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I gently release her arm and pull back. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say over my thick tongue, getting just a mild nod as she gets out, shutting the door and walking the few yards to her shop. She lets herself in. Closes the door. And she doesn’t look at me once.
‘Fuck.’ I smack the steering wheel with the heel of my hand before pulling off quickly, my truck taking the brunt of my frustration. Do I tell her? Lay my heart at her feet and risk having it stamped on? I don’t think I’d feel so unsettled if I wasn’t in such a mess over the gun, her meltdown, and everything else that has clued me into the fact that there’s something I’m missing. Or something she’s not telling me. Because more disturbing is my fear that no matter what I do or how I feel, she’s afraid to love me in return. And that she will, in fact, leave me. And Alex.
So, what the fuck do I do now?Chapter 22HANNAH
The darkness is a comfort for once. I hear his truck roar off up the high street, almost angrily, further cementing the fact that something has gone wrong between us somewhere this evening, and I’m really not sure what. Did he see me falter when I realized who Cami was? God, I thought I might have thrown up at her feet. I remember her well; she was a regular on the London scene. And then, naturally, I wondered if she recognized me. It took me a good few minutes to settle down and conclude that she didn’t, but it was touch-and-go for a moment. I had to stop myself from running out of the cabin.
Or was Ryan’s silence because of my answer to his question about children? I shouldn’t have been so honest, but in that moment, for the first time ever, I truly did see myself as a mother one day, and the Realisation had me forgetting myself for a second and putting it out there. I could see he was taken aback. His own answer should have made me think before spewing mine.
Or was his dip in mood because I refused to stay? There’s no denying I wanted to, but my reasoning about Alex, albeit partly true, wasn’t why I stuck to my guns. Truth be told, if I didn’t have somewhere to be in the morning, Ryan could have easily convinced me to stay. But I do have somewhere to be tomorrow. It’s Saturday, and if I don’t leave Hampton by nine o’clock at the latest, I’ll miss seeing Mum and Pippa. Staying at Ryan’s would have increased the risk, not to mention getting past the inevitable task of explaining why I have to leave before breakfast. I couldn’t say I need to open the shop. He’d undoubtedly see it closed if he made a trip into town in the morning.
Feeling a little despondent, I make my way upstairs. Finding my iPad on the table by the sofa, I load Facebook and click my sister’s name in the search bar. When Mum’s face comes up on my screen, I lower to the couch, tracing the edges of her cheek. Each week I get to see her from afar, I wonder if it’ll be the last time. A tear hits the screen of my iPad when I silently accept that I won’t even be able to say goodbye. Besides, I said farewell in my own little way many years ago. I only have to look at Mum’s empty eyes to know that she won’t even know who I am anymore. That’s both painful and comforting.
Making the picture as big as it can be without distorting it too much, I take a screenshot. Then I scroll through the rest of my sister’s previous profile pictures and do the same with them all, stopping when I come across one from six years ago when we had Mum moved into the care home. It was miles from London and me, but not so far from my sister. Given my restrained life, it made more sense for Mum to be nearer to Pippa.
In this picture, she’s smiling as she points at the fancy floral curtains in her new room, looking more alive and compos mentis. Back then, her good days outweighed her bad days. Now the bad days are taking over. I remember the day I visited and said my private goodbye to her. She was having a good day. To this day, I still don’t know whether I’m grateful or saddened by that. I remember holding on to her hand firmly as she talked to me. I remember Pippa looking at me questioningly each time my eyes filled with tears. I remember her laughing lightly when I attacked her with a cuddle so fierce when we left Mum’s room. And I remember the last words she said to me.
