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9
CERYS
Ella scrawlscircles on the paper with her crayons, drawing her third Santa of the day as I wash the dishes and gaze out the window. Liam was right about the weather—snowflakes drift slowly onto the hedges bordering his parents’ garden. He’s out now, Linda and Jim are home with Lou, and I’m trying to keep a low profile in the kitchen. Even though I’ve stayed here a week, I still feel awkward and intrusive. Nobody treats me any differently than a family member, but even as a family friend for years, staying here with my four-year-old daughter is a big ask.
When my parents told me they had no room for us, that was a kick in the teeth. Even worse, they’re flying to Florida for Christmas and leaving an empty house I could stay in. After almost five years, they still ostracise their whore of a daughter who fell pregnant at seventeen and lived in sin with the baby’s father. I stopped caring about what they think of me years ago, but how they reject Ella hurts.
I wipe my soapy hands on a teatowel and pick up my phone. No messages from Craig. Ella is desperate to talk to her Daddy but the only calls happen when he’s drunk and she’s in bed. Craig won’t explain to me what’s happening or why he won’t let us move back home.
I understand telling him I had doubts about our relationship pissed him off, but forcing us to leave was wrong. I’m disgusted he’d do this to his own daughter, but Craig never spent much time with her anyway. Always working or out with his mates, he never accepted the changes to lifestyle that go hand in hand with teen parenthood. We’re not teens anymore, but the majority of our friends are carefree and still behave like they’re teens. Craig refuses to accept his life isn’t the same.
Now I’m stuck. No home, no job, no money. Nowhere to live. I’m grateful to Lou’s parents for taking me in so I don’t spend Christmas with Ella in a motel room, but after Christmas, I have a huge battle ahead. I’ve made calls to government departments to ask if I’m entitled to help until I can get myself a job. I’ve begun to look into my options—not that I have many workforce skills—because keeping focused on this stops me dwelling on the heartbreak.
Is heartbreak the right word? My relationship with Craig would’ve ended years ago if we didn’t have Ella, or more correctly, because I couldn’t manage on my own financially if I left him. Now that decision has been made for me. Maybe Craig is having an affair—or whatever you call an affair if you’re not married.
I’ll fight him for everything he owes us. He can’t do this to Ella. She deserves more from a dad, and that’s why the anger rips into me further each time Ella asks where he is.
Louise appears next to me and takes the towel from my hands. She looks down at the phone too. “Shit-for-brains hasn’t called yet, then?” she asks.
“Craig? No.”
Louise makes a humph noise and picks up a plate to dry. “Do you know where Liam went?”
“No.”Liam. He’s another problem. I inhale against the butterfly queasiness that starts every time I think about him.
“Liam came to the shops with us,” pipes up Ella. “I saw Santa.”
“Really? Liam wanted to see Santa?” Louise’s brow creases.
“No, he only took us into town to save us taking the bus.” I concentrate hard on scrubbing the tea-stained mug, knowing my best friend will read any betraying sign of what I’m thinking.
“I like Liam,” says Ella, “he’s nice.”
“He is nice. Sometimes.” Louise walks over to Ella. “What are you drawing?”
“Santa. Mummy likes Liam too.”
I watch the snow settle on the windowsill and brace myself for Louise’s response. “Your mummy has known Liam for a long time.”
“Mummy held Liam’s hand,” continues Ella.
Heat creeps into my cheeks. Ella’s words sound worse than they are. When Louise doesn’t respond, I place the mug on the drainer and turn to her.
“You’re holding hands with Liam now?” she asks, one brow arched.
I huff. “Liam was nice to Ella and I squeezed his hand to say thank you.”
My explanation sounds weirder than the truth and doesn’t fool Louise. “Oh?”
“And he let me sit on his shoulders. He’s really tall and I could see for miles,” enthuses Ella.
“Very cosy,” remarks Louise.
“We saw someone in town Liam knew and he wanted...” I sigh, refusing to justify myself. “Never mind.”
Ella scribbles furiously with a red crayon. What misleading thing will she say next? “Ella, why don’t you go upstairs and choose a story for bedtime?”
“It’s not bed time yet.” She pouts.
