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“Asia, are you listening to me?” Tracy asks, her forehead creasing in a frown.
“Sure, I am,” I say, placing my fork and knife back down on my plate. This is our last meal together before Eastern and I must return to Oceanside. She’d made my favourite: macaroni cheese. Warm, delicious and filling. It reminds me of a gentle hug and stability. It reminds me ofhome.
“You’ve been quiet all day. Are you thinking about your mum?” she asks gently.
If only she knew. I’m not thinking about my mum. I’m not even thinking about the fact that last week I turned seventeen. I’m thinking about the fact that in a few minutes I’m jumping on a train with Eastern and heading back to Oceanside. I know what I’ve got to go back to do and why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
“Yeah,” I lie.
She frowns, her eyes welling with tears. “She wouldn’t want you to be sad, Asia.”
It’s a statement I’ve heard Tracy say several times over the years and as much as I love her, it pisses me off. “Really? She never seemed to care much about anything other than her next fix when she was alive. What makes you think she’d give a shit about how I feel now she’s dead?”
“She loved you… she loved your brothers,” Tracy whispers, her hand reaching for mine. Her eyes sad, so fucking sad. I can’t look into the face of it. I can’t deal with pity even if it is from someone I adore.
“No, she lovedheroin. She didn’t love us.” I stand abruptly just as Eastern walks into the kitchen.
“Lissy…”
“How are my favourite ladies?” he asks, looking between us both with a frown. “Everything okay?”
I sigh. “Everything’s fine.” And it is. I’ve long since gotten over my mum’s abandonment. She overdosed. I found her cold, dead body. I’m over it.
Except, of course, I’m not.
I remember that day so clearly. It’s etched into my soul and carved into my heart. A bloody tattoo that beats every time my heart does. A permanent reminder of what I’ve lost, of what I never really had in the first place. Mum had been lying glassy eyed on our threadbare sofa clutching hold of the teddy bear she’d bought me for my birthday, a needle still imbedded in her arm. The second I’d found her I knew she was dead. The room had been cold, so cold in fact that ice crept up the windowpane on the inside. It’s funny how I remember that part so clearly, the tiny ice crystals making a pretty pattern on the glass. I think I thought them beautiful, as though Jack Frost had found his way into our home and dusted the windows with his touch. I’d whispered her name, and whilst warm air had huffed out of my mouth, nothing had left hers. Gone. Just like that. She was thirty-four.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Tracy stands, pulling me into her arms and enveloping me in her warmth.
“The cold, I can still feel it now,” I mutter, somehow caught between that moment and this.
“Oh, love.” Tracy rubs my back and I cling onto her, fully aware that this has suddenly become an emotionally intense moment with Eastern looking on. It’s rare for him to see me quite so vulnerable. But things have changed, and somehow I’m not so afraid of Eastern seeing this side of me.
“I’m always here to talk,” Tracy says.
I nod my head, muttering my thanks. In some ways she’s the only mother I’ve ever known. Some days I wish she really was my own flesh and blood, but then that would make Eastern my brother and I couldn’t have that. I love him in a way you shouldn’t love a brother.
“You smell good,” I say after a while. A random statement, but the truth, nonetheless.
“Not like bleach you mean?” She laughs, drawing a smile from me.
“No, not like bleach,” I agree with a laugh of my own.
I clutch her tighter, breathing her in, not ready to let go just yet. Not ready to leave the comfort of this kitchen that is warm and welcoming and so much like home. Since moving to Eastbourne, Tracy no longer smells of all the cleaning products she’d had to use in her poorly paid cash-in-hand job. Now she smells of fresh soap and lemons. That alone makes me happy. I’m thankful at least that Chief Inspector Crown made good on his side of the deal and got Tracy a new house and enough financial support to take care of Braydon who’s currently taking a nap in the front room in his brand new, made-to-measure wheelchair. They’re happy here and that’s all that matters.
“Well, whatever perfume you’re wearing, I’d sure like to bottle it,” I mutter.
“Stop, you’ll make this old woman blush.”
“You’re hardly old, mum,” Eastern says. “You’re only forty-three.”
“Soon I’ll be forty-four and then I’ve got no hope.” She laughs, shrugging off her low self-confidence with a wave of her hand. She totally deserves to find someone to love her. Maybe while living here, she will. Tracy is still a good-looking woman with dark hair and eyes like Eastern but with a heart-shaped face and cupid’s bow mouth. She looks her age, has fine wrinkles and slightly greying hair, but she’s still attractive. Very much so.
“We’ve really got to get going soon,” I say, pulling free from her arms. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier than today, but I needed to make sure Sebastian and George settled okay in their new home in Hull.”
“They’re good?” she asks me, her eyes welling with tears. I know she misses them too.
