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‘Come. Sit,’ Ma says as she untangles her arms from around me to flop onto the edge of my bed, dangling her legs back and forth like an excited teenager. ‘I had my doubts at first, I admit,’ she says as I sit beside her. ‘But Arthur Talbot is nothing like your father, Annie. Some men are good men, I can see that now. Arthur is one of the good ones.’
I smile. It’s wonderful to hear my mother finally praise someone of the opposite sex, especially Sketch.
‘Tell me everything,’ my mother chirps. ‘Was it romantic? Did he get down on one knee? Oh, I bet he did.’
My mother is practically bubbling over with excitement.
‘Ma,’ I whisper, trying to be as firm as I can without raising my voice, ‘I can’t marry Sketch.’
A sudden, heavy silence engulfs the room. My mother clears her throat with a gentle cough and drops her head. She doesn’t voice her disappointment. She doesn’t have to. Ma always says far more without words than with them.
‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ I say. And it’s true. I am sorry. So sorry that I had to break Sketch’s heart. And mine. And possibly my mother’s too.
‘You have nothing to apologise for,’ Ma says after a long, painful silence. ‘It’s your decision, Annie.’
I choke back tears.
‘I just hope you’re making your decision for the right reasons,’ Ma whispers, her eyes burning into mine.
‘I am,’ I say.
‘Good. That’s good, Annie.’ Ma stands up. ‘I’ll let you get some sleep.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Annie.’ Ma closes my bedroom door behind her.
Darkness and silence hang stagnant in the air. I flop onto my belly and cry into my pillow.
THIRTY-NINE
ANNIE
‘Annie. Annie, wake up.’
I open my sleepy eyes and find my mother standing over my bed. My room is bright so I know it’s morning, but I’m as tired as if I’ve only slept for seconds. My eyes weigh heavy and close.
‘Annie, quick. Come now.’ My mother shakes my shoulder. ‘You must wake up.’
‘I’m up. I’m up,’ I stutter, rubbing my eyes as I sit upright.
‘Good. You’re dressed,’ Ma says.
I run my hands over my dress that I didn’t take off last night.
‘I’ll change before I start my chores,’ I explain, thinking of the list of things I have to do today.
‘No chores today, Annie,’ Ma says, smiling so wildly I can see parts of her gums. ‘Your dress is beautiful. Just like you. Come on now, quickly. We don’t have much time.’
‘Much time for what?’ I drag a groggy hand around my face.
‘You’ll see soon. But we must hurry. We need to leave the house before your father wakes.’
‘What time is it?’ I stand and glance out the curtain I forgot to close last night after I climbed back in the window.
‘Early. It’s very early,’ Ma explains. ‘We have a busy day ahead. We need an early start.’
My sleepy eyes focus out the window and explore the garden. Wind doesn’t shake the trees as birds perch on their branches and sing. Early morning sunshine casts the garden in hues of gold and honey. The world outside my window is as inviting as one of Sketch’s paintings.
