Page 8 of Take Her On

The thought of missing out on Hannah and Maddie’s Pot Noodle Night on Thursdays made Maya’s heart squeeze. The three of them were always in and out of their accommodation last year—Maya with football commitments, Hannah with netball, and Maddie with Alex—but they’d always made time on Thursdays for Pot Noodle sandwiches and a Netflix binge. She didn’t want to think about whoever their new roommate would be. It hurt too much to consider someone else taking her place.

After changing her mind four times, she pulled on a lavender puffed-sleeve blouse, knowing her mum would approve. She tucked the excess material into her high-rise jeans, twisting and inspecting herself in the mirror. She felt bad about their argument earlier. Not that she was wrong. But she still felt bad about it. Hopefully, her mum would see the purple blouse as somewhat of a truce. She was always pleading with her to dress up.

The Mellors arrived, all smiles and freshly dressed. The mum, Joanne, brought an expensive bottle of white wine, the dad, Bob, a six-pack of beers. Jamie wore the same skinny jeans as earlier, but the black hoodie was gone, replaced with a red-and-green flannel shirt. She gave Maya a casual nod of acknowledgement that fanned anger in her belly, then placed her brand-new-edition Nikes next to her dad’s matching black ones.

Even the woman’s shoes scream show-off.

Maya played the part of devoted daughter, taking the Mellors’ drinks to put in the fridge and returning with the glasses to begin the evening ‘celebrations’. Bob popped the cheap prosecco that Mum had picked up from Sainsbury’s and poured the glasses.

The Mellors squeezed onto the white three-seater, and Grandma and Maya took the two chairs by the fireplace. Jamie’s attention drifted around the room, and Maya wondered if she was judging her grandparents’ choice of design. She couldn’t blame her. The large Qashqai rug was worn and dog-eared, and mismatched frames covered the mantelpiece—one of her grandparents on their wedding day, and the rest the many embarrassing pictures of Maya as a child, including one of her with her mum at the seaside. Six-year-old Maya taunted her from the photo, pulling a face with chocolate cake smeared about her mouth.

Maya just hoped they wouldn’t mention Grandpa. She hated the idea of someone like Jamie knowing something so personal; no doubt she’d use it against her in any way she could. The fact they were sharing the same air now was bad enough.

The large copper clock ticked away loudly above the fireplace, a subtle soundtrack to her nightmare as she caught Jamie watching her. She held her stare, and amusement crinkled around Jamie’s eyelids. She’s loving this. The memory of their last match flashed in Maya’s mind—Jamie’s sneering face after scoring the winning goal, the taunts that echoed in her ears long after the game ended. Jamie broke contact first, turning to answer Grandma’s question, and Maya took comfort in the small victory.

She gulped her prosecco, hoping to take the edge off things. The urge to bite her nails was overwhelming, but that was all her mum would need to start the next round of Mother vs Daughter verbal wars.

“Dinner’s ready,” her mum announced, breaking the silence, and they all filed into the kitchen.

Maya tailed at the back, allowing herself time to breathe before she forced the fake smile back onto her face.

“It smells wonderful, Katherine,” Joanne cooed, peering into the steaming dish of lasagne that rested atop the stove.

“Just Kathy, please, love.” Mum dished out a sizable chunk of the veggie lasagne onto a clean white plate, along with a handful of steamed vegetables. She turned to Maya. “Do you mind taking this in to Grandpa?”

Maya practically snatched the plate from her hands, grateful to have an excuse to get away for a moment. She ducked out of the kitchen, climbed the ugly blue stairs to her grandparents’ bedroom, and knocked softly on the door.

“Aye.”

She pushed the door open with her hip, shifting the plate in her hands. “You hungry?”

Grandpa straightened up in his green chair. A smile pained his face like the very action hurt. Which she imagined it often did. “Thanks, kid. You wa’ always me favourite grandchild.”

She laughed. “That’s ’cos I’m your only grandchild.”

“Quite possibly.”

His white hair was longer than what suited him, thinning in the middle and receding at the sides. She set the plate down on the table and started cutting up his food. She couldn’t bear to look at him for long. She’d notice the way his hands shook, or how his skin seemed to just hang from his body. Since the stroke three months ago, he seemed to shrink more every day. She still wasn’t used to it.

She glanced at the telly. “Only Fools and Horses again? You must have seen every episode a hundred times.”

“They don’t make ’em like this anymore. All rubbish now.” His hand shook as it grabbed the fork, slowly stabbing into the melted cheese.

“It’s hot, Grandpa. And a bit messy. You know Mum overdoes it with the cheese. Where’s your…” Her eyes darted around the room. With the curtains drawn, it was difficult to make anything out in the darkness. She spotted his plastic bib hanging off the radiator and slipped it over his head. He let her, even though she knew he hated it.

His yellowing eyes watched her as she finished cutting his food into more manageable pieces. She handed the cutlery back to him, and he poked at the lasagne again.

“Go have your dinner,” Grandpa said. “It’ll be goin’ cold.”

She lingered a moment, feeling torn.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry ’bout me.”

She leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead. The familiar musky scent of biscuits and fabric softener tickled her nose. Then she ducked out of the room, and the sound of Del and Rodney arguing grew quiet as she closed the door.

Back in the stifling air of the kitchen, everyone looked up as she took the seat next to Jamie. The twinge of sadness rolling in her mind overpowered the frustration of having to sit next to her. Instead, thoughts of Grandpa swirled around her head. How one thing could completely alter the course of life. That iron-hot prod from the winds of change, declaring that everything be different forever.

The clatter and scrape of cutlery circled the table, and she was grateful she didn’t have to think about where to look or where to put her hands. She could just eat.