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‘I don’t know. I just know it was never a normal family life. Dad used to say she couldn’t help it and I was too young to understand. He said he’d tell me more when I was older, but he died when I was fourteen and I am older now; but I still don’t understand.’
‘You loved your dad and your grandpa?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Owen swallowed, trying to hold back tears.
‘And your little sister?’
‘Yes.’ He sniffed. ‘Of course, I loved her, even though sometimes she was a nuisance and used to follow me around like a lost puppy.’
‘Did she sense there was something wrong with your mum?’
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t have thought so. She was only five years old when she was killed.’
‘Does it bother you that you can’t grieve for your mother?’
‘Yes, it does. She was my mum; I should have loved her… I thought I did, but now I realise …’ He locked eyes with Sally, feeling an overwhelming need to hold something or to be held by someone. ‘… I never loved her. It’s not grief I’m feeling. It’s relief. What kind of bastard does that make me?’
‘Sweetheart, sweetheart.’ Sally wrapped her arms around Owen’s shoulders. ‘If your mum didn’t or couldn’t love you, it’s only natural you would feel like this.’
‘But …’
‘Listen,’ she said, resting one finger gently across his lips. ‘You’re a good young man.’
He shook his head.
Sally continued, ‘Perhaps you have not been told that often enough. But I think you have a clear idea of what is right and wrong. Maybe you got that from your dad or your grandpa. Possibly both. And I think you already try to live by those principles. Doing the best you can in whatever you do. In that list in your mind, a son should love his mother. So, it’s a shock, almost worse than finding her body, to realise that you didn’t. But it’s not your fault. You have done nothing wrong.’ She leant in, eyes focusing on his mouth.
There was a change in the atmosphere between them. Owen sensed it and met Sally’s eyes. He’d seen that hungry expression before.
The emerald brilliance softened. She reached out and cupped his face in her palm.
‘Owen, you are a good young man. Wounded by life, but strong. You will find a way forward.’
What was he supposed to say to that? He gave a slight head shake and scowled down at the small space between them.
‘You know,’ she said, shifting nearer to him. ‘I think of Matthew every time I look at you and I so much want…’ She tilted his head to make him face her again and delicately, eyes closing in pleasure, she placed her lips on his.
Eyes wide open in shock. Though he had seen the warning sign, Owen stared. He saw her eyelashes flutter and felt her warm breath, and his mouth automatically opened–in surprise or need, he did not know which.
Sally pressed harder, sealing their union, and he responded, even though he knew it was wrong. She was old enough to be his mother, and this was not a motherly kiss. She was his best mate’s mum. He should be repulsed. He wasn’t. Their tongues met, strong, urgent muscles intertwining. He put his hands on her soft face and held her as he moaned, and his body made ready for action.
It was as if his moan was a signal. Sally pulled herself away. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking Owen by the hand. ‘I want you to take me down memory lane and I want you to forget about feeling guilty about your mother and face up to the fact, she simply wasn’t worth your grief.’
