. She’s shut me out completely,” he replies, his expression sad.

That’s the other thing about Trev. I’m pretty sure he’s been in love with my mother for years, but he’s settled for being her friend. That’s what she needed at the beginning, and they’ve never moved past that. I’m not even sure she knows how he feels.

“It’s okay, Trev.” I reach out and give his arm a reassuring pat. “I’ll stop by and talk to you after I’ve seen her.”

“Please do.” He nods. “What’s going on? Your mother aside, I’d like to know how you’re doing in London.”

“I will,” I promise, and as he heads back into his house, I approach Mum’s.

I don’t even have a key anymore, although I did take one with me when I left. At least, I think I did. Those months are still a bit of a blur. When I searched through my stuff after Trev’s call, though, I couldn’t find it.

I could ask Trev, he’s also got a key for emergencies, but there’s probably no need. Knowing Mum, the back door’s either open or there’s a spare under the garden gargoyle.

I head around to the back and try the door’s handle first. Sure enough, it’s unlocked, something I was always on at her about, but I guess some things never change.

Stepping into the kitchen, I’m hit first by the smell—the pungent scent of a bin that needs to be emptied. Dirty plates and glasses are piled up in the sink, and the counter is lined with empty bottles: several of wine, a couple of vodka, and a Jack Daniels.

Shit.

I move through the kitchen into the hallway. The carpets are long overdue a hoover, and there’s a thick layer of dust on the pictures lining the walls. Frame after frame of me and her—and Trev.

Stepping into the lounge, I hear the TV playing quietly, and my heart hurts.

There she is. Mum is slumped in one of the armchairs, an open bottle of Jack Daniels and a half-filled glass on the coffee table next to her. She’s staring at the telly, but her eyes are glazed, and I can tell she’s not really taking it in.

Fuck. It’s barely past lunch, and she’s already half cut.

“Ma?” I say softly, but she doesn’t hear me.

I move further into the room, noting the mess and the half-closed curtains shutting out the world.

“Mam?”

Her bleary eyes turn to me and widen. She doesn’t say anything, just watches as I sit on the footstool in front of her in order to put us at the same height.