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She shrugged. "Yeah, we will find a taxi, I’ll put you inside it, and you don't have to do this. On the other hand, my arseisgoing to that door and Iamgoing to do this. But I have a feeling if that is in fact your mother in there, or someone who knows her, they won't talk to me. But I am hellbent on figuring out what the fuck is going on for you. You can come or you can go home."
I blinked at her. And then despite myself, the laugh came bubbling up. Slightly nervous and teetering, but it was still a laugh, because Gemma knew how to do that. How had I lied to her for the last couple of years since she walked into my mess of a life? How had I not taken full advantage of this level of friendship?
"So it's like that, huh?"
"It is like that. I love you so much. I will fucking do this without you."
"But isn't it my mum?"
"Yes, but you're being a little petty-arse bitch, and we don’t have time for that.”
"Wow. I hope someone gives you a motivational speaker job right away."
"Funny. I do love you so much, but let’s get on with it. We didn't come all this way for nothing, and we aren’t getting any younger."
"You're like a drill sergeant. Did you know that?"
She shrugged. "Yes, you are not the first person to tell me this." She laughed, wrapped her arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze, and then pinched me and shoved me forward.
Maybe we don’t like her after all.
She winked at me when I turned back to her, and I took another step forward. I unlocked the gate and walked through. I could see that the patio grass in front was well maintained. It was beautifully managed, no weeds in the little lawn, and there were red begonias and purple irises in the corner. Someone loved this house. Someone took care of it. The question was, who?
I walked up to the front door and rang the bell. All the while my heart beat so fast, sweat leaking in my palms and fear creeping through me, tainting every part of my mind. Telling me to run, telling me that I had no business here. Telling me that she would know I hadn't looked hard enough for her and that she would hate me.
I stood at the solid wood door waiting.
Right behind me, I could feel Gemma shifting from foot to foot in the nervous way she often did when she was impatient, which was almost all the time.
After five minutes, no one came to the door. Gemma went to the side of the house and tried to peer in the windows, but she shrugged. "There're some sheer curtains in there. Not a lot of furniture, but you know, there's a couch and it's empty."
As I stood there, I heard singing coming from the other side of the house. Someone humming something that sounded like a lullaby. I listened to the tune and for some reason I hummed along. Like at some point in my life I had heard it many times and knew every note. A middle-aged woman came from around the house and smiled at me. She started speaking French, which I barely understood from the basic French courses I took at school.
“I think you are asking if I need help? Sorry, pardon, my name… umm…Je m'appelleKaya Reynolds.Je cherche pour quelqu’un.” I fumbled for the right words in French, so I switched to English. “But I don't think they live here."
At the sound of my name, her eyes went wide. And then she clapped her hands and switched to English. "Ah yes, I’m Magda, and I've been waiting long time for you."
I blinked in surprise. "What?"
"I have something for you."
"Do I know you?"
"Oh no, darling. I knew your mother."
Knew.
Past tense.
The pain zapped through me. I wished she hadn’t said it like that. Why couldn’t I be strong when the news finally hit? But my knees crumbled, and I almost sank to the ground. Then she reached for me.
"Oh my darling, your mother was here six months ago. She was fine then. What I meant to say, is that I'm her friend but I don't see her often. I'm sorry I was so insensitive. I shouldn't have worried you."
"What? My mother… She's alive?"
The woman's eyes went wide. "Yes, of course she is."
Panic laced through my body, and I started to hyperventilate. Air swooshing in and out of my lungs, none of it hitting where I needed it. It was swooshing in too fast, and God, I couldn't fucking breathe.
